Wings of Gold

Ch. 15 - Necessity

What is freedom without flight?

What is hope without chance?

What is love without affection?

...

I can't see or hear much of anything, a blurry image on planks of wood fogs my vision while my head spins. I must've been hit over the head, or drugged, I suppose. Hopefully the drug is poison too, that'll get me out of this right fine mess I'm in presently.

I don't see anything, but feel my head lull and hear a thud as it hits the floor again.

...

Again I awaken, to a dimmer room now, where the minimal light illuminates the heavy set layer of dust in the room. No wonder my vision is blurry.

Fighting through the thick of the pain as I sit up, I try and assess the room better. By room I mean, the floor, the walls, the ceiling. There isn't anything else besides me and that sturdy door that I would soon find out is very sturdy and very much so locked.

I rise to my feet, head spinning and wrists furiously wrenching against the coarse ropes that restrain them in front of me.

Thump, thud, thump goes my shoulder against the door. 

Oden's undies that door is a beast.

Now that I've sufficiently broken my spirit, crushed my hope, and probably dislocated my shoulder, I plop down onto the floor.

Before I know it I'm laying down again, and again, thud goes my head on the floor.

...

Eyes blinking wearily, they fall upon a pair of boots.

My mind jumps, "Boots! People! Now's your chance!" it shouts.

But alas, I lack the strength to do any physical jumping, and the voices of the men grind at my ears like talons on a metal ship. Talons.

Goldedge.

I'm suddenly overwhelmed with spirit to save my dragon, after all, I can't lay around here doing nothing forever, can I? I have scores to settle, games to play, a dangerous man whom I would like to kill before he kills me first.

How long have I been here? Ah, a couple hours at least, four perhaps? Five or six?

Right, Goldedge.

I heave myself to a sitting position, my knees aching from the hard floors as they tuck underneath me. I look up to give the men a good hard glare, a glare that I hope says "After Viggo, you're next."

They laugh. They're laughing. At me? I assume so, what else could they laugh at? But why, what's so laughable about threatening to destroy them?

"Aw look at 'em brother! 'aven't you messed yourself bad now huh?" This man talks goofy, his tone drags out on words as he gets into fits of laughter.

"What's wrong with yuh boy-o? Show some respect to the pris'ner, will ya?" This man talks with a more sharp tone, his voice sounds like mint leaves taste.

The other one laughs as he walks to the door and drags in a crate, chuckling to himself "Pris'ner ain't got no digny ey?"

I suddenly catch on. Messed myself? Have I seriously wet myself? I whip my head down and sure enough the crotch of my tan pants is stained a dark brown. 

I want to punch myself for such a dishonorable act, but I lift my chin to the air and look down my nose at the man dragging the crate.

"You mean dignity?" I snuff.