Sleeping Dragon Shackles around my wrists

Sorry for the delay!

 
Storm looked up as he caught the sounds of a soft-footed pack member outside. He cringed slightly; not that he had been badly treated since his initial capture, but he was beginning to realise that his leg was healing, and soon he would be asked what he could do for his pack. The answer: nothing.
 
The lady who came into the cave held meat and something greenish in her muzzle. He considered it could be for him (often his guards presented him with meat, but it was usually the gnarly ends of hooves, or other such fodder to keep him alive). He was skinnier than he ever had been, and the muscles in his legs were beginning to atrophy – luckily his leg had stopped hurting when he stepped on it, and he could not limp short distances without too much effort. He would have to build his strength slowly, but in short Lucani was a miracle worker with the poor resources she had been allowed to spend on him.
 
Storm looked over his new companion’s pretty face, and he laboriously pushed himself up into a seated position, his ears  and shoulders low. The whip-ish tail tucked under his bum gave a few tiny wags of supplication and Storm’s eyes settled on the meat in her mouth. Drool collected in the corners of his mouth despite his best intentions.
 
He was nothing better than a whipped dog in a cage, starved of freedom, desperate for any attention.