Beddigan sighed and pressed his back to the wall in an effort to support a move from sitting to a crouched position. Everything hurt; every muscle screamed in agony whenever he tried to adjust the way he sat in the dreary cell. He listened to the rhythmic breathing of the Wolf in the cell across from his.
He had been woken from a fitful sleep when the guards had drug an unconscious Ragnon back to his cell. Once the guards had left, Beddigan had called out to the Wolf, worried about the increasingly battered and beaten body slumped against the cold brick. The Wolf hadn’t so much as stirred in response to Beddigan’s voice. Continue reading
“Beddigan?” You alright, mate?” The familiar voice tugged Beddigan up through the cloudy fog of pain to consciousness. He blinked in the darkness, wincing at the sharp pounding in his head.
“By the gods,” he groaned as he shifted and peered around the familiar cell, arms shackled uncomfortably above him. “I think so.” He found the wolf’s yellow eyes peering at him from the cell across the corridor.
“They aren’t gentle.” Ragnon said, muttering a curse under his breath. “You were gone quite a while. It’s never good when you’re gone that long.” Beddigan winced and nodded slowly, careful not to make any pronounced movement as everything hurt. A quick inventory of his injuries suggested that beyond beaten, nothing was broken. He could taste dried blood on his mouth and was certain patches of it marred his fur beneath his torn clothing. He could recall very little of the last several hours, besides being drug about with a hood on so that he couldn’t see where he was going. The beating had begun swiftly and he had been knocked unconscious fairly early on, or so it felt. Continue reading