[ P ] never surrender

The cold stone floor seeped deep into her skin and the chill made her bones ache. Roisin knew where she was before she even opened her eyes. Her head lifted wearily and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Blood loss. Her body was covered in bites and bruises from the first battle and she felt frustration well up inside of her that they had lost again. A quick cursory glance revealed that her wounds were sticky with congealed blood and not fresh. It was only her tail that hadn't stopped bleeding, but there was no pain. She tried to move it. Nothing. It hung limp and dead. Her body jolted when she saw that she had a familiar neighbour . This time it was her father nearby instead of Caspian. "Athair? A bheil thu ceart gu leòr?" (Dad? Are you okay?) her rusty gaelic rolled off her tongue, full of worry and fear for him.

The Imperials had done a number on both of them and she couldn't help worrying that she might lose him like they'd lost Kiel. They were prisoners so she didn't expect the Imperials to offer them any medical attention. Getting out and treating their own wounds would be their best option.

@Luthais

art + code: clae

Pain seared through old wounds and new. He had been awake for a little while, though time was merely a concept in the dungeon. Darkness surrounded him, making it impossible to determine which way was up. It was cold and damp, too, which further added to the pain that radiated through his body like flashes of lightning. In the heat of battle, it was easy to become blind to it, to be so full of adrenaline and rage that the snapping and searing and slicing glanced off of you like your skin was an impenetrable shield. Now, however, he felt it all.

He had tried to put weight on his right hind leg, and he mostly could -- mostly. His old rebellion injury, combined with what had happened to him mere -- hours? days? how long had he bene here? -- before, made this limb in particular screech with pain. He had been testing it every few minutes, and every time it roared, but he did not, until he could rest that paw on the ground. He could not afford to be handicapped. He couldn't. But was he?

And...there was so much else. Roisin, he knew, was here. She had been fighting with him. But what of Raith and Searla? Were they imprisoned as well? Every time he thought of it, his breath quickened, but he could not banish the thought from his head of his children behind bars in this devil's hellhole. Roisin, though -- he knew of her predicament. He could see her through his bars. She had been out cold for a while. He'd tried to whisper to her, then to shout (the guards did not care for anything they did unless it was rattle the bars), but she had not stirred. Until now.

"Dad? Are you okay?" The Gaelic was like sandpaper on her tongue, but it was there. He felt a spasm of something akin to relief as her eyes opened, finding his face as he found hers. "Yes," he answered immediately in Gaelic, his voice raspy, too. "You are, too. Though it may not feel like it." He'd seen her tail already, but this was a matter of life and death now. He could not afford to have her be afraid, and that emotion was riddled already ink her tone. He had to change it for her sake, if she was to escape. He had to be the rock against which the waves beat. He was looking at her now with rare compassion. "They could have killed us, but they did not. They are as stupid now as they were before. We can use that."

"We are all young and naive still."

Set prior to his escape from prison. For ease of use, all words are in Gaelic unless otherwise noted in-text

Her body was battered and bruised, tail damaged beyond repair, but she felt her strength return to her upon hearing her father's words. Roisin shifted her weight to her paws and gritted her teeth to bear the pain. "Okay. Yes. We'll be fine as long as we move carefully and quickly," she answered in gaelic, brain shifting to survival mode. She had survived the dungeon before and she would again. "I don't know if the routine has changed much, but the guards come to feed us once a day. We might be able to use that to incapacitate one of them," she informed him, looking over at him through the bars. He seemed to be hesitant with one of his legs. That could be a problem if it slowed him down. "I escaped this place before so we should be able to again. They'll regret being so soft hearted when they next face us on the battlefield," she forced herself to sound confident, despite the weariness and worry wrinkling her features.

"Have you seen Mother, Searla or Raith?" she asked, uncertain if they were the only Samaires under lock and key or if the others had gotten unlucky too. It would be harder to break out the greater the number of escapees there were. The last time she had tried to get someone else out she had failed and it still bothered her.

**Speaking in Gaelic because lazy

@Luthais

art + code: clae