You've been riding in the back of some kind of wagon for several minutes now. With your hands bound, mouth now gagged, and a bag over your head, you've been entirely reliant upon your ears and your wits. Despite the throbbing in your skull, you've been creating a mental map of the path the wagon has taken.
It quickly exited the camp, and you could hear the sound of traitors outside of your wagon turning away any curious eyes. To the average infantryman, this incident, however suspicious, is above their pay grade. Those lower in rank may have less power, but they also have less responsibility.
You're going to have to escape yourself.
Listening closely, you can hear the slight shuffling and low breathing of what sounds like a pair of guards inside the wagon with you.
You lean back in your seat, feeling the back of your head rub against a sheet of canvas. The wagon must be covered, then. You don't risk any further movement or inspection, or you might tip off your captors that you're still conscious.
The wagon runs over a rock, jostling you. You let yourself fall limply from your seat to maintain your cover. You hear one man curse, while another chuckles to himself. Two guards. Your earlier theories are confirmed.
Your captors make no attempt to put you back in your seat, content to let you lie presumably unconscious on the floor.
You mentally steel yourself for the coming journey.
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