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    Summary

    Jaskier twitched helplessly as the women filed out of the mill and left him where he was bound on the floor.  He arched his back slightly, trying to see to where the fire was slowly creeping from the bed to drip onto the floor.  It hit the edge of the floor and he closed his eyes, going limp with exhausted pain.

     

    His body ached as he lay on the ground, bleeding.  The floor was cold at his back and noise came through staticky and broken like a voice through a waterfall.  He could just vaguely hear footsteps thudding toward him accompanied by shouting.  Still, his vision refused to focus, and the only thing he could identify around him was the flickering red of the flames reflected in the cloud heavy with rain that would never be enough to stop the fire spreading through the mill.

     

    All he could hope was that the smoke killed him before he began to burn.

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