A splitting headache greeted Ragnar as he awoke.
The wolf groaned in pain, clamping his eyes shut and grinding his teeth together. His head throbbed to the beat of a drum, slow and steady.
He couldn’t see anything. All that greeted him was beige, beams of light piercing the fog and causing him to wince.
A bag over his head, secured around the neck.
He felt cold air against his nose, far weaker than the blizzard he had endured prior, but that hole cut into the bag was the only liberty his captors had given him. The rest of his head had been sealed away underneath a sack of coarse material, string applying some pressure around his neck.
He reached up to remove it but his paws moved in unison, pressed against each other.
Bound at the wrist.
Panic crept in.
Where am I? What’s happening
