“W-wha…”
“Up, up,” one traitor hissed, drawing his dagger again. “Up or you die, up and shut up.”
Ragnar scrambled up to his hind paws. The traitors surged forwards and took each one by the shoulder, pressing a dagger into the small of their backs and marching them towards the mining corridor. Ragnar made an overt effort to not glance at the corpses; to not let his terror take hold by fixating on what would soon become of him. His mind scrambled for some form of escape, some way to free himself of the situation, but nothing emerged.
The pair of traitors stopped to scoop up lanterns from the floor and force them into the paws of both wolves. One firm shove and Ragnar was sent stumbling into the narrow passage, pressing his free paw against the wall to steady himself.
“Go,” one ordered.
