Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heels that had crushed it.
-Mark Twain
When his eyes opened again, he found himself in a dark cell, perhaps a dungeon. His head still hurt and as he moved his hand to asses his wounds, he found the bleeding had stopped, only dried crusts of blood sticking around.
The stony walls were damp and covered in layers of dirt and algae and the floor was cold and irregular but beyond this, Nair could see nothing else. There was not an ounce of light anywhere, except a fire torch burning somewhere far-far away in a corridor. He couldn't even tell if it was daytime or night outside.
Putting his hands in a crevice of the wall, he supported himself up, the simple exercise left him gasping for air, his aching muscles crying in protest.
Taki
