Page 33 of How Does It Feel?

It sounded similar to the whine a canine or lupine would make.

I hurried from the cot to hide in the corner. I had no protection here, and the darkness that hid me only made me feel a fraction safer. As soon as I moved, the towering guard cried louder and attempted to pull the door to my cell open

Two more guards appeared at his sides. Four guards in total attempted to pull him away as he clamored to gain entry into the cell.

I shook so hard I couldn’t see straight. The mournful depths of his cries caused me to shut my eyes for a few seconds to try and trick my terror-stricken mind into thinking that it would be all right and he wouldn’t get in.

When I lifted my eyes again, I caught the last moment before all the guards vanished, including the one on the floor. The large one in the center had pulled off his black metal helmet, and for a split second, I looked at the face that cried like a dog to get in and kill me. His face was covered in fur, complete with pointy wolf-like ears. It was as if he were part man and part wolf. The dark brown fur appeared almost like a beard that had gone wild on his face. His bright brown eyes stared pitifully into mine, locking onto me as if he could see right through the darkness and witness my every move. His expression of anguish both shocked and rattled me.

He looked devastated, not angry.

Where had they gone? It was as if they had been there, and then they . . . they just weren’t. I stared in disbelief.

This was real.

There was an ache in my heart seeing the giant guard’s face. The same feeling that put my soul in a vise when I saw a wounded or hurt animal. The same feeling that overwhelmed me with the need to make sure they were safe and taken care of.

Feelings stirred in my gut that something was wrong with him, and I couldn’t help. Why had he looked at me like that? What had happened to his appearance? Next I’d learn werewolves were real or something equally absurd.

A harsh scurrying sound startled me from the numb safety of my thoughts.

A large brown rat squeezed itself out of the crack in the brick, scraping the greasy fur of its back as it squished its large body through.

Rats were nothing new; they constantly scampered around the cells. Sometimes I would have twenty or more in my small cell at one time. They were sweet, and I enjoyed the little company they gave, even occasionally huddling up to cover my freezing feet. They never stayed long, always running around frantically as if they, too, were prisoners and terrified of the guards. Maybe they were. That seemed like an entirely different type of punishment, being turned into vermin.

This one seemed different immediately. For one, it was much larger than the others. Instead of just walking through the bars, he squished through the crack in the brick; none of the others had come from there. I would have doubted they could fit, and his body seemed much too large to fit through the fissure, but still, somehow, it did.

I wasn’t frightened. I’d never really learned to fear animals—other than snakes—as they had never been anything but helpful to me. They seemed to seek me out even, and I welcomed it. In truth, they were the only friends I’d had at times.

This one was different for another reason entirely, another reason I would soon learn.

He spoke.

Over time he frequently kept me company, warning me of the guards on duty and various other helpful tidbits of information he thought would make my stay easier.

One day I managed to save a portion of this super acidic, pickled dish that they frequently included in the meals. I allowed it to concentrate for a few days under my cot. I then took advantage of the highly acidic pickling ingredient they had used and created a paste that slowly ate away at the brick’s mortar near the crack the rat always squeezed through. It took days to complete, and I barely had enough for even this little task, but the thought of hoarding enough so that I could escape stayed in my mind.

I never got his name because he would leave as soon as I asked, so I quickly stopped asking in the hopes he would stay with me longer. He later told me not to ever ask another Fae their name or it would get me killed.

To them, a full, true name held a very strong, very easy-to-command power that they shared with no one. Not even husbands and wives typically exchanged this information.

Occasionally the other rats and hidden creatures would get too plentiful in the small cell so brown rat would arrive to shoo them away protectively. Sometimes it saddened me to see them go, but brown rat never seemed to like them near me.

One day I heard the scrape of the brick being shoved out of place, so I ran to the dark corner, excited to see brown rat.

He rushed through, out of breath.

“It’s coming. It’s coming, and I can’t protect you!” His small but deep voice was filled with panic as he struggled to catch his breath.

I paled. My heart felt like it stopped beating as I processed the look on his upset rodent face.

“You must listen, it is coming, and I can’t get them to stop it!” He climbed up my shoulder and down the other side in a nervous scamper.

“What is coming?” I asked, my voice nearly nonexistent from fear.

“The forest bog. The prince has ordered it to be moved to your cell!” he cried as he pulled his little whiskers in distress.

“What is a forest bog?” I whispered shakily.