The door opened and he was pushed into the room. He touched his bound wrists with his fingers feeling the tight feel of the rope against his skin. His skin felt raw. The chaffing of the ropes was leaving bruises, but he couldn’t say anything about it.
The first time he spoke up they hit him on the head, and he was still reeling from the pain that was shooting into his skull. He breathed through the pain, but he wasn’t getting any better. His throat still hurt from the wound he didn’t know how he got. But it was now cover by a cloth tied around his neck. He was healing, but he suspected that he wasn’t healing fast enough.
He didn’t know how he knew that, he just knew.
Why was he so weak? he didn’t understand. But his body felt weak, like he was lingering at death door without the mer
