Evelyn
When I woke, the world was a dull buzz behind my eyes. My body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry in the glaring sun. The light of the tent sliced through my mind with agonizing brightness. On top of it all, my wrists ached from being chaffed against rope. Again.
The canvas ceiling of the rogue tent loomed above me, and I had to squint to look at it as my eyes adjusted. I tried to shift, but my body rejected the idea, too spent as it continued to rid itself of the poison in me. I realized then that my ankles were tied too, not tightly, but enough to remind me that I was no longer a guest. Whatever game we had been playing at where I could wander the camp freely as if I belonged there was over.
I was no longer a healer. I was a prisoner. Again.
Footsteps shuffle
