Morne was getting very tired of being put in chains.
The ones around his wrists and ankles were made of solid iron, each chain link thicker than three of his fingers put together. They clanked and rattled with every step, providing an annoying tempo to their march that grated on the nerves.
He didn't know why, but after Gram's laughing fit, the elves had decided to take him, Essenla, and Gram as prisoners, throwing them in irons, taking their weapons, and dragging them through the forest to who-knows-where.
They had been walking for hours now, and although she kept her mouth shut, Essenla looked like she was screaming obscenities in her mind, her demeanor was that furious. She kept her smoldering gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at the elves even when they gave her orders like "speed up" or "go that way."
