Confinement
Out of Place
Seven’s adaptation to normal society was not going well. People were always behaving irrationally, illogically and discussing irrelevant topics. She had been learning a lot about Sin’dorei society and trying to fit in, but it was painfully uncomfortable.
She slept on a metal table in the engineering department of the Spire under constant watch by two guards. There were always another two guards by a safe with all her belongings. They did not hide their disdain for her at all. They spoke of her as an object and how she should be inside the safe instead of her gear or how she should be given to the goblin engineers who so badly wanted to take her apart. She was an object to them; less important than the tools in the room and certainly less useful.
Things were not much better outside the Spire. Raeril and Sindrasa seemed like they cared and attempted to help, but their affection was disturbing to Seven.
Confinement
As I sit here confined into some lower level of the estate. The foci tightly gripped on my wrists, leaving skin abrasions. I wonder to myself if telling the truth to Shryn’Dael was the right thing to do. Saeran already had suspected me. “You’re lucky we are members of the Kirin Tor, it’s against our code to torture for information.” Reflecting back on what the lady had said to me. It’s amazing how you can go from accepted to prisoner in a matter of a few seconds. Yes, I knew Xannivard Ral’kas. No, I had no idea he had tried to take Shryn’Dael’s life. If he was responsible for this kidnapping, I was not aware of it. I surrendered myself peacefully to Pox. Saeran the hired hand, was his duty to suspect everything and anything. He had every reason to suspect me. I had just joined Pox and this random stranger joins who turns out to be associated with Xannivard. However, Lady Dawnrose associated with him.
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For the Sake of a Smile
The hunter comes awake with a violent startle, sitting bolt upright and meeting the timber wall with his shoulder. He rebounds to his feet and stands bristling and panting. His eyes make slow sense of the shapes in the dark. At the far end of the room a small hearth glows softly with burned down coals. His breath fogs the air in front of his face and he shudders, clammy and sweated from sleeping under furs.
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An old soldier's trick, to brace shoulder and cheek against the straight trunk of a young tree and sleep thus. An enemy won't approach directly a foe that stands watchful. It is the first sleep Tamlin permits himself in two days of stubborn pacing wakefulness. He is certain the facade will anytime fall and he will find himself facing a demon, bound and caged.
It makes little difference he has learned what his waking eyes see or even what his body feels. He is farther gone away from himself now than he ever has been but for death. Or ….his paranoia whispers...mayhap you are dead. And trapped thus, unredeemed and unseen.
