Another short, pained sound as he's turned around, his arm twisted and then trapped between his body and that of the man holding him. He feels something stir and immediately hates it and wants to attack it, like someone unwanted coming into his chamber without invitation. Not here. Not now.
He's being moved and it's rather difficult to drag his feet when he's being propelled from behind. With those vice grips on him it is the only recourse he has.
The Dark Urge is taking him back.
But the words -- confusing. Joining? He is hardly a scholar of bhaalist practices but that was not how they tended to refer to their kills. But his strength is failing him; he is being marched to his end. He might be hearing something his mind construes to something like escape.
And that roiling in his gut at the notion of punishment that he cannot quite explain, he has to ignore.
"My place?" He thrashes but it amounts to as little as his feet trying to refuse to go forward. His bravado as his breath returns is all he has. "Surely you're not all accustomed to your quarries offering their necks."
no subject
He's being moved and it's rather difficult to drag his feet when he's being propelled from behind. With those vice grips on him it is the only recourse he has.
The Dark Urge is taking him back.
But the words -- confusing. Joining? He is hardly a scholar of bhaalist practices but that was not how they tended to refer to their kills. But his strength is failing him; he is being marched to his end. He might be hearing something his mind construes to something like escape.
And that roiling in his gut at the notion of punishment that he cannot quite explain, he has to ignore.
"My place?" He thrashes but it amounts to as little as his feet trying to refuse to go forward. His bravado as his breath returns is all he has. "Surely you're not all accustomed to your quarries offering their necks."