Commandant and dark-haired savage leader both turned, walking down the center path that would lead past where she’d been caged. There was no conversation between them. That would require the practically n***d male beside the old man to reply to anything that was being said.
It seemed he pointedly ignored the high-ranked escort, staring straight ahead and walking with purpose. Upon their approach, Dianne found these men to be even stranger. Her initial assessment was right; they wore their hair almost as long as she wore hers. On many, scars were prominently displayed: slashes across bared chests, shiny star-shaped splatters of mended skin.
Though she’d never seen a wound of that sort healed, she had seen many of her neighbors die from blaster fire. She’d seen the way the skin around the
