<em> Sorcha is in a net and making pictures, oh yes and she is pissy</em><br/><br/>Sorcha remained in the corner; she was growling and snarling daring any to come too close to her. As they did not understand her language and she did not understand the filth that spilled from there mouth, each word they spoke brought corruption and vomit. In her mind they were weak, and they would fall, perhaps not to her hand but their power would crumble for they no longer heard the land. She could not understand why the man that lived in this place of weapons and strange metal objects stayed, for he did not look like one of them….was he a slave too did he want to escape? Did they pay him with metal circles? This man was a strange one; there was serenity about him, much like the shaman in her settlement. Perhaps this man knew magic’s.<br/><br/>The pict was able to keep the first guard away he was easy, even if his sharp blade cut her, he too would feel her teeth were as sharp. It was hard to decide which was more intimidating her bite or her bark. Certainly this woman felt trapped and thus she was becoming yet more fearful and thus more aggressive. She briefly looked to the bleeding woman that was kneeling on the floor, why was she not able to fight back? Why did she not fight?…her language was something from a dream…Sorcha spoke through the snarls then<em> Fight them…do not give up…</em>There was desperation in the tone of her voice. She hated to see such a beautiful creature caged.<br/><br/>All Sorcha wanted was to escape was to smell cool air again and feel the fierce winds and the snow upon her skin again, to run with the small ponies and the wolves…the pict felt so stifled in this burning place that stank of stale piss, blood and death. She was about ready to make a run for it, to make for her escape when the huge man came in. Though his words were nothing but gibberish he indeed had bearing and it was a bearing that cause her to pause for a moment, and in that moment the net fell upon her.<br/><br/>Of course she struggled against it, Sorcha was a fighter, oh not a fighter with style she was as wild as the lands she came from. The pict took the beating without even a cry of pain, though that was difficult and took a great power of will. She looked up at the man her nose a little bloody and her body bruised. Even so she was strangely attractive, for the passion and defiance in her eyes remained, certainly she had an exotic appeal very few of her kind had been captured before.<br/><br/>It was then she put a finger to the blood under her nose and then with it drew a spiral on the ground, along with two other simple pictograms similar to the ones she had left on the cart. Of course she was afraid of this man that had just beaten her but Sorcha did not want to show it. Much of her anger and aggression came from not being able to communicate. That and of course the fact she was a bitch from the pictish tribes that had lost her son and mate to the unnatural metal men.<br/>