The young hunter lay in a crumpled heap on the cold and wet stone. Drums and men laughing and shouting still echoed inside the cave as he laid there. He struggled to keep breathing, the knot in his chest swelling as he heard the sounds of the whistling behind him. He knew it stared at him, the large cloud of black smoke.
His heart raced inside his chest and his lungs burned for more air as he lay there, his bloodshot eyes stilled with fear. Suddenly, the drums stopped. He could hear nothing through the howling smoke that seemed to loom over him as if waiting to take his life at any moment.
Hushed voices echoed along the stone walls, both familiar and strange. He knew in his heart something was not right, but what ever had seemed into his mind and veins forced him to lay still, barely able to whisper 'the smoke' over and over again.
There was a ruckus that lasted mere moments, the sound of armor falling upon stone and shouting. He thought they came for him once more, until he felt a warm hand upon his shoulder, sending him into a horrified panic.
He pressed himself to the stone as hard as he could, in hopes that the figured whom seemed to be pillars of smoke talked back and forth in distorted tongues. Their scents were strange, yet one stood out from among the rest, he knew this one yet it looked so different.
They grew closer to him, speaking to him as if they knew him, offering him strange words and touches that seemed to burn hotter than any brand he had felt, yet he felt no pain. He tried to resist their attempts to grab him, knowing it would most likely be his end.
Within moments they hoisted him up, carrying him outside the cave. They stopped for a moment, then continued on their way. He gazed around the hellish scenery around him, the trees blazing with fire, even the very ground they walked on seemed to be hot brimstone.
As they made haste, he turned and stared at the billows of smoke that chased after them with speed he had never seen. All of a sudden they seemed to stop, as if it hit a wall and could not pass. He lowered his head as he lost control of his mind, fading into unconsciousness.
Cynraede woke up and laid there for a moment, blinking the burning feeling out of his eyes. He looked around the pink painted room, trying to scoot up to sit up and feeling the pain of the broken bones shooting through his body as he growled in pain. He pulled the blanket back, looking at his beaten legs.
An audible sigh escaped his lips as he stared as his beaten and broken body, simply glad that what ever the woman had him on had worn off. Though, the ringing in his ears still lingered slightly, and the headache pulsed as a constant reminder of both the beating and the poison. He rested his head along the headboard, and closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had felt a warm bed, since he felt safe. There was much work to be done, yet he could not even stand on his own.
