Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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The Wolf Lord's twenty-four hour deadline had passed, with Bennett flatly denying any accusations the frustrated Lothar had leveled at him concerning Frances' whereabouts. Their last meeting had been tense and uncompromising. The imprisoned warrior could see plainly Lothar's seething anger at his refusal to cooperate, yet Bennett could detect the dour man had expected no less from his proud prisoner. Who during the course of the questioning sat straight backed against the bars revealing little, dwarfing all present soldiery included with his mighty presence.
Lothar had chosen this time to interview his captive from the confines of the cells. He knew this meeting would be brief, even if it was painful for him to attend. Much preferring these days to conduct all his affairs from the comfort of his quarters, or if a task was too demanding physically, through his trusted aide Krosse. After hearing the report of Bennett's near escape, and details of the severe injuries meted out to the last unfortunate man, Lothar decided it was not worth the risk to bring him again to his chambers.
The small statured Krosse was hovering behind his Lord in his spotless black attire, gold buttons gleaming, raven like. Ever attentive was this man, his bony hands resting on his Lord's wheelchair, eyes vivid with interest looking for the slightest signs of a lie or unease. Bennett had never been more wary of any individual he had ever met than he had of Victor Krosse, marking him at once as a great adversary. Understanding why Lord Lothar had chosen him as his advisor.
His own torturer Pig was pale and none too inventive by comparison, and he wondered what it would be like to have such a clever ally working for him devoted to his causes? Dismissing that same notion in an instant, Bennett uncomfortable with having such an intelligent man around, seeing plainly the Doctor was the true power behind the throne here, and now even more so since Lothar's virtual incapacitation. The Wolf Lord having to depend on Krosse heavily to gain relief and treatment so he could resume some semblance of his former life.
Bennett was devoid of ideas on how he was to evade his fate, pondering the welfare of his forces on the outside, harboring dim hope of rescue. Each day he scoured the changing guards faces for anyone familiar in their ranks, but he saw no one he recognized. As the days wore on he was losing all hope of outside help. He had little option but to maintain his stony facade of silence as he sat stoically in his cell. Some days he would pace its steel confines for hours at a stretch, bare feet padding on the cold concrete, the rhythm of his footsteps maddening in the silence. Meal times he would only pick at the bland food he was presented with listlessly, wondering why he bothered to eat at all.
He was a wild thing cornered, taken from his habitat, removed from his purpose. All his reason for existence gone, the only thing left to him was a bitter sense of resignation. To reveal Frances' demise was certain death to them all, he being the only one who knew of her accidental expiration. Knowing too Krosse would leave him to the last.
Though it was a silence he was beginning to regret at this juncture, the results of which were beginning to unnerve even the likes of one as hard and cruel as he. In his long years of campaigning in the desert he had tortured many men for their secrets. He had watched on mercilessly whilst each one went slowly to their deaths in agonizing torment at his own hands, or those of the much reviled Pig. Some very brave in the face of their fate, others terrified and pleading. However he had never been on the receiving end of torture before, and inside he hoped he could be brave and hold out against whatever was to come.
