Starglow Basin Terrible things

Backdated to Nov 5, jus for some prisoner interaction

Nokht was quiet. Had been for a while. He had to focus to make his leg stop hurting. Some days it was just too much, but he didn't want to catch a bite, or a shove, or an insult. So he managed the pain, grating as it was; perhaps it was the speed of adaptation. A body unsuited to the kind of brutality it had been shown, yet determined, ever-clinging, despite it all.

He didn't want to think about home. But he couldn't help but wonder why everything had happened the way it did.

Why why why? It was all his fault. He sat near the entrance, taking in the sparse rays of sunlight, sitting in silence. He didn't dare move a paw past the threshold.

children were her greatest—and perhaps only—weakness. perhaps it was because she was a woman, and her femininity barred her from the kind of callous attitude with which these men had treated the boy. just the thought that her own womb could bear fruit, and said fruit could then be plucked from her at a moment's notice. . .

it was with this somber mien that she entered the dugout, giving the captive a gentle smile. the others were away, patrolling or creating the concoctions that had apparently gained them such notoriety.

she hadn't tried green yet. perhaps she never would. she needed her wits about her if she was to hang with this bunch.

hello, fiamma murmured, folding down to sit near the boy. come stai—how are you feeling?

probably a silly question; he looked absolutely miserable, and the worse for wear. how did one even begin to address a child in such straits? 

but she was curious about what had transpired between this ragtag bunch and those they'd battled. it was possible that the boy knew nothing at all, and had merely been caught in the middle of some blood feud—a tinderbox set alight.

outside, black vultures circled some dead or dying thing, casting long shadows upon the dusty basin bottom.

The group had grown in the past weeks, faces unfamiliar crowded the place; he felt angry. Finally, when the sadness reached its peak, in its place grew simple hatred. A hatred which flickered dimly in mismatched eyes.

And all they did was watch. Monsters. Every. Single. One. Even the ones who pretended to be kind, he knew he would get no kindness, and so when another settled nearby and spoke in his tongue, he sat back up, and inched backwards, wincing as he struck a chord in the mangled limb attached to him. 

...f-fine... 

He would not complain, for fear of being lulled in by sweet words, only to receive teeth in the end.