Chapter 2 - Me and My Captor

Sleep I didn't.

Throughout the night, I stared at the vaulted stone ceiling, contemplating escape, contemplating getting caught, wondering if I could wriggle out of my new bonds. Soon, I felt those natural biological urges I always feared when there was no toilet in sight. I could have gone outside by myself, but I didn't want to run into Horn Helmet Guy alone. I looked over to my left and stared at a sleeping Sadist Guy. His blood-red warpaint was turning brown and flaking off. It was real blood.

The need to do my business was getting worse, so I decided to kick my captor in the shins. He jumped awake, grumbled something under his breath, and glowered at me. I pushed myself to a standing position and motioned for him to come with me. Eventually he understood, and led me outside.

Once outside, I turned my back to him and wriggled my arms as best I could. I looked back at him.

"Untie me," I ordered, hoping he'd understand why I needed my hands. If these people didn't have any toilet paper, I was going to need to find a leaf. My captor narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down, eventually obliging and setting my hands free.

Business completed, I was led back toward the cave. Before we entered, my captor stopped and turned to me. He reached for my hand, but only held it, giving no indication that he was going to tie my hands behind my back again. He softly spoke several words that I strained to understand. When I stared at him blankly, my captor growled in frustration, then said the words again, but this time used his hands to help convey the meanings. He pointed at me, then at himself, then roughly grasped my hand and slid his fingers between mine, pressing our palms together. He squeezed my hand tightly and then pointed back at the cave, all the while saying words. He then dropped my hand, pointed at me and them himself again, back at the cave, grasped the hilt of his dagger and swung it up to my neck, holding it way too close for my comfort. He paused his speech to grasp my hand again. While holding my hand, he sheathed his dagger, pointed back at the cave, and then pulled me to him close enough to feel his breath on my face.

"Vit?" he asked.

Veet? Vite... Vita... Curriculum Vitae... No, idiot, these people are not Roman.

Vite, vite. No, they weren't speaking French either. I was sure he did not mean "life" or "quickly", but rather something like a confirmation that I had understood him. And I thought I did. With him equals life. Without him equals dagger to the throat. And by the way he pointed at the cave I figured he meant that the others, at least Horn Helmet Guy, would kill me if I were not with him.

I looked around the edge of the thicket outside the cave and wondered what would happen if I just ran. What was out there in the woods?

I looked back at my captor and wondered why the hell he was trying to keep me alive. I didn't understand any of it. A part of me wondered if he was trying to actually get me to trust him, to like him, so that one day I would just end up his friend, slave, whatever. When I looked back out at the wilderness, my captor grabbed my chin with his hand and forced me to look at him. His eyes showed how serious he was.

"Vit?" he repeated more insistently.

I frowned, because, no, I did not understand. I didn't understand where the hell I was, where my colleagues were, what this fucking language was and why these people didn't even know the slightest bit of English. But I did understand my captor's current sentiment. Staying with him meant living.

I sighed, and breathed out, "Vit."

My captor showed a hint of a smile and pulled me closer to him. Apparently what I said did indeed mean "yes, I understand" to him. He whispered more words, none of which I understood, but two that he whispered several times stuck in my head. "Mina kune."

"Mina kune?"I repeat. My captor nodded slowly. He pointed to the cave, spoke more words, said "mina kune" again, swooshed the air with his free hand, and then pulled me even closer to him. Too close. The man seriously needed a nice long swish of some minty mouthwash.

And then I began to feel uncomfortable. Personal space, personal space!

I still didn't fully comprehend the meaning of his words, but then he gently grasped my upper arm with his free hand and looked me in the eyes.

"Oh," I said aloud. I really hoped I was wrong. I thought about what those two words could mean. Mina, mine?

Shit.

I thought about the various bits of languages that I knew. Mon, meine, meum, mío, minha, meg...

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Whatever a kune was, I was his kune. I watched him stare at me, replayed his hand gestures in my mind, recalled the dagger at my throat and then safely sheathed, recalled how my captor had not only shouted at scary Horn Helmet Guy, he actually took me to that doctor-lady to heal my wounds. But then I wondered why, if I were his in the eyes of the other barbarians, he felt the need to bind my wrists?

I wriggled out of his grasp and raised my hands in front of me, showing him my untied, free-moving hands. I gave him an inquisitive look, but he just stared at me. I then gave him that look you give someone when you want to tell them, "Well, go on! Do it!", but my captor just shook his head.

Alright then.I lowered my hands to my sides.

I then wished I knew how to fight someone. My captor's defenses were completely down – I could have hit him, if I knew how. He had been all up in my face, intimately so, and had refused to bind my wrists again. Surely he wouldn't have expected a sucker-punch. But, having never punched anyone, I didn't trust my weak arms and untrained fists to actually do anything but get me in more trouble. I was also not a runner, not in the least, and the man would have surely caught up with my fat ass easily.

The weeping sigh that emerged from my body was unintended. I truly felt defeated and trapped. If I ran, I would certainly be captured again. Or, if by some miracle I wasn't, I would have probably ended up some animal's tasty meal. If I left the protection of this man before me, Horn Helmet Guy would, apparently, have me killed. And I still wasn't convinced these people weren't cannibals.

Maybe kune meant "slave". Great.

My captor reached for my hand again, once more intertwining his fingers with mine. He lifted my chin so I would look at him. He then held his hand to his chest, and said a bunch of words. I shook my head.

No, idiot, I still don't understand you.

The man sighed in frustration. Again, he held his hand to his chest. "Thrynn,"was all he said.

Thrin?Thrin. Thryn? I didn't know that one.

Wait, really? Was he really introducing himself to me? His slave or whatever? Alright, I can play that game. "Deborah," I said my name with my hand held to my chest.

My captor, Thrin, stepped back the instant he heard my name, dropping my hand and letting it fall to my side. Looking terrified and shocked, he stared at me, and then looked up and down my body as if realizing for the first time who I was or what I looked like.

When Thrin fell to his knees and gazed up at me with tears in his eyes, I was more confused than ever. When he crumbled to the ground and began to cry in a prostrate position, I knew something had been terribly misconstrued by my captor. I sincerely doubted I was whoever he thought me to be.