At the sound of his laugh, she felt a terrible desire to break and run, though she'd never make it past the guards nor out of the keep alive if she tried it. Surely death could not be worse than what his laughter promised?<br/><br/>But there was her promise... and Owen, and the awful hope that he represented. So without resistance, though all her limbs trembled in fear of it, she let herself be brought to the large device and bound upon it, while the elfin woman leaned in their direction with roughened, wordless cries that spoke of deep want.<br/><br/>"The... rack?" she said softly, her head craning to look up at him - and then at the handle he began to turn, and the huge wheel that moved in tiny increments, pulling up what little slack there was in the chain bound to her wrists. "I've heard of it, my l-lord..." There was no one in the Percivan lands who wasn't familiar at least with the idea of the rack - a device for stretching, or so it was said.