Arithmaya sulked in the privacy of the hood.  A few years ago, she'd been in similar straights to this, at the hands of the woman walking behind her.  "That barbarian was a more civil captor than you brute's" she mumbled, all but uniteligable through the lien.  The foul stuff caught in her lips, and she chewed it angrily.  The vile flavor shocked her into focus.  Spitting out some of the ripped fabric with a sob, she reached down her own thighs and caught a strip of the lather fringe of her miniskirt.  She sobbed louder, hoping it would cover the sound of leather snapping.  She tucked the leather strip into her fist, hoping it was out of sight.<br/><br/>The leather tingled in her hand, establishing sympathy too the idea of armor, one more piece too the magic coiled inside of her.  Without hands and mouth free, she couldn't complete that circuit, let the possible arch through her into reality.  But it was a start.