For the second time in his life, Ragnar watched as a guard slammed the door to his cell shut and left him there.
The walls of his confinement were apathetic to his plight, formed from harsh stone brick smothered in makeshift insulation to imprison the warmth with him. The ground proved no different, cold tessellating tiles unshaken by the wolf’s tragic path, and the only light Ragnar could find came from the lantern mounted in the corridor.
The space afforded him enough to survive but seldom enough to live.
Ragnar lay on the bed, curled up on his side with the plethora of blankets and sheets pulled up to his neck. The leisure of warmth seemed odd considering the cruel circumstances of his employ, that he would be beaten senselessly over a mere mistake. Yet he realised it was not done ou
