Sleeping Dragon Feathers

Focused as he was on his potential harvest, Storm did not notice the changing of the guard. It was only when a non-Heda’s voice harsh disrupted the silent bubble formed around him that the male realised he was being approached. He was already low to the ground, perpetually a weak and shrivelled looking thing these days, but he cringed lower as Gyda swanned up.
 
Weak and pained from his wound, given the lack of decent pain relief and limited food, the skinny captive gazed up at Gyda’s chin with dull brown eyes, now alight with fear. She had spoken his worst nightmare, dragged it into the light of day. What could he do?
 
Nothing.
 
Dirty fur now lay in matted tressles across his body, for he was still unable to turn and properly clean himself. The thought of bathing in a stream didn’t cross his confused and frightened mind. Storm cast a furtive glance over his shoulder in the hopes that Heda would come and rescue him, but she was gone. He was alone with this beast of torture. A whine whistled its way out of his mouth, but he dared not answer such a command.
 
“Anything you want.” He admitted miserably, voice hoarse and frightened, eyes wide and wet. His ears were folded down against his head and his tail tickled the underside of his ribcage. All he could do was try to do what she wanted. He only wished he knew what it was so he could do it for her right now.