Work to be done… Aye, there was always work to be done. Didn’t answer his question. Just shut it down. Ah well, he was too tired to argue. And as the woman happened to be holding the man-thing rather more bravely than he had, Jules figured he could let it slide. Had to, or start an argument he doubted he could win. Better to save face. Save his breath, too, for arguing in the next instant when she told Brenna to help him. He didn’t need none of that now. He’d live. But the way Brenna came to his side so eagerly told him that maybe it wasn’t just for him that he needed this help. Well, allright, put that way, he could deal with it. Hadn’t much choice, anyway, if he wanted to get off the wagon and headed towards a healer. Damn that kid had a strong bite. And Brenna a strong arm. And he’d thank the man’s mother that Olan had good aim with that shovel. If ever he met her… But for now, for right now… He just wanted off the wagon. And so, once he’d managed that, Jules stood there, held up mostly by Brenna, as the guards arrived around the stern-mouthed Third. He gave a report. An extremely succinct one. “Found a beast in the hen-house, sir. You can keep it.” He called everyone sir, even old women with wide hips and sagging breasts from childbearing and age, just so long as there was steel about. The Zarnofsky’s were a good family to work under, a pity they’d lost the old Second before the other had had time enough to grow into the role. But this lady here, he knew her and she knew him and he figured she could get more details out of someone else whose brain wasn’t so addled. The adrenaline had worn off about halfway through tying the makeshift blindfold, and all he wanted to do was go find a healer and swear at them, loudly. He’d a feeling he’d lost some important muscles, the way his fingers had lost their grip. Though that might well have been from Samaire stepping on them. He could hope. He heard someone snort and felt another body press in close to slip his arm over their shoulders and then he just decided he’d go where they took him. If it was a bed, he’d be all right with that. --- Serryn couldn’t help it when her lips twitched at the snort beside her. The man had a way with words, obviously, though he looked rough enough she’d forgive him his attitude. She glanced to the side and sent the guard lacking in decorum with orders to get Jules to the healer, but asked Brenna to stay. As well as the newcomer, Samaire… She’d seen far too much of her the past two days, and didn’t like that she was, yet again, near something strange. Even if it was only coincidence, like attracted like… Better not to keep her around if bad things happened too often around her. “Get the-” Jules had called it a beast, and looked as though he’d encountered one, but the thing Samaire appeared to be holding down was very much a man. Frowning, she turned to Brenna. “Well, where is the beast?” “That’s him as Jules meant, Lady Serryn. He don’t rightly seem like any man I’ve met. Jumped right out the coop soon’s the door was opened and bit him in the arm. Screeching like some cat and not a stitch to him.” Was he mad? Struck in the head? Spirit eaten? He looked calm enough now, but tied up, gagged and blinded, and being restrained, well, that’d give most reason enough to conserve their energy. “Very well, put those shackles on him, and get him into the holding cell. When Varis returns he may have answers for us.” She had better things to occupy her time than dealing with an alleged chicken thief, even if he had attacked one of her guards. The families they’d moved inside the fort needed to be reassured and properly settled. They’d not had enough mattresses to go around last night, but she’d offered them the materials, if they could make them, and she’d been told they’d kept busy. She had to check on them, offer more blankets as the day’s warmth would fade once the sun fell. And now, she had ruined crops to concern herself with. She would have to measure their resources against their needs, and their neighbours against their deeds. If she found sufficient evidence against anyone for this most recent misfortune, she was certainly not going to trade with them! And that damned deer! Someone else could deal with the chicken thief! --- His attention was constantly dragged outside of his aching skull, turned this way and that by words and sounds and hurt. But the weight on his back never left, and the darkness wouldn’t go away. So when footsteps came closer, he only lifted his head a little and growled before choking on the gag. The ground shifted beneath him and then other hands dragged him back and cold, metal?, wrapped around his arms. The youth jerked against his new bonds and gravity when the ground disappeared and only hands about his arms and legs held him up. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like them. Could walk on his own. He thrashed, tilted and kicked before his skull echoed for a second time. And then he just hung, limp. He stayed still when he was set down and listened with only vague interest to a rattle he couldn’t place. He could smell and feel earth beneath him, cold and hard, wet and old. They let his arms go and rolled him over, clasping them again with the cold hands he thought were metal. Curling around his wrists and making his arms stiff. His shoulders stung as the muscles relaxed out of the position they’d been forced into, and then his legs were untied and his feet started itching. He squirmed against the mud clingingto him and curled his lips away from the cloth between his teeth, sitting up when all the feet were moving far away and a door had closed. Between them, he thought. He sat slouched to the side, listing without any desire to correct himself. When he brought one arm up, the other followed without volition, metal clinked. Caught together. He sniffed it, the sharp tang meant iron. Hard iron. He pushed at it with his nose, it slipped up, and then fell back as far as its width would allow. But the cloth covering his eyes slipped more. Matiir pushed again, and again, finally rubbing his whole face against the link between shackle and chain until the blindfold was resting on his scalp and only staying on his head because it was stuck to his hair. He blinked at his surroundings, staring back at guards that were staring at him, seeing bars as far as he could turn his head. Not far, just then, though they did indeed go all the way around. He was still outside, but caged. And the chain ran from his wrists like a big snake. A poison one; long and thin like that. He flicked it off his legs nervously, wincing as the movement rippled in his head and pulled his feet away. Next, he tugged at the thing in his mouth, biting and scratching until he figured out how to work his fingers in between cheek and cloth and tear down. He couldn’t get it off, but he did pull it away from his mouth, and retched to get the rest of it out. Now he could breathe. Yawning nervously, he licked his lips and as far towards his nose as he could, grimacing at the left over taste and texture before sneezing. That hurt too. --- “My mind’s sore frayed, Rin, or’re you seeing this same’s I?” “I’m seeing something, Ger.” The two guards left to watch their troublesome new guest, more for the chance to observe than worry that he might escape, were staring unabashedly, even while one voiced what they were both thinking. The man-thing had worked his way free of blindfold and gag as though he didn’t know what thumbs were for. Or knots, for that matter, and they’d each borne the brunt of that red stare while he was looking about. Now, they watched him pace the length of his chain, tripping now and again over the links, moving slow and stretching more than once, probably nursing an unsurprising headache. He didn’t stand though, he crawled, hands flat, feet dragging behind his knees. The cell was set up in the middle of the compound’s courtyard. Meant to offer the security of the walls for those posted to watch any prisoners, while leaving those chained open to the elements, and preferably far from the ranking inhabitants, in case they did manage escape. The bars were nothing more than heavy iron grates dug into the ground and set into a square, and welded together by a man who knew how to call fire into his hands. It had no roof, and no wall to escape from prying eyes or elements. So when the youth curled up in the middle and turned his back to the watching men, they weren’t entirely surprised. But they still exchanged incredulous glances. “He wild, you think, Rin?” “Don’t know, Ger.” A low grumble started when Ger continued talking, rising and falling each time one of them spoke. “Think the spirithunger took him?” “Never seen anyone act like that afore.” “Couldn’t be him killed that deer, you think?” “Quiet, Ger.” The growling faded when their voices did, and, once more, they looked at each other. Gerold couldn’t hide a shiver. Rin managed a little better, using his off hand to flick a pinky towards the ground, tossing away whatever unwanted attention this moment had sent his way. And then he glared, hard, when Gerold opened his mouth again. Ger shut it without another word. --- He was tired. His head hurt. His arms and shoulders and back hurt. His mouth was dry. He wanted water. All he had was chains and bars and noise. Men staring, he was used to that. There were horses nearby and other humans walking back and forth. All noise. So when the two behind him started talking, he grumbled, roughing out a growl that wasn’t quite threatening until they stopped. And then, licking his hand over the iron to wipe it against his face and clean off the blood, he settled in to wait. He understood cages. They opened and closed sometimes. This one was not even complete.