A breeze drifted through the trees, lifting loose strands of my hair.
The evening air had started to cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and eucalyptus as the last of the sunlight slipped between the branches.
A single leaf drifted lazily past my face.
Then another.
I looked down, the frayed rope slid from my wrists, and it hit the dirt beside my boots without a sound.
For a moment... I simply stared.
My hands.
They were mine again.
The rough fibers had left angry red welts around my skin, fresh blood beading where the rusted metal had bitten into my palms.
I slowly flexed my fingers.
Around me... everything slowed.
Voices blurred together until they became nothing more than distant noise.
David stood rigid, shoulders squared. The other leader hadn't moved either.
Neither of them willing to give an inch.
Men shifted nervously behind them, hands tightened around rifles. Someone swore, another barked an order.
It all melted into the background.
