Subject A northern interlude

Acer sits in the cell. He can not tell if it is dark in the room. He can not tell if the ground is damp or cold. He can not sense anything living around him. His shackles have been pinned through his forearms. The manacles would not hold the normal way now, not with his hands gone. He tries to swallow but the swelling from where his tongue once was makes it almost impossible. He thinks he can see the image of an afterimage of the sun in his eyes but knows better. His eyes were the first thing they took. He tries to concentrate on changing from, but whatever potion they are giving him makes that impossible. He lifts a silent prayer to Obad-Hai that the Council would listen to his commands and send no more druids.

He hears a commotion outside the cell and the lock on the metal door bangs open. "Acer" cries an anguished voice. He recognizes Sephira and his despair only grows. "What have they done to you?" she asks and is answered by the voice he has come to dread. "Nothing we have not done to the rest of your type." The voice is cold and almost with out passion. A dead voice. A dead man. The voice continues.

"Nothing we will not do to you." This time a little passion escapes into the voice. Acer's ears fill with the horrifying sounds of Sephira's screams. Obad-Hai., Acer prays, please let the Council send Salix and his friends, or the Woods is lost.