Lone Star Mountain you are not the sound of cannons breaking the sky open

Back dated to roughly a week after her capture. @Iliksis

The subsequent days in captivity are a blur. Lucidity comes and goes through, unaware of how many days it’s been. Her captor, twice a day, brings her something to eat and by result, she spends the next several hours in a daze, or sleeping, and unable to put up much of a fight (not that she likely would anymore, anyway). The opiates help with the pain but it does not always keep up, the vacant spaces in her head causing her the most strife, the frequent headaches from dehydration, but she can do little to aid herself when they prevent her from doing anything without their watchful eye.
 
Ocra groans, shifting her weight a little as her mind pulls from a long sleep. Sometimes she knows she’s alone but her body won’t move in the way she wants it to in order to try and escape. Her brief times of consistent lucidity follow another meal, another sedative. Not eating it reaps punishment—torn flesh upon her muzzle, her ear, anywhere he chooses to bite to prove a point, forcing her to do what he wants and keep her docile. But as she stirs a little more, she doesn’t feel or hear or smell the presence of another. It is likely one of them isn’t very far off but she slowly works, stretching her limbs until she can begin to shuffle upward and attempt to sit up.
 
The longer she is awake, the more aware of the pain she is; the monster has not given her anything else but her poisoned meals, has not attempt to clean her up or treat her wounds. She has learned he does not care about anything than deriving some sick pleasure from her—she will die like this and he will move on, leaving her to eventually rot in some hole in the ground.

he had watched his uncle's procession with his captive for some time now. ocra had been in a sorry state when he first laid eyes upon her -- but now, she was somehow worse. between the spells of unconscious wandering and brief stints of lucidity, she was simply a husk -- hollowed out for ithrik's pleasure.

more than once iliksis had considered what he could do to her; the things he could shape her in. more than once he had kept his carnal thoughts at bay, thinking instead of relmyna.

one day he happened upon the wretch as she was in the process of sitting up. like some devious apparition he slithered down the rocky pass and coiled round her, his eyes hungry as he studied the ugly gashes on her frame. "ever feel like giving up?"

The caves inside the mountain have a sound of their own, occasionally echoing down from one direction or the other. She’s long since given up trying to figure out where they’re coming from or if it’s someone else. It never is. It’s one of the two. Brothers, maybe. She doesn’t know much about them, most of the time sedated in some form so she doesn’t have a lot of time to get to know her new best friends.

Ocra licks her dry lips, the sound of footfalls in the distance. She can’t tell how far they are, or who they are, but she eventually finds the direction she swings her head and points where she assumes it’s coming from. It hurts to move more than an inch at a time, now, so she’s barely upright when the Other shows. There’s no blood in the air, he does not hold something for her to eat—and to be drugged—it probably won’t be long before he shows up.

Unless this is the plan? To suffer even more, feel the pain of their ire. To both live or die, she needs Him, but she can’t play along to the ploy if she doesn’t understand the purpose.

She closes her lids over new gaps in her head, unable to discern the pain of their absence and the headache crawling in her head. Pain finds the familiar areas on her form, which increases the moment he comes close, causing her to flinch.

“Haven’t I,” she says, voice low and raspy and tongue as dry as sandpaper.

as he loomed over her, he saw her flinch; his tail lashed and a wicked smile curled in a satisfied expression on his lips. he settled down directly in front of her, the dull yellow of his gaze peering into her sightless eyes. two black and sunken holes, raw and crusted with weeping granulation. she was not as pretty as she had once been -- if she had ever been pretty at all.

"no." he answered, placing one paw in front of the other. "you haven't yet." and then a delightfully wicked idea came to him. he looked about him carefully, knowing the shift in his body was detectable. he then turned back to her and spoke in a hushed voice. "i could help you."

The tension doesn’t ease when he steps away from her, trying to trail him until the sounds stops in front of her. Her ears flick back against her head, feeling the need to drop her nose and point her empty gaze to the ground.
 
No, he says a beat later. She knows he is right. She’d refuse the food, the poison. She’d take all the pain in the world from the devil himself if it meant her end, but somehow she knows it wouldn’t be. He’d find a way to keep her from dying and bring her back, just enough, to prove his point or do it all over again. A shiver runs down her spine—I could help you—and she trembles, shuffling her front feet and slinks back down to the ground, sitting sternal.
 
Ocra remains silent, finding she has no answer for him aside from the slight lift of her nose, as if she were to look at him to continue.

truly, iliksis had never seen a creature so bled of life; it was as if her spirit was extinguished. he delighted in witnessing it, and marveled the monstrous evil that his uncle was capable of committing.

she hadn't said anything in reply: a shame -- it had been an extended hand, aide for a soul in need -- iliksis quickly snatched it back. "you don't seem interested." he commented, dull eyes resting on the hollowed sockets in her skull.

Ocra swallows as he takes a moment to answer, only to think she doesn’t seem interested. A chance to end it all? He’s quiet and she isn’t certain she’s facing the right away, even though he’s speaking to her. She shifts her weight, inching forward and shaking her head. “No, no, please,” she starts, licking her dry lips and lowering her head. What is it did he have in mind? Would he really do something against Him? What if this is a trap, too? “I can’t do this anymore,” she says quietly, certain He will be the death of her sooner rather than later.

unfortunately, his heart was not one swayed by pleading. iliksis lifted his muzzle, condescension written clear across its' sharp curves; not that she was capable of beholding anyway.

he felt no pity for her, for he was no better for her than ithrik -- she had little to offer him and he was not a creature to extend aide of his own volition or kindness. it was latent, but he realized he had nothing to gain from her - she would not be an amusing toy, and ithrik would soon come to collect her anyway.

coldly, the male said nothing in return and instead, left her entirely.