Claws Of Agony

Part-Two (Bound by Fire, Freed by Will)

Dakore's heart pounded violently in her chest as she turned her pleading gaze to her mother. She searched her mother's face desperately, looking for any sign of intervention, any sign that the woman who had birthed her would stand up for her, fight for her, or at the very least, acknowledge the horror of what was happening. But there was nothing. Her mother stood there in silence, eyes downcast, hands wringing against the folds of her wrapper. Anything to avoid meeting Dakore’s gaze. Anything to avoid facing the truth.

Dakore felt her stomach churn with despair, her throat tightening as the reality set in. She was alone.

“You look to your mother, but she will not help you further shame me,” her father’s voice boomed, his deep baritone laced with disdain. “Unlike you, she understands what is important for this family. So did your sisters.”

The mention of her sisters sent a shock of rage through Dakore. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

"It’s your fault they’re dead!" she spat, her voice venomous, her body trembling with fury. "You killed them!"

Her father’s face twisted in anger, his nostrils flaring. Dakore didn’t care. She had no intention of backing down. Not this time. Not ever again.

“I won’t let you kill me too.”

Her father exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. “This is happening, Dakore. Nothing you say will stop it. You had better get used to it now, because when Umar Kaminu comes, you will leave with him. Even if I have to tie your limbs and gag your mouth shut.”

With that final declaration, he stormed out of the room, his heavy footsteps shaking the wooden floor. Her brother, Uthman, followed closely behind, sparing her a glance that held no sympathy.

“Uba!... Uba!” Dakore called after her father, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. No answer. She was left alone with nothing but silence and the suffocating weight of impending doom.

For two whole nights, she wrestled with her fate, battling the horror of what awaited her. She cried, screamed into her pillow, rocked herself in the corner of her room, trying to make sense of the injustice that life had handed her. But there was no sense to be made. Only suffering.

The morning of the day she was to be taken away, Dakore refused to leave her room. Her mother came in first, her voice barely above a whisper as she pleaded with her to comply. Then her father sent Uthman, who, when met with Dakore’s stony silence, simply shrugged and walked away.

And then her father came himself.

He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light, holding thick, coarse ropes in his hands—the same ones he used on his cattle.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

Dakore did not move.

Her father’s expression hardened. He strode forward and, before she could react, grabbed her by the wrist. She thrashed violently, kicking and screaming as he overpowered her. The rough fibers of the rope bit into her skin as he bound her hands and legs tightly, ignoring her protests, her tears, her cries for mercy.

Her mother watched, silent as ever.

By the time he was done, Dakore was left lying on the floor, bound like an animal. The pain from the tight restraints was nothing compared to the betrayal burning inside her.

And that was where she remained, waiting for her fate to be sealed.

But Dakore was not one to surrender.

For hours, she fought against her restraints, wincing as the ropes dug deeper into her skin. Her wrists bled, her fingers went numb, but she refused to stop. Sweat drenched her clothes as she pulled, twisted, and struggled against the knots until—at long last—they gave way.

The moment her hands were free, she wasted no time in untying her legs.

Freedom tasted like the first breath of air after nearly drowning.

She did not hesitate. She did not stop to think. She ran.

She burst out of the house, her feet pounding against the dirt path, her mind screaming for her to go faster. The sun had begun its descent, casting an orange glow over the land, but she had no time to appreciate it. She had only one thought: escape.

The forest loomed ahead, dark and thick with trees. She didn’t care. She plunged into it, pushing through branches, leaping over roots, running blindly toward salvation.

Then—

Pain.

Dakore barely registered the tree stump before she crashed into it. She went flying, her body colliding with the ground, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. She gasped, coughing as dirt filled her mouth, agony spreading through her limbs. Her stomach twisted violently, bile rising to her throat. Her entire body screamed in protest as she tried to move, but she was momentarily paralyzed.

And then she heard them.

Voices. Close. Too close.

“She no fit go far,” one voice called.

“I hear am,” another replied. Her blood ran cold.

Uthman.

“Na her voice be that. This way, follow me!”

Panic seized her. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs were weak, trembling from exhaustion and pain. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she dragged herself forward, clawing at the earth, her fingernails breaking against the rocks. Every inch of her body ached, but the fear of what lay behind her fueled her struggle.

The torches flickered in the distance, their light casting eerie shadows through the trees. The sound of snapping branches and rustling leaves grew louder as the men broke through the forest, closing in on her. She forced herself forward, gritting her teeth as thorns tore at her skin, as every movement sent fresh waves of agony through her limbs.

She could not let them take her back.

A few more feet. Just a little further.

Her vision blurred, sweat dripping into her eyes as she fought to move. The trees ahead seemed impossibly distant, the shadows stretching long and endless.

And then—a clearing.

Hope ignited in her chest. If she could just reach it—

A hand grabbed her ankle.

She screamed.

The forest swallowed the sound.