"Ettinsmoor? Is that what we're calling it now?" Imira asked.
"Better than 'the northern lands the Ettins inhabit' don't you think?" Peter asked in return.
"I suppose it's catchy," she agreed. "So what do we do now?"
Peter looked around the room...
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IMIRA
I hated her. I hated her and yet I went to see her.
I waited until I was sure Peter had fallen asleep and snuck out.
Weird, I know. All my sneaking around had always been done to see someone I liked, and now here I was, going to see the person I most despised.
The walk down to the prisons is long and the prospect of encountering bats makes me paranoid. Glorious. I do my best not to scream as I run under the few trees that stand in my path hoping no bats will fly above me. I should have grabbed a torch. Meh, too late to turn back and get one.
Bats don't scare me, they just... okay, maybe they scare me a little. But only because you never see them coming. The bats themselves aren't frightening, I can look at one and I won't run away. But if they start flopping around my head making those shrieky sounds... now that's a different story. Luckily, I make it to the prisons without running into any of them. Let's just hope I'll be this lucky on the way back.
I find four guards sitting outside the gate, two fauns, a satyr and a minotaur.
The satyr spots me first and stands up, the other three follow in his lead.
"Your Majesty,"
"Good evening," I greet them.
He looks confused by my presence.
"Can we do something for you?" the satyr asks.
To be perfectly honest, I don't know what I'm doing here, it's not like I want to see her. But there's just something inside me, call it vanity or a sense of superiority, that has compelled me to come.
"I just need to see our prisoner. I won't be long," I explain.
The satyr grabs a torch and starts leading the way.
I climb the stairs that led to the last level, the level where important prisoners are to be held. Not that we've ever had any important prisoners to hold before her.
The satyr, whose name I did not ask, looks unsure as to if he should stay, but a simple thank you suffices to dismiss him.
I knew she was being treated fairly, I just didn't expect this level of comfort. Her cell is as comfortable as any Datramite soldier's quarter, if not more. It's furnished better than a poor peasant's home. Heck, it even has an ocean view!
She has been provided with clean clothes, food and a warm and comfortable bed. She's better off than I was for my first journey north.
The only other prisoner in this block, besides her, was her mother. Neither could complain, they were being treated with honour and dignity. And yet, despite being provided with clothes she could change into, she still wore that white dress. Only now it was much dirtier. What, did she roll on the floor?
