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With a great effort of will, Lindir pushed back the cloak that had been laid over his body. He struggled to sit up, but could not seem to move his arms or legs. The door to the gatehouse had been pushed open an inch or two, and a thin band of light had spilled over onto the floor. Outside, Lindir could hear voices engaged in earnest conversation.
At least he was awake and just barely conscious of what was going on around him. But a sharp pain still clawed at his side. More ominously, Lindir could not organze his thoughts and was still profoundly weak. He slowly turned his head to the side to see what was going on. The room was bathed in shadow despite the rising of the sun. No one else seemed to be up yet. For a long time, it was quiet but then came a scuffling noise from the other side of the room. Someone was up, Lindir reasoned, but he could not see who it was.
Struggling to form coherent words, Lindir whispered in a cracked voice, "Water? Does someone have water? Is that you, Endamir or Lomwe? What is this place and where are we going?"
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