Chapter Text
You slide in and out of consciousness, barely aware. A thick haze fills your thoughts and you blunder though half-formed dreams. The usual nightmares lurk at the back of your mind, festering; but each time they reach to ensnare you, you twist away; the same confusion that blinds you proving too unpredictable for the clever snares your mind had built for itself over the years.
A dark shape looms, laughing...
You squint and try to focus, preferring even dreams of horror to this listless fog. But the memory slides away, slippery, laughter echoing.
Drums beat rhythmically, one two three, tap tap tap...
A hand reaches up, dripping blood.
The cat is small, green eyes in a wise black face.
You are blind, you need to see, but your lids are too heavy. The world is jarring and painful, like staring at the sun, and no matter how you struggle you cannot not force your eyes to open. Just a glimpse. Of fields. Of trees. You are running and you can’t see.
A cool hand on your brow moves carefully over your skin as you wake fitfully into semi-consciousness. One of the other slaves had moved to help, brave but futile. You try to whisper this, convey that the girl should not help, but your voice is broken and hoarse and your are hushed. With a deep breath that catches painfully in your chest, you jerk herself upright, pushing the concerned hands away. You are back in the cart, and it is jerking slowly forward through the Hinterlands to the repetitive thudding of horses hooves against dry dirt. A number of Venatori walked alongside, but paid the slaves no heed, gazes fixed on the horizon. Where was he?
“He rode ahead a few minutes ago,” the slave who had risked more than she knew whispers. “Your Master, I mean.” Nervous hands twist flaxen, soft brown hair; and concerned light blue eyes trace their way down the lacerations on your skin, pausing where they disappear beneath your sleeves, your collar. The Master had been in a creative mood this time, you are fortunate.
Tentatively, the girl moved her hand back towards your forehead, and you fix her with the fiercest glare you can summon. Your past practice must have paid off because she actually blanches and withdraws, her eyebrows drawn together. You only feel a little guilty, it is for her own good that she learns to stay away from you.
“Unless you have a death wish, you don’t want to interact with me,” you say, enunciating yourself very clearly. “My master is very particular that I remain undisturbed.”
There is fear in her eyes when she wisely withdraws, and you sag with relief. You must be getting better at this, persuading people to give up on you. Maybe it’s because you’ve given up on yourself. How long has it been since you dreamed of returning to your hall of leather bound tomes, dusty shelves and scented ink? You used to lie awake, dreaming of finding your way back there – where you were still a slave – but you had... No. You turn your thoughts away. Now the memory only aches with pain, and you bury it. That hidden happiness burned a long time ago.
You drift again into semi-sleep. Ants marching on your skin. You dive to the riverbed, counting stones. Cheese plates are hidden in the woods. Nonsense. In and out of consciousness and in and out of sanity perhaps. Every time you open your eyes you see nothing but the rolling green of this strange land. Eventually you slide into a dark and true unconsciousness, the emptiness and lack of dreams a sweet relief.