21
- 21 -
Every part of her ached, even where they hadn’t beaten her.
Paskia rolled over, wincing, and let the fresh wave of nausea pass. In its wake it left memories—warriors pounding on her, boots kicking, fists punching, hands slapping. There had been laughter, far too much, and so many insults. There were recollections of pain, sharp and deep, throbbing and slow.
She’d quickly learnt to relax, to let her body absorb as much as it could. Resisting only increased their desire to see her suffer. Better to flop about, to remain submissive.
She breathed. While she breathed, she was alive. They hadn’t killed her. There was hope.
And the door opened.
She lifted her head, watched the warrior enter. It was the one with the ragged ear, the one she’d spat on.
He hadn’t taken that well.
