Branwen

Date: 2015-06-03 08:21 am (UTC)
Branwen awakes to the sound and smell of too many people in too small a space, still air and stone walls, and for a moment she is back in Circle dormitories, before wakefulness brings sense and memory with it. Not enough, perhaps, because her first action is to roll over and reach for the bow that should beside her, before shackles and deep ache in her left arm stop the motion.

Resettling on her back, she inhales deeply, taking stock. Five other people in the room with her. Only the haziest memory how she got here, without the headache that would explain that level of vagueness. No idea where her horse and weapon had got to. She recalls indignant whinnying when she'd been attacked, but couldn't say whether Brute had been taken by her captors or killed -- she knows he wouldn't have ran. Branwen hopes her surly stupid horse hasn't been turned into dogmeat for kicking some thug's head in.

She sits, drawing up her feet so she can loop the chain between her manacles around her feet. Pushing out with her legs and pulling back with her arms, she exerts all the force she can muster on the restraints, but the links are solid enough work and fail to part. She does not truly expect them to; her fellow captives range from much larger to much smaller than her, and it seems unlikely they'd have shackles to fit all of them and then skimp on the chains themselves. She eyes the door. It's out of her reach unless she climbs over her new companions, but it looks similarly disinclined to give way to a good kick. The slit was promising. You could do a lot with rats -- clever, dexterous creatures no one looked too askance at. She could do more with rats if she'd been tied with rope, but she'll take what luck she can get.

Having exhausted the short list of things she could do herself at this moment, Branwen gives the person nearest her a gentle nudge with her elbow.
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