My shoulders hurt from the strain of my tied-up hands behind my back.
The ropes cut deeply into my skin, my wrists have become numb.
I wait in the dust, watching the motes move slowly through the shafts of light.
This light, it moves steadily around the room, as the sun moves across the sky.
Four days I think. Four sets of shafts of light. A billion motes.
When will you come to save me, to find me. You promised, you told me.
I believed you when I went with them. I trusted you, in your armour.