She waited, her eyes riveted to the half-naked, traumatised figure of the prisoner. Finally, he unfurled and clambered to his feet.
Lois grimaced at the agony inherent in his movements. She didn't know exactly when Moyne had bashed him, but by now, his bruised muscles and broken skin must have seized up.
And another dose of the Achilles rods - albeit short - would have compounded his anguish.
He swayed a little, one hand extended as if trying to overcome dizziness. Slowly, he straightened to his full height and looked towards the door. Recognition lit his face when he saw the bowl and towel.
He limped to them, sank to his knees, and drank from cupped hands.
When he had finished drinking, he dried his hands on his shorts and cautiously unrolled the towel.
He stopped.
Stared.
Thanks,
Corrina.
