I want to thank three people who've supported me in continuing to work on this fic: Stardawn 19, storyfan101, and Quinn. By listening to me, reading and responding, making suggestions, and answering questions, you've all given me most wonderful encouragement. Particular gratitude to Quinn for sharing your expertise as an EMT and your library.

You've all made it easier for me to get to the point of posting this bit and the additional material for Chapter 2.

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Autolycus awoke to a sharp intolerable pain in his twisted right arm, which immediately echoed in his left leg and foot, and then throughout his body. He screamed, but little sound came out of his dry throat.

It was night and it was cold, colder than he'd ever felt, and the cold contracted every abused muscle and nerve into intolerable pain. He shivered uncontrollably, and even that movement magnified the pain.

He'd counted on unconsciousness saving him from this agony, but no. Earlier, running and even terror had been a distraction from what it had all felt like. He had no escape now.

In fragmented thoughts, he realized how very talented Velaska was. She'd carefully mangled and torn and stabbed him in ways that would cause the most hurt, but that would not kill—careful not to spill too much blood, careful not to pierce anything essential to his continued breathing. She'd also arranged it so that the injuries would only increase in pain as time passed. It should not feel this cold, for instance, even now, at night—the late spring nights had been only mildly cool—but what must actually be only a slight chill twisted muscles into knots.

He could not do anything about it. He could not stand this—the pain of it would drive him mad, had already driven him mad—he would do anything to escape it, but there was nothing, only darkness, only agony.

A thought crossed his mind that Velaska was missing getting to see this—see him broken in more than one way, and then another thought made him shudder and sob. She was headed for Gabrielle and Xena, could easily have found them by now, and wanted to do to Gabrielle what she'd done to him—

Fury and fear and helplessness possessed him then. She and Xena had to stay safe, their plan had to work—he tried to hold onto that, but the pain shattered every thought.

Every time one sharp pain faded, another took its place, so there was never a respite. Any movement was excruciating, and his mouth was so dry that it was almost worse than the pain. This could not continue—he would simply die, yes, that would save him from this—because this was intolerable. He kept thinking that, when he could think at all, but it did not help, nothing helped, and the night wore on forever.