Lianor Shea (lianor) wrote in newbritain, @ 2011-12-03 21:18:00 |
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Current mood: | distressed |
forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you
The last two weeks she's been cuffed to a pipe in the basement of the shed out in the middle of one of New Britain's wide, dry plains -- she doesn't know which one. The two men who cuffed her and blindfolded her and brought her here were careful, but not gentle, cautious of hurting her badly but not of hurting her.
Eluned will come get her, she tells herself, over and over. Eluned and Papa will come get her free.
But when help finally comes, it isn't her family. The two lawmen from Camallate are the Dragon's nephews, and perhaps she should feel cowed by their importance, but she doesn't. She's too tired for that. They shoot the men who took her, or at least one of them does, she doesn't know, she only saw the end of it when somebody uncuffed her and led her out in the light, blinding after all this time in the darkness.
Half of her is still afraid to trust them. She doesn't know them. One of them is rough, and swears and spits and reminds her too much of her captors. The other is quieter, but no less strange.
They travel as far as they can while the light holds, and then make camp. The men build a small fire and roast chunks of protein and boil coffee. Lianor eats a little, but her stomach is shrunk and cramped. The rough one stretches out in the sandy dirt and sleeps, and the other one stays up, his pistols beside him, watching the fire.
She lies down, but she doesn't sleep. She looks into the fire. She draws circles in the dirt with her fingertips and tries to shake the feeling that they're just waiting to tie her up again and leave her in some other dark hole. Finally she sits up and reaches for the coffee pot.