There are times where we are indeed weak.
Where we need to lean on that of others.
But it appears I have no one to lean on at the given time.
I sit here alone in a cave.
Chained and away from my companions.
All because I had not had the skill of swordplay.
The days are long and cold. I see the remains of those long past on the ground near me.
Bones, where others have wasted away.
I look around for means of escape but before me are webs, spiders.
It is my hope that I am well hidden from their line of sight.
Hope is fading, but I cannot let go of what little I have left.
