Blood of Elven

Chapter Forty-One

Watery light of the early winter sun was bleeding out through the trees, bathing the dirtied makeshift campsite in a murky glow. A mixture of various Air and Earth Kingdom guards milled around, conversing at fluctuating volumes and with varying versions of lewd jokes. Their mud and dirt encrusted boots crunched against the rubble beneath their feet as they traveled between tents and campfires that had been set up just before the ominous cave within the stone mountain an indiscernible time ago.

The prisoner did not know what day it was, nor how long he had been in this current state. Travel had been continuous, guards switching out with one another at various outposts, yet the prisoner had been given no reprieve. A journey that perhaps should have taken a fortnight, if not more, was completed in less than a week, perhaps slightly longer. He could not remember when they had dragged him into this particular encampment, the first of which he was allowed to stop and sit, though judging by the nausea and stabs of pain in his stomach, they had fed him not too long ago of the rotten meats and stale breads that they preferred to provide for his palate's satiation. Thirst had become a permanent companion to him ever since his capture, lingering even after he was given drops and sloshes of muddied water from whatever puddles his captors would happen upon at their most recent campsites.

Every ragged inhale of the chilled morning air sent tearing pain through his chest yet his body would not give up the reflexive movement as it continued to cling to the dismal life that he now lived. Every now and again a rattling cough would shake his torso violently and expel varying amounts of amber blood so that it speckled and coated his lips and chin as his head sagged onto his chest.

He could no longer feel his arms which had been tied together above his head with a thick woven rope, the end of which was secured tightly to the saddle of the horse that now stood beside the tree at his back. His captor's pace had been hurried and remained steadfast in their travels, regardless of the terrain. The prisoner had been transitioned between being dragged behind the horse and riding within a wagon, only when one became available at an outpost for short periods of reprieve. The prisoner could no longer feel the skin that had been shred to ribbons on the backside of his body, exposing the musculature that was now no doubt ripped and torn, infected and fevered. The lack of sensation was a slight mercy from the Lordes; that is, of course, if they are indeed the ones who he should thank for his current state. Faith was no longer something that the prisoner put his strength into.

No. His strength was all but gone. Stolen from him in the dead of night, and then carved out of him, bit by bit by the very elven who claimed to be of his own kind; of his own people.

He was no longer sure of what was reality and what was a fevered dream. He had dreamed of his family, whole and happy within their comfortable home, eating hot meals and telling stories of their days as if nothing else in the world mattered except for the mundane details of the lives that they lived. He had dreamed of his younglings as babes, then elflings, then elven, growing and learning, living and loving, creating families and homes of their own. He had dreamed that his mate had come back to him with familiar arms beckoning him forth to the shared warmth of their bed.

But then he had dreamt of those same family members joining him in his captivity, meeting the same fate, the same cruelty that awaited him with every opening of his dried eyelids. He had dreamed of his son tied next to him, dragged along the rocky expanse of the mountainside, each fresh tear in his skin ripping a scream from his throat. He had dreamed of his daughter falling before a group of males, her legs forced apart while they fumbled with their belts, her screams searing into his brain and echoing through his very bones. He had dreamed of his mate being the one to slice into his elflings while they called out for help; help from their father as he struggled against his invisible restraints.