The next few days were spent entirely in bed rest.

Or maybe it was weeks...?

Or months?

Or perhaps it had even been years...

I wasn't so sure anymore.

But it did feel as though I had spent an eternity on that bed, regardless. It was driving me crazy, not being able to do anything but "rest". I was alone, too. Most of the time, anyway. The only thing that kept me company throughout the day were my own thoughts, of which I had plenty.

Would anyone back at Marshtide Watch know that I went missing...?

What about my Delilah? Timothy? Sarah?

Am I to spend the rest of my life a prisoner to this troll?

Every morning and every night, Jin'za would come and feed me. In her hand would be a wooden bowl filled with slop or some sort-of strange stew made from an assortment of vegetables. It was...Edible. And whenever she came to deliver me my food, she would always sit on the very edge of the bed and join me. Neither of us spoke a word to one another. And, whenever we dined, I always found myself eying my sword. I kept thinking to myself, if only I could muster the strength to grab my sword, I could escape from this wretched hut! After I had finished my "meal", if you could even call it that, Jin'za would then tend to my wound. She would disappear soon afterward, and I would never see her again until the next meal.

One day, however, she came to me before nightfall, an article of clothing draped neatly over her arm. "Here ya' go mon, put 'dese on before 'da morrow." She then tossed me the article of clothing. On closer inspection, these were shorts. They were a dark-red and had a patch on the right leg. It was perhaps the ugliest pair of shorts I had ever laid eyes on. I dug through the pockets and I fished what looked like a business card. I flipped it over and held it up to what little light was left.

Krazzle Blastmaster

of

Blastmaster Explosives

Bombs? Mines? Rockets? You want it, I've got it!

It hit me. These weren't shorts. These were goblin pants.

"I found 'em on a dead goblin far from 'ere mon. Jin'za be tinkin' he won't be usin' 'em where he be goin'." Her words were followed by a loud cackle, "It ain't much mon, but Jin'za be tinkin' it could pass for a pair o' shorts on a pink-skin." I folded the "shorts" and then set them aside without a word. "Not much of a talka', ain't'cha' mon? What be da' matta'? Ya' captivated by my beauty or sometin'?" She smiled, shifting all her weight on one foot, both hands now clutching that gnarled wooden staff. "Jin'za be tinkin' ya' be feelin' much betta' now. First 'ting in 'da mornin', ya' gonna' help ole' Jin'za 'round 'da home. 'Deres a lot o' work ta' be done before Jin'za even 'tink of lettin' ya' go!" She struck the ground with her staff as she turned her back on me, "Sleep well mon." I could then only watch in horror as I saw Jin'za reach for the hilt of my sword on the way out. She held it up, displaying my own sword before me. "What be da' matta' mon? Dun' 'tink I had not noticed ya' eyin' ya' sword. Ya' have to be wakin' up pretty early in da' mornin' to get past ole Jin'za mon." I was breathless, my mouth agape. My only means of escape was being taken away from me. "I'll jes' be puttin; 'dis in a nice, safe place mon."

I'm in hell.