Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Jhary had spent a quiet and reflective evening alone in his quarters. He was by nature a calm and affable man, at ease in most social situations. However tonight he had felt unusually withdrawn. That did not matter, his new Lord had been in no mood for music after today's scare, and the slaver had dined almost alone.
There was as always a lone guard placed on duty at Jhary's door, but there were no chains to bind him. Jhary was free to move as he wished about the house and compound, even if he was shadowed by the appointed watcher. The bard had found this unnerving at first, but as the weeks wore on the idea had become a matter of course. This idea of freedom was by far more palatable than what many others must bear.
He had pondered going to Aurianne's room, but had decided after the events of today his actions may be deemed other than innocent. Tonight as he looked out on the chill compound beyond, he debated for the first time being truly brave. His friend had almost died today. A man who had saved him many times without ever calling on payment. He was sorry this evening the way he had reacted over the incident with the mule in the canyon. He felt ungrateful and stupid, and what of his friend?
The bard sighed, listening to the faint sounds of those housed below carry to him on the night wind. Sounds of human misery and anguish. He was down there, suffering, his friend. Jhary fretted over how he could make a difference, what could he do? He might be able to escape alone, yes, that would not be so difficult. He may even be able to engineer the escape of the beautiful Aurianne if he was clever enough, but what of his friend? He was devoid of ideas, even bad ones.
He pulled the thick velvet drapery to cover the iron barred window. There was no glass in the abandoned panes to keep out the cold. Glass was a commodity that had become hard to come by. The thickness of the plush velvet was all that was available to keep out the worst of the chill. He pushed a chair up against the drape to stop it being blown open and went to the side table to snuff out the candle. He sat in the dark for some time. Why, he thought do our troubles seem oh so magnified by night?
*****
Aran had at first lain in abject misery bound in chains. The dirt floor unyielding beneath him. As his fight wore off his agony grew. He was aware of the taste of his own blood in his mouth, mingled with the grit of the sand from the floor. He tried to raise his head but he could not do so for any extended length of time. His chest and midsection throbbed where it had been raked by the unkind caress of steel. The back of his left knee was on fire.
He exhaled, even that small act hurt. He wanted to cough, though he dare not. He tried to stifle the reflex. However the sand he had inhaled aggravated it more. Losing the fight, he rolled in pain coughing hard, falling back on his face in the dust. It was already growing dark and he was beginning to shiver from the cold.
In the depths of his mind he was despairing. I will be ill this time, this will weaken me. If I weaken I succumb. If I succumb I die. He didn't want to die, but he didn't wish to live. Least not in his present circumstance.
