Ouroboros Spine You won't know your worth now, son, until you take a hit

High on the mountain where he was kept, the air was shimmering. For the past few days, at dawn, Nuak could be found testing the lip of stone which served as the doorstop of his captivity. Someone was always there and ready to warn him away with the flash of fangs, or merely through a show of their presence. However, as each day passed and grew warmer, he found them more sluggish to respond to his testing each time.

By the end of the week the air tasted scorched. The shadows Nuak had sheltered himself in through the night had become hot, with a claustrophobic pressure all around. The direct light kept him cloistered as far back as he could manage. He did not test himself or his freedom with sunfire heating the rock; each step burned at his feet, and he knew he was trapped until a verdict was reached.

It was nearly time for the day's end when he woke next. His head felt as if it were full of tumbling rocks. His mouth was dry and while he tried to pant and cool himself, he could not. Was this the witch's doing? Nuak was thirsty, weak, hot, dizzy — was this all because she had cursed him anew with her words?