Embrace the End (A Narilamb CoTL fanfic)

Trust and Torches

These titles make me giggle lmfao I swear they have meaning ok there's a reason why they're like this

"I'm not scared of you!" The bandit squeals as two of the Lamb's followers drag him by the arms, his knees digging into the dirt.

"Stop squirming," One of the acolytes huffs as he tries to pull free from their grip. The Lamb leads the three to the healing bay, their hooves crushing the grass beneath soft and slow compared to the bandit's frantic movements.
The bandit looks around nervously at all the healers scrambling around as they step through the entrance. Why are they taking him here?

The two lackeys unceremoniously toss him onto a plush mattress, and he stops his writhing as he sinks into it. The adrenaline's worn off and he's only just realizing how much he aches from the Lamb's previous attack.

The Lamb notices his discomfort as they approach. "You will get the care you need. Then you will talk," They state firmly, leaving no room for protest.

The bandit says nothing, his gaze locked onto the Lamb's unfeeling expression as a group of healers rush over.  His attention turns to the healers as their touch is surprisingly delicate and gentle. The kindness in their hands are unlike anything he's ever felt before.

"Goodness, you're a mess," One of them remarks, examining his battered body. "How'd you manage to get so beat up?"

"This is a nasty scar... Looks like it wasn't treated properly. It wouldn't have scarred like this if it was. When's the last time you saw a medic?" Another adds.

The bandit remains silent to their inquiries. He's never seen a medic...

"What is your name?" The Lamb asks, raising a brow.

"...Conan," The Bandit whispers, his brain scrambled with confusion and fear.  The Lamb's calm demeanor does nothing to ease his anxiety.

"Breathe, Conan.  You're shaking. I need you still," The first medic commands as they run their finger along an especially dark mark on his arm. He wishes it were that easy.

A third medic gasps, stealing the attention of the others. Their eyes widen as they settle upon a nasty set of gashes in Conan's ankle. "What in the world-?"

"Bear trap," Conan mutters.

"This- This looks infected!" The healer exclaims, their horror evident.

Conan is silent once more, unable to understand their alarm. It's not like he's lost his leg or something. It's attached, it's not bleeding.

Once he's cleaned and bandaged, he's carried to an oddly pleasant cell. The bed he is laid upon is comfortable and the air is only slightly chilly... But the sound of the metal door being locked shut is haunting. It feels final, like he's truly trapped now.

"Get some rest.  And don't try anything, okay?" The Lamb spares him one more glance, a hint of sympathy in their eyes before they turn and leave the stone walls, slamming the door behind them.

Conan stares quietly at the ceiling, attempting to settle. He's already accepted he won't be escaping.; he's realized rest is the only thing that will benefit him now.

He turns over on his side, facing the wall. This place, it's weird, it's confusing, and he can't help but fear it. He fears their kindness. Why are they treating him like that? What are their intentions?

He lets his eyelids fall shut. He's terrified to face the day.

The Lamb's hoovesteps wake him from his light sleep. He can feel their gaze on his back. It makes his skin crawl.They're watching him.