Ankyra Sound a shadow of the past

isengard took another deep breath, lingering in the sharp pinprick of pain in his throat; rubbed raw from the saltwater unintentionally consumed. a small coughing fit precedes the tangy, bitter taste of salt that lingers in his mouth. but it is no longer his only concern, the hunger that gnaws at his painfully empty stomach. the desire to sate his thirst.

he is vulnerable. too vulnerable. he looks up at her; slough eyed. he is at her mercy. she holds all the power, all the cards.

he would wager that she knew it too, if her words that follow her initial question for his name are of any indication. to him, they are. is-isengard. he winces, swallows thickly but it does nothing to help him.

there is enough of him that lingers, a weak flame, that wants to point out he didn't know there was a pack nearby, didn't know where he was and that he hadn't chosen to wash ashore here.

but he doesn't.

he does not have the energy, and does not wish to upset the sylph that very well, unknowingly or otherwise, hold his life betwixt her jaws. ...di-didn't know. isengard struggles to speak, swallowing thickly after each word. haloisi, he breathes. the sea, he translates. there was a storm...