{{wst>session-main}}

{{wst>shyriath|The Cerulean Tangle, watered by frequent rains and the countless tributaries of the mighty Sahvarr, was a place of life and green, day or night... or so it was said. The towering peaks of the Spine of Sirdanth lay between here and there, and many of those who inhabited the Brightness had never seen those distant lands.

Here, when Mikurmiya rose above the horizon, there were few places with cool waters to shelter in. A few rivers wound across the landscape, making their way to the sea far in the west, and here the takmar clung stubbornly to life, defying the burning heat of the day, the chill of the night, their own neighbors, and the xtauh.

The xtauh... the barbaric (to the takmar) and savage (to the takmar) inhabitants of the desert. They bathed in sand and dirt, it was said, and even ate it, when takma eggs or infants weren't available. They had lived here, said others, long ago, but the Empire had put a stop to that, evicted them in the name of civilization. Some of them, it was true, were not interested in violence - they brought goods out of the north for trade, no doubt scrounged from dust and rock - but they were watched, and closely.

As for the rest of them, nothing was to be expected from them but foul manners at their best, and atrocity and abomination at their worst. They only stopped attacking, fighting, and killing takmar when they ran out of takmar, and then they attacked, fought, and killed each other. Or they stopped when takmar ''made'' them stop.

See this xtauh, for example. His name was Akali.

He was hard to miss in a crowd, at least one in this vicinity. His scales were a violently bright red-orange, his eyes golden. Around his neck was a metal collar, firmly locked shut. A chain connected him to a long line of similarly collared prisoners, some xtauh, some takmar, each one bearing as much weight as they could carry without keeling over and dying in the heat - the party having lost its weakest members quite a few vigils ago, after the sun had risen. Several overseers, armed with various prods and weapons, periodically surveyed the line, returning often to the cart that contained the water supplies.

They were, at long last, on the final leg of their journey, bound into the river-fork city of Torniim from the Khelid Oasis; ahead of him, the city shimmered in the heat rising from the ground. Akali had never been there before. Although he had long since learned to muzzle himself in the presence of his Soaker captors (for captors they were; even after learning Imperial, he still failed to comprehend the nuances behind the word 'masters' and disdained its use) he privately remained unimpressed. The place looked busy, and dense, like all the hives and warrens that the Soakers called cities, but, also like them, looked utterly unlivable to one of the People. If he could once again not effect and escape, he hoped at least to be gone from it shortly.

He stoically ignored the metaphorical weight of the Burning Eye upon his back - the more literal weight of his pack, at least, provided some shelter there - as they approached the city gate. The party stopped at a station near the gate, separating out all those who were not witches or xtauh to a building there. Some cities, such as Torniim, objected mildly to the enslavement of //real// takmar, but made provision for merchants not to break their laws by allowing them to keep their charges outside the walls. This, of course, meant that slaves such as the xtauh had the privilege of hauling into the city such goods as could not be sold at the outside markets. Akali could, he thought sourly, feel the joy rising in his liver at that thought.

And, because the world was such a cooperative place, naturally they did indeed choose Akali for this duty, though he felt compelled to admit that his own surliness toward them several vigils back might have contributed to their choice, and at the direction of their whips he bore an immensely heavy load of metal ingots into the city itself. Here, amid high, close-packed buildings, were even closer-packed takmar. His captors drove him, and several other xtauh, through the crowds, and Akali struggled to contain the sense of claustrophobia that ensued as they plowed doggedly through the press of bodies.}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|And yet, even though Akali would have rather Daxelh's Gentle Eye gaze down upon him, at least She could gaze upon Akali at all.

An-uxhwi had been imprisoned in the dark reaches of a mine.

It was a strange form of imprisonment. The shaft reached deep into the rocks, becoming dank and foul toward its innermost limbs, branching out in several directions, none of which granted any freedom.

The inhabitants, of which An-uxhwi was not the only, dug into the reluctant rock, driven largely by their captor's ransom demands for bare necessities, such as food. Some of them, perhaps having eroded their sanity in time with the rocks, were driven also by the crazed idea that if they worked hard enough, they might eventually break out of some other side.

An-uxhwi had ruled out that form of escape a while ago - although not others.

The Soakers, you see, were very specific about where they wanted their captives to dig, and some of them strolled through the mines to inspect the work with their distorted, expressionless faces. They had tried to take down one of them once, An-uxhwi knew. All that had gotten them was a few days without food.

In either case, despite the numerous arms the mine had extruded, it was clear they //wouldn't// be made to work on any of those all the way until they chipped open an alternate exit.

What was not clear was what inspirations //guided// the Soakers; whatever use they had for the raw materials their captives bore out of the ground, they were //very// good at finding more of it after one source had been poached barren.

But An-uxhwi currently showed no interest in that puzzle, unless its resolution helped him sneak out past the guards at the mouth of the mine. So far, he had several deep scratches to show for his previous attempts at flight. For the time being, he was lugging out the rocks, trying to convince his whimpering gut that the exercise would ultimately get him fed.

It was strange, seeing his life this far removed from the Burning Eye. Sometimes he dreamt that Daxelh tilted Her head to look into the depths of the mine, burning away the Soakers and their flimsy hides first, but then in Her great indifference did nothing to spare his people from Her reach.

He wasn't sure what he thought about the dream.

He wasn't sure what he thought about his hunger, either. He didn't like that it made him do what he was told, but that it did. He didn't like how it made a mockery of his times in Pa'irket. He didn't like how it made him reevaluate the words of An-ilhji about the Soaker children.

Really, something ought to be done about this undignified arrangement. But first, loathsome as it was, he wanted to earn his meal.}}

{{wst>shyriath|Slaves inside the mine came no further than the collection point, where the results of their labor were dumped into carts and wheeled away past the gates and the guards toward the outside. While slaves filled the carts in the mine and other slaves were made to aid in hauling them away once outside, the mine's owner had ensured that the transfer of the cart from inside to outside was done by her own hired laborers; for security reasons, slaves did not cross the threshold themselves unless they were being transferred in or out.

Very rarely did any slaves get 'transferred' out while still alive.

The collection point was a large chamber in which the Soakers could stand upright. Insofar as the slaves had a society to which there could be a center, the collection point was that center; opening into the chamber were the longer, narrower ones in which the slaves were quartered, and it was here that food and water were distributed, being brought in from outside on empty carts. There were two other rooms that the slaves were not permitted to enter; An-uxhwi knew from observation that one held several spare carts and another was for the use of the guards and foremen.

Besides these and the branches of the mind, there was only the gate to the outside, through which the carts rumbled. And through this gate came a number of the foremen, clustered together and muttering among themselves in what sounded like worry.

"What are we supposed to tell Her Ladyship?"

"She can't blame us, surely. The thing was practically a twig when they brought her here. What could she expect?"

"She expects us to take care of her investment, that's what," the lead foreman asserted. "And if you knew Ladyship, you'd know that she bloody well //can// blame us, and she will. If she dies on our watch, it's on all our heads."

"So who's going to volunteer to go spooning broth down a witch's throat?"

The lead foreman's nostrils flared. It had to be done, but just being near a witch could get you some attention from Uvuun, everyone knew that. And that was //aside// from the possibility that one might cause the earth to open up and swallow you.

"Might as well get some use out of the damn goblins," she growled, casting her glance around at the xtauh moving around. Her gaze fixed on An-uxhwi, who was nearest. She vaguely recalled a few abortive escape attempts, but most of them tried that at some point; there was no such thing as a xtauh who wasn't a troublemaker. This one, at least, had learned how not to antagonize his masters.

"You," she called, pointing at him. "Put your load in the cart and come here."}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|An-uxhwi tilted his head at the direct address.

He had heard that word - 'witch'. It had been spoken almost with greater disdain than that which they usually reserved for his own people. But what did its mention hold for //him//? 

Direct attention from his captors //could// mean an opportunity presenting itself, at least in the form of patient knowledge gained. (An-uxhwi knew that the Soakers thought his people were stupid. He had done little to try and dissuade them from this misconception, as that the deception might yet help him claw his way back out of this forsaken place.)

On the other hand, it might also simply be a trap. While their faces weren't very expressive, he was sure he had unmistakably //witnessed// the one that was jutting a claw out at him now taking joy at the misery she inflicted on the captives.

He'd learnt to hide his resentment, but that only made it less visible to the Soakers - it did nothing to diminish it.

But if it //was// a trap, it would close its jaws around him regardless what he did, as the only way he could reasonably avoid it was to feign ignorance and continue as he would without the Soaker's interference, which if they were so inclined (and they would be), they would take as a slight and punish as such.

He would just have to find out.

Silent, he kept an acknowledging gaze upon the takmar and cautiously followed their instructions, taking care not to dawdle more than he knew them to tolerate. He was nimbler and faster than any of them; he'd trained enough that he could, with some adequate trickery, come out on top if he had to fight one of them.

But there were more of them here now and he was not yet that reckless - and, for that matter, hopefully never would be.

Still silent, he trudged over to them, making himself reluctantly available.}}

{{wst>shyriath|The lead foreman loomed over him, and lowered her head so that her facial markings were fully visible to him against her dust-colored scales (this body language, at least, An-uxhwi understood; females of his own people did the same to underline their status). "You look fit," she stated. "I have a new task for you. It has its own set of dangers, but you may yet find it preferable to hauling rocks." Whether he noted the upward curve of the antennae that constituted a smile, the narrowed eyes slight baring of teeth that made it malicious were fairly obvious. "Do well at it, and we might find cause to ensure you don't miss so many rations."

She spoke in full hearing of the other slaves in the chamber, and those close enough to hear began giving An-uxhwi hard looks. They were understandably resentful when someone looked like they might be getting //preferential// treatment.

"Or possibly you want to stay with your kind," she added.}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|Trap, or opportunity? //Why not both?//

An-uxhwi gave a soft, deliberate snort - not derisive, despite his feelings, simply somewhat sceptical. "Try anything once," he reasoned, taking care to sound like he hadn't given it much thought at all, but regardless might be willing to take on a potentially less pleasant job if it meant a break from the mind-numbing routine.

Meanwhile, the pit of his stomach enthusiastically proclaimed its own selfish interest in the rations. Possibly the Soakers had even heard its squirming murmurs.}}

{{wst>shyriath|The foreman nodded; she'd heard. It was a deal she even intended to honor; a bit of extra food was worth not being called before the mine's owner for letting her little pet die.

"This way," she said, leading him toward the gate. The gate! The way out!

Not that it mattered. The number of guards here made it extremely inadvisable to try to escape; nor, as it turned out, was he led anywhere near the surface. Only a few tens of meters beyond the gate, there was a small but extremely heavy-looking door, all by itself, built into the side of the tunnel, with a pair of guards standing by.

"This task," the foreman informed An-uxhwi as the carts rolled by, "involves no breaking rocks or lifting or dragging. It involves very little moving around at all. You may well have more time to rest while doing it than you have had in turns. But it is a dangerous task, and an important one."

She pointed at the door. "In there is a witch, a user of dark powers. It might well be capable of killing us all, except that it has been kept docile with meekleaf extract." Though it did not grow in the Brightness An-uxhwi knew the Soakers received it from elsewhere; he had had a brief experience with meekleaf himself, having been drugged with it after his last escape attempt. He'd found himself unquestioningly and calmly following orders for several rests thereafter.

"But it has become sick. We cannot give it meekleaf while it's like that, though it can't hurt any of us at the moment either. But we cannot let it die, as it has... a role in the operation of this mine." The foreman sounded genuinely distasteful on this point. She continued, "It has to be made well. That is //your// task." She fixed An-uxhwi with a dark glare. "You will remain in there with it. If its condition does not improve, you will be punished. If it dies from its illness, you will be //severely// punished. If it recuperates and tries to escape before it is pacified, you will be punished - if it doesn't kill you first. But if you are able to nurse it back to sufficient health, and we have it docile once again? We are willing to extend some generosity. And so long as its health improves, you will receive more frequent meals."

She paused, and added, "I am certain that others might succeed if you fail. Do not think you are irreplaceable in this. Do you understand?"}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|'A role in the operation of this mine'. An-uxhwi put two and two together, privately, letting none of his astonishment show. He scratched lightly at his collar bone, his mind lingering on the thoughts. A magic that would let them find specific metals in the ground? It seemed plausible and unlikely at the same time. If they had the assistance of some creature adept at magic, surely it could be put to better use than instructing others to dig rocks out of the ground?

Like escaping this prison, for example. That was what An-uxhwi would ask of a magic-user, if he could establish rapport. And surely their interests would differ, but if they were both held captive, escape was likely a common interest.

And yet the Soakers seemed willing to risk it. 'If it recuperates and tries to escape before it is pacified, you will be punished.' What a curious remark. What a curious subject. An-uxhwi tried to picture what a witch might be - an enchanted Soaker? Whatever it was, it was repulsive even to the Soakers, enough so that they preferred to risk a slave as its main caretaker.

He could kill it, likely crippling their entire operation. It would be at cost of his own life, but given the Soakers' opinion of xtauh intelligence, he was surprised the threat didn't honestly seem to occur to them

In either case, it was repulsive to the Soakers, and became thus repulsive even to An-uxhwi. What hideous monstrosity were they hiding? Nonetheless, it was a captive, as was he. Commonality.

"Yes," he said to his captors, simply, letting his body language speak of curiosity and apprehension, although he was quite unsure to what degree the Soakers could pick up on such an inflection.}}

{{wst>shyriath|"Good," the foreman replied. She had noticed An-uxhwi's stance, but how the xtauh felt about the situation was almost entirely irrelevant to her; what mattered was that he now understood the situation, at least to the extent that was needed.

The door had a slit-window at takma eye height, for observation; she peered through it, grunted vaguely, and unlocked and opened the door. "Get in, then," she ordered. "Food will be brought later. Try to get it to eat some." 

The interior of the room echoed slightly as the door was shut behind the xtauh. There was only one chamber, though it seemed quite a large one after the confined spaces of the mines; it was lit only by a single candle, which was starting to burn low. By its light An-uxhwi could see a sort of trough against one wall; water could be heard trickling down the wall into it. At the other end of the room was a hole in the floor, which judging by the faint smell around it was the full extent of the lavatory provisions.

Situated near the water trough was a wooden platform elevated off the ground by several inches; on top of it was a pile of straw or hay - a crude bed, but far more luxurious than anything he'd seen in a long while - and upon that was a figure lying prone under a tattered piece of canvas - a vermin-chewed old cloak, it looked like, that had been repurposed as a blanket.

Not much could be seen on what was under it, though the bit of tail protruding from the bed suggested that was at least of a familiar shape. It didn't seem to be as large as a Soaker, however, and a bit too large to be one of his own kind.

It hadn't responded to the sound of the door shutting; either it was asleep or couldn't respond. As the echoes from the door died away, the sound of faint, shuddering breaths could be heard.}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|What a strange, mysterious creature this supposed witch had to be - some thing partway between the likes of his people and the Soakers? In either case, it would no doubt be endowed with teeth and claws, and so he tempered his curiosity with caution. Nonetheless, he approached, slowly, his antennae squirming, undecided on what emotion to convey.

Whispered for now, still a generous arm's length away from his mandated protégé, he spoke to the creature to ask a question: "Can you speak?"

He was willing to repeat the question in as many tongues as he could knit together, but was unsure whether it was wise to volunteer such from the beginning. The Soakers might think his people stupid, but if they suspected they were not, if they witnessed it or were told of it, it would be evidence he didn't care to grant them, lest they tighten their controls further.

There was a good chance it was asleep or too sick to hear him, or in any case care about answering, even if the answer would be 'yes'. There was also a chance it would take offence to his vocalisations whether it understood or not, and would even in its weakened state attack him. But he had to try.

Had he instead proved too scared to even talk to the creature for the whole duration of this unusual chore, while thus minimising risk, opportunity would surely equally pass him by. Best reveal his willingness to speak soon and see what came of it - even if that were to be only simple panting for now.}}

{{wst>shyriath|The thing under the cloak shifted slightly, then, slowly and tremblingly, moved its forelimb out and pulled the cloak aside. There was a //clinking// as it did so.

The face that looked out him was grimy, but enough was visible to suggest relatively light-toned facial markings on a rust-colored face; clearly //it// was a //she//. She was also a evidently a Soaker; though the drooping of her antennae made it hard to tell at first, they were still too straight for one of his own kind. The clinking had been of a chain; it appeared, in fact, that there heavy steel cuffs around each limb and a collar around her neck, all chained together, and the collar chained to the wall. Though this chain looked long enough to allow her to reach the rest of the room, someone had obviously invested a lot in keeping her from getting any further. The chains looked painfully heavy.

She cast him a look that seemed to be aimed at something several meters beyond him, and appeared to try to swallow with great difficulty; when she spoke, her throat sounded dry. "Issit time?" she croaked faintly.

She made a feeble attempt to lift her head, only for it to thunk roughly back into the straw. "Issit- no. Not time yet." She muttered to herself. "Still, still things- yes. Good. Tired. Can't." Her eyes fell half-closed, but she turned her gaze back toward him. "Early. Good. Makes it easier."

She squinted at him, an action that resulted in her eyes closing. After a moment, however, she mumbled, "Not what I expected."}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|The appearance startled An-uxhwi. The comment at the end was bewildering - //Not what I expected//. Something about the way it was delivered made it immediately clear that this was not the usual Soaker disdain for his kind - it had a different quality entirely, although he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

It was a strange sight in general, tugging at An-uxhwi's empty gut in an unpleasant sensation. There was sympathy for the creature's state, its form of slavery in some ways worse than his own for how little it was allowed to move - but it was also a Soaker, which held the opposite connotation. He mentally struggled a little with the juxtaposition.

"They are bringing food soon," he said, for want of anything better to remark, still trying to sort how he felt about her, still cautious, despite the chains - but also curious. He ran a mostly dry tongue across his teeth, trying to temper his confused antennae.

At the very least, she did not seem remotely hostile to his presence, which was far more than he had expected. She seemed to have spoken with some relief, and while much of that might be due to her illness, it suggested whatever revulsion she harboured of his people was negligible enough that he hadn't detected it at all.

An-uxhwi was thus saddled with a question he'd never really had to ask himself before: How does one truly forge an alliance with a creature from a different species and culture?

For a moment, he found himself approaching the problem from within the current situation - a sickly Soaker female, an undernourished xtauh, common traits one might be able to appeal to (it had seemed simpler when he had considered it in abstract - their slavery was certainly common ground). Then a sudden realisation let him step back from the problem:

How would //he// like to be treated? Many of the traits he ascribed to Soakers were an antithesis of how he would like to be treated, that much was clear. That she was a Soaker was secondary - the Soakers were treating her the same way! He glanced at the chains. //Well, nearly the same way.//

The point of view made matters clearer. He could regret the course of action later, when all it netted him was ridicule - but for now, it seemed a solid first approach to simply try to be helpful to her health and comfort

"There is no question that our captors are cruel, but it seems they are also truly poor thinkers. Those chains are probably not helping your health," he observed, softly. "They are gathering dirt and restricting your movement. ...if it pleases you, might I clean your scales?"}}

{{wst>shyriath|She squeezed her eyelids, the relaxed them without opening them. She was exhausted, monumentally exhausted, among other things. But it wasn't time to sleep yet. "Yes. Please."

Not that there was much to clean with. The water in the trough helped, of course - it was surprisingly clear - but the tattered canvas "blanket" was the only textile in evidence to use for wiping. He tried to wet as little of it as possible for the task at hand. Fully uncovered, it was clear that, in addition to being chained, she wasn't being fed much, either; her ribs were clearly visible.

In fact, after An-uxhwi had de-grimed her face, he noted sunken eyes and dry, brittle scales, with spots of blood crusting around the corners of her mouth. He had seen the signs of dehydration often enough in the desert to recognize them.

The Soaker appeared to be aware of his pause to observe this. She mumbled, "Guards. Slave's a slave." She drew in a quivering breath, and then added, with feeling, "Brainless."}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|"One would think that if they thought us their tools, they would at least ensure we can continue to function," he observed, regret in his voice, taking in the damage. How were they expecting her to recover from her illness if she wasn't properly fed? //Brainless// indeed.

Finally, concluding the cleaning to best of his limited ability, he cautiously draped the textile back over the Soaker captive, taking care to keep the moist corner away from her body. There was no bowl he could have used to bring her water from the trough, so he fought down the urge to offer some, aware he couldn't fulfil it. Hopefully, she would drink from the trough once her health improved.

Then he allowed himself to venture on his curiosity: "What is it that they ask of you?"}}

{{wst>shyriath|She forced her eye open. Not time yet. No sleep yet. An-uxhwi's face wavered unsteadily in her gaze. "Tell them where their silver hides."

Precious metals on her mind, which was struggling not to wander off as it was, she squinted owlishly at his scales, and moved a forepaw enough to prod gently at his nearest leg. "Gold," she mumbled.}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|"...yes." He was mildly surprised she could tell his natural colouration was more than a sickly ochre, given the haze of her sickness and the catastrophic state of his scales - the comment was so unexpected that it knocked him off course for a moment.

It took him just long enough to gather his thoughts again - all those hopeful strands that hoped to assess her abilities and plot a means to escape with them - that he could instead take note of her state once more. With great pains, he reminded himself of his plan; //comfort// did not include interrogation.

As much as his curiosity as to how she could reveal to her captors 'where their silver hides' almost constricted his throat, he restrained it for now. "But I don't mean to keep you from rest. I can wake you when the food comes."}}

{{wst>shyriath|The temptation! "Not yet," she croaked, raising her head briefly. "First food. Bowl. Water. Then sleep." Her head thumped back down onto the straw. "Please. Important."

It had to happen in the right order. Sleep now, without the other things, and she might very well not wake up again; in that future lay a wall across the path of her life.}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|Some misguided instinct leant him forward, cautiously touching a forepaw to her shoulder - meant as a soothing gesture, perhaps, though he wasn't entirely sure he understood his own confused motivations. "Of course, if you wish," he acknowledged, slightly bewildered by her insistance. "...might you then forgive me further curiosity about your role, while we wait?"

It was a partly rhetorical question - he would let her protest, of course, and relent if she did, but did not strictly wait for explicit approval. Instead, he continued softly: "I don't understand how you can guide them to the silver they seek when they keep you in here. I have never seen you in the tunnels. How do you find it?" //What magic do you call your own?//}}

{{wst>shyriath|She considered this question muzzily. The guards and the mine owner knew that she knew where to point them for the silver. She hadn't dared tell them //how// she knew. There was such a thing as being seen as //too// useful - a fact that was as true of possible allies as of captors.

Either way, she couldn't tell him when said captors were in danger of hearing, as they were now. Within a few moments, there was the sound of the door being unlocked and unbarred; she flicked her gaze meaningfully in that direction, and remained silent.

The guard who entered bore a crude tray and a pair of fairly large bowls (apparently, at least for the moment, they saw the wisdom in not attempting to further starve their charges). Casting uncertain glances at the witch, he edged into the room, two other guards watching from just outside the door; eyeing the distance between himself and her, he glanced at An-uxhwi, mumbled, "Here," and carefully set the tray on the ground before leaving. No point in getting close to the witch when there was someone to do it for him.

Each bowl had a broth of meat and onion in it; whoever had made it had evidently had one prisoner's illness in mind but hadn't felt like making something separate for the other. It was simple and already starting to cool off, but it also smelled better than anything he'd had to eat since he'd been captured.}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|It took much of An-uxhwi's self restraint not to eat first and bring the Soaker her meal later. His stomach protested his choice, grumbling complaint as he cautiously picked up the tray and brought it over to the Soaker captive, carefully sliding it onto the makeshift bed, taking care not to let straw bundle into the bowls in the process, patting it down and aside.

Technically, she was (of course) larger than he. Technically, it would be reasonable that if they wanted to at some point escape together, they be kept as healthy as possible, which meant distributing the food according to their needs. But the bowls had the same size and An-uxhwi's hunger utterly forbade him to make her an offer of eating as much as she liked, including from his formal share.

Still, a part of him regretted the matter, even as he lifted one of the bowls to his own mouth, while eyeing her, his expression momentarily undecided whether it ought to be wary or friendly; it settled on an unmistakable ''hungry'' as he ate.}}

{{wst>shyriath|Under other circumstances, the witch might have begrudged him the disproportionate food, but it was just as well. Poorly-fed though she was, her stomach still quavered unsteadily at the thought of eating.

She clamped the bowl between her forepaws, rested her muzzle on the edge and stuck the tip into the broth, and very slowly and carefully began drinking up broth as if through a straw. After a while, once it seemed that no one was listening and she hadn't yet felt in danger of the broth trying to return to the bowl, she asked, "Why an interest in finding metal?"}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|Although objectively unremarkable, the food tasted fantastic to An-uxhwi - and he'd devoured most of it by the time the Soaker captive spoke. He licked at his muzzle, contemplating the question, sorting his thoughts past the focus on food.

Finally, a little tensely choosing a route dangerously close to the truth, he whispered: "In actuality, none. But whatever guides you to the metal might be useful to understand - it's true a single piece of knowledge may not decide my fate in any meaningful way, but... the more complete my understanding of my circumstances, the better, perhaps, my chances to escape? Eventually?"

A fleeting superstition prevented him from saying 'our chances' - as if perhaps getting that close to his hopes this early in the process brought them closer to shattering.

A pause. "I don't mean for this to be a one-sided exchange. If you are truly bound here as it seems, I can tell you all I understand about what goes on outside. Would you find that useful?"

The chance this was some kind of elaborate trick of his captors was slim, that much he knew, but the idea of simply sharing his crazy utopia of 'let's use your magic and my able limbs to escape' without at least testing the waters first seemed like a poor idea.}}

{{wst>shyriath|
Ahhhh. //Now// things made sense. She'd known that someone would be helping her, but not who, or why. Now, at least, she had the 'who' and the 'why'. She'd already had a good idea about the how.

She drank more of the broth, risked a few of the solid contents, and then murmured quietly, "A nice offer. But no - don't need to know about the outside." She hadn't the energy or the heart to laugh in his face. "Doesn't mean I can't help - or that you can't help me. I need to think about that."}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|An-uxhwi's eyes went wide before he could suppress the reaction. So she had broadly the same thoughts? Of course, it shouldn't come as a surprise to him. No doubt he was the first slave the Soakers had let into the room for a long time; the first thing approaching a kindred spirit. If he were in her situation, he would certainly hope for assistance as well.

His gaze dropped to her chains contemplatively as he finished up his food. He wasn't sure what he could do about those. He had, in honesty, expected to find this 'witch' to be free to move as he was and simply coerced by other means. The chains complicated matters.

But perhaps whatever let her find metals similarly let her be free of them, unbeknownst to her captors, and the chains weren't actually the problem - adequate distractions and timings were. He had no way of knowing unless she explained her abilities to him.

He licked his bowl clean, lost in thought. Then, setting the bowl down on the ground for the time being, he said, with fractionally more conviction than he strictly felt: "I will do what I can."}}

{{wst>shyriath|The witch nodded. Food had been enough of a motivator to perk her up for a while, but she was starting to tire. "Let me think about it. It'll be some time before we can do anything, anyway." She rested her head on the straw again.

The broth had slaked some of her thirst, but not nearly enough. She murmured, "Could you bring some water? You can have the bits left in my bowl."}}

{{wst>pinkgothic|An-uxhwi's stomach proclaimed an interest in her offer before he could temper it. For a moment, he held himself still, forcing himself to assess the situation realistically. He didn't need the extra food, he was mostly ravenous because he hadn't finished digesting his food yet - but she likely did need the rest of hers. After all, she was sick.

"Perhaps it would be best if you ate them later?" he suggested, rising to drag his own bowl to the trough, dipping it into the water to fill it for her. He left drops of water in his wake as he brought it back to her and carefully slid it beside her bowl of food.}}

{{wst>shyriath|She suspected that more food would be brought by the time she felt able to eat anything else, but felt it wisest not to argue, which it was difficult to do in any case while slurping up water. Halfway through the bowl, she gave in, dropped her head to the straw again, and fell asleep.}}