Ingvar's gaze flickered from inert bow to human, to bow again, and finally human. This could not have been a trick, could it? No. Someone would not do such an awful thing, surely, try to gain his trust, only to betray him the moment they could do him real harm. He swallowed. Then he answered.
"Nay โ not asleep," said he. But he did not elaborate. There was still a thick fog through his thoughts as the mind slowly returned to consciousness and attempted to orient itself.
Dirty fingers practically striped with ancient scars from various cuts and blades twitched, and then closed, but not into a fist, as the thumb was not tucked beneath the fingers; and the creatureโs huge shadow shifted as he tried to push himself up off the ground.
As soon as he so much as attempted to move his left leg with want to raise to kneel or sit, the manacles binding his ankles stopped him. Their chains jingled as they shifted, then went taut, now a straight line down to their tether, and the leg couldnโt be drawn up any further. Ingvar gasped like he had just been punched and the wind rushed out from his lungs; and his wide eyes darted about, crazed to be trapped. Those bindings upon his wrists he had already known, from both sight and feeling of the cold metal upon his skin, were present. But his ankles? No. Boots occluded his flesh from the cool cuffs. (What was that the human had said โ the men who tied him up? That meant there were multiple; that meant when they returned, they'd surely โ Oh, Goddess, oh, pleaseโ!!!)
He yanked the right arm now, lifting it the relatively short distance until the chain had no slack remaining and prevented the limb from moving any further; frowning, and pressing his lips tightly together, Ingvar attempted to exceed their strength; like any constrained animal, he longed to be free, and accordingly with the panic which came with that desire his heart rate was quicker than the sound of the hooves of a running horse.
It was a panic lessened by the knowledge โ or naive hope, perhaps, depending how one looked at it โ that the human before him was not responsible, and wanted, too, to set him free. But it was still present, painfully so.
With all this movement, some of the birds left their perches upon his shoulders with annoyed squawks and a flitter of wings. Alas, his struggle, it was no use. He pulled hard against his bindings, but they would not break. Heโd sooner break his arm than the metal. Rather defeatedly, he slumped back down to his prone position (save a raised head so he might speak) with considerable softness of sound given the magnitude of the figure doing it.
โWillโ will you help me? Please?โ he asked, voice dampened by the defeat of his bold attempt to escape, and emerald eyes pleading.
