A Weak Moment

Tonight they fed me the same gruel they call food. I can not think they eat this. It is only for an animal like me. A beast. But I supplement my diet with the occasional urt. I used pieces of my leather loin cloth I am allowed. Pieces that I tore and chewed free to make a snare. I catch urts. Not many but enough that I do not feel that I starve to death. I grow lean however.

I have not spoken since I was captured. I try not to think about that moment, though when I do I am comforted by the memory that I sent many off to the other side before me. They were not very good warriors, but they were many in number and that is what I could not win over. Numbers.

The first thing they did to me was shave my hair. My long black strands had never known the sharp edge of a blade. It was long and I wore it in a thick braid down my back. But no more. They sought to wound my pride. They merely succeeded in stirring my hatred. For a long time I reached to my head and felt the smooth skin there. Then the prickle of new hair. Then the soft darkness as it began to grow again. Now it is nearly down to my shoulders. I use the length to mark my time in captivity.

Most of the time has been spent traveling. By caravan, ship and even tarn. Always I am hooded for this. Hooded and chained ankle and wrist. I tried to kill the tarnsman. I have the scar on my left cheek to remember it by. The traveling has ended for now. I know I am in Ar because I heard it spoken by Jorge my keeper to another guard.

Jorge is not as bad as some of them. He treats me with some respect and has tried to get me to talk to him and tell him about myself. Jorge is still a white man and I do not speak to him. It is beneath me. He does not beat me unconscious for it though as the others. He simply turns and walks away. I must respect him for that. I have not been able to make him angry enough to lose his temper. It means he is a strong man.
Tonight I ate an urt I snared. I eat everything but the bones and these I save to chew on during the time when I am not sparring. My stomach is full but I feel the darkness in my head spreading.

I am sick.

I buried myself into the straw like an animal. I ignored the urt droppings and piss. I ignored the smell of sweat from other inmates that were kept in this cell. Only after the straw shut out the lamp light from the Keeper's room did I curl into a fetal position, close my eyes and dream of the Sky. My beaten bloody and worn body wracked with silent sobs of misery for all that I had lost. Only for that few moments did I allow such a weakness. A moment I would not divulge in again for a long time.