He could taste the fear; thick in the air. Its bitter taste cascaded, rolling down his throat and hitching his breath.
He was numb to everything else, the pain that came from the binds that held his arm tight, the strong stench of his blood from the torture but the fear remained; powerful.
It was a dream, he kept telling himself it was and he had nothing to fear but still, a major part of him refused to listen and held on to the fear he was feeling - it was stifling. He could hear the clomping sound that echoed with the heavy footsteps of his captor, any moment now and he'll be here.
His apprehension increased by folds.
Nicolás struggled against the binds that held him whilst knowing it'll be of no use, his fight only served to make the ropes dig deeper into his wrist.
Eleven days.
