Two hours later, the wagon finally comes to a halt. After two hours of lying motionless on the hard floor of the wagon, your legs have fallen asleep. A fog of exhaustion envelops your mind. Your adrenaline has crashed, and now the pains of the day are beginning to take their toll.
You feel as if you could fall asleep, even on the damp wagon floor.
A breeze rushes over you as the wagon's fabric entrance is pulled open. A new, gruff voice of a soldier calls to the two men in the wagon with you, "Hey! Get his ass off this wagon. We's stoppin' 'ere fer the night."
"Got it, sir," a voice calls back.
There's a pause, as if to wait for the newcomer, then one of the guards grumbles to the other, "Lieutenant's got a stick up 'is arse."
A chuckle. "Yeah, ya got that right." The guard steps next to you and stretches for a moment. A hand reaches under your armpit. A second later, a second hand reaches under your other armpit. You feel yourself get dragged to the edge of the wagon, legs trailing across the wood.
And then you're thrown out. You strike the ground, sprawling across the mud. Pain fires through your already sore body. You're dragged away by another traitor for a few more seconds before he releases you. The back of your head smacks against the muddy soil.
You lie there for another ten minutes before being dragged again. You feel the fabric of a tent gently brushing against you as you're carried through the entrance. Your hands are further bound to a pole behind you.
Finally, you are left alone.
Your whole body aches brutally. Your wrists sting from the tight bonds, while your shoulders are sore from the awkward position your arms have been forced into.
The day's stresses weigh heavily upon your damaged mind. The normal feelings of hate and frustration that accompany you to your dreams are absent. It seems as if even your own thoughts are too tired to haunt you today.
And so, despite your cramped position and the fiery pain, you drift off to a dreamless sleep.
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