Nomad {Editing}

::Chapter 5:: Time to Act

When Charlie woke up, pain was filling his body and panic was racing through his mind.

The memories of the day before were blurred and in pieces, but what he remembered was a bear and Arthur.

Right now he found himself bruised and feeling very broken.

And bound at the wrists and under a large number of covers and pillows. It was the first bed he had been in for the better part of a decade, but it was hardly a moment to enjoy the warmth and comfort.

For all he knew, his older brother was dead or dying somewhere in this strange place.

He needed to find out for certain.

It was dark and he couldn't see more then a few feet in front of himself. He could tell he was inside, but where he didn't know. Part of him flinched at the idea that he may have been found by his father's men.

Straining his senses, he tried to find out if anyone else was with him and more importantly where he was. When he was certain that he was alone, he began to try to force himself out of the binds and to his feet.

When a stinging sensation burned around his wrists, it told him that these people were not as kind as his brother. The bindings were silver this time, and he let out a slight whimper as they began to singe away at his flesh.

Letting out a low growl of frustration when he found himself unable to get rid of the binds. He gave in, and threw back his head and said as loudly as his hurting throat would let him. "Is anyone there?" He called.

Pausing as he listened out for any signs of life, he heard footsteps and froze. Preparing himself for whatever might meet him on the other side of the door.

The door opened, streaming light from the outside into the room and blinding Charlie for a moment. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the new light and he squinted through it to look at his captor.

A stranger.

Multiple strangers.

Quickly noting the fact that they were armed, heavily, with crossbows. Charlie let out a low growl, but made no move to try to remove the binds from his wrists. The best he could to appear to not be a threat to the people who held his fate in their hands.

"Hello," the word came from the only unarmed man. It was simple, and Charlie wasn't sure how to react.

Charlie wasn't in the mood to be polite at this moment in time.

"Where's my brother?" well aware that he was in no place to be asking questions or making demands. Yet sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures, and Charlie couldn't remember a time he felt more terrified.

Grateful to find that these men, in spite of being armed, were at least somewhat kind. They didn't seem offended by what he had demanded.

"Hurt, but safe and healing. Much like you," the unarmed man spoke again.

Searching for any scent which might have indicated the stranger was lying, he found none. It didn't necessarily mean that the man was speaking the truth, for he could be a very good liar. Yet for the time being he would accept it as the truth.

These people were being kind enough to try and help him, he would do his best to make sure that he did nothing to hurt them. Until they proved themselves otherwise.

From what Charlie had seen of life in his thirty years, he knew all too well that the possibility stood that these people could be a lot worse then they first appeared.

The stranger was wearing robes, a priest. Charlie decided, watching in silence. God faring men can be evil as well, he told himself as he sat up. Straining against the binds a little as he pulled himself into a straight position.