THE UNBROKEN THREAD
Consciousness returned in fragments in a dark room, there was nothing but the dull rhythm of hooves striking earth and the cold bite of air against my skin; my arms tired behind my back, rough rope cutting my wrists, the scent of unfamiliar wolves.
The memory rushed back all at once; the gardens, the well, hands grabbing me, the cloth over my face. I gasped for breath and quickly calmed down–panicking wouldn't help me now.
Slowly, and carefully, I shifted my hand in a bid to loosen the rope, but the more I tried, the further the fibres dug into my skin; then it hit me, struggling was pointless and so was calling for help.
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