Drip, drip, drip, constant sound of water falling into water is the first moments of wakeful understanding. Unconsciousness struggling to keep her hold on Wild Heart. The dripping though, and the wet, and the cold, the truly bone-chilling cold hurt and caused her bruised body to ache. The fog of memory lifts a bit, Canticle's eyes, feeling herself torn asunder by the magic, the tearing pain, she remembers her first moments after arriving, the sorceress weaving the power back into the folds and lines so that they didn't rage unchecked, the disorientation she exhibited, and the struggle to make it free. And the order, "<strong>Beat her unconscious, you will get your turns when...</strong>" The footsteps had raced forward, sacks filled with metal swung down hard, even against her net covered body, Wild felt the spike pierce her calf. Before all dissolved into black, there must have been five or more hitting her, but the lighting in the cavern was not strong. Wild Heart shifts feeling the beating has already begun to wear off, but her wrist is bound, not one, but both and she lay bare-breasted against the cold damp cavern floor.