Condition: Acceptable. Please see the images for more details.
Blurb: “"He looked ugly, even for a Terren, his brown skin marred by mottled bruises, souvenirs of the mob that had discovered him where no Terren should ever be. He might almost have made it; he was tall for a Terren, & so short for a Hardyen. Among us, a short individual is sometimes bulky, also, so that wasn't too bad. Skin dyed orange, a fake crest, a fisherman's kilt, fake skin to hide his fur, other fakeries. Oh, he passed, in looks, at least. (& I think my guards would have been most pleased to scrub the lying orange off his skin, & if the skin came too, so much the better; but his pouch held several mysterious potions in it, & the 2nd one I gingerly tested took off all fakery with neat efficiency. He awoke during the midst of his cleansing & protested vigorously if somewhat incoherently; but he could see that the guards were for the most part done, so he subsided, grumbling to himself.) But looks alone aren't enough; he must have given himself away, in a hundred small ways (his Terre stench alone!) until even the most dull minded realized; & the riot started. Two things had saved his repulsive Terre hide. There were no guards near him at the beginning, so he was only mauled by fists & kicked by sandaled feet. & he didn't fall & get trampled (Had someone held him up the better to beat him, & so unwittingly saved his life?). He wasn't trampled, he didn't suffocate, his attackers (once the crush began) couldn't even get enough room to effectively beat him. There he sprawled, living & breathing. Pity. Now he was my problem..."Terren," I said, almost gently, because I couldn't help a flash of pity, "do you understand, your situation, what's going to happen to you?"