Blackfeather Woods I'm starting to notice a sound

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The words soothe some primitive part of the wraith, though he barely registers their meaning. He relaxes visibly, pupils shrinking by a fraction, gaze drifting away from Taikon. He starts to speak, a broken mix of French and common at first. « It was a dream, I think — no, » That isn't right. A memory. I was back — I was a captive again, A slave, a possession. He starts to settle into common more easily, still occasionally slipping and correcting himself. His voice is toneless, almost robotic. We had to fight each other. I lost. And then he raped me. The word is harsh and ugly, a relatively new one in his vocabulary, but Zephyr doesn't notice it. He doesn't notice much of anything right now. He's lost in memories, thoughts of how he'd coped in those first few days, how he'd learned about what had happened to him. It was not an uncommon tragedy among the enslaved.