As hurt as she was, Bree was only vaguely aware of what was happening as she was dragged, catching snippets of motion, dim shapes - and her mind was too far from consciousness to understand any of it at the time.  It was just disconnected events, images, sounds, with no meaning, until the movement stopped for a time, and there was something... a metallic taste, a sharp intrusion in her mouth, a pain as a blade scratched her cheek that was almost imperceptible in her state.  She had no idea how close she'd come to a permanent crippling, was still only blurrily aware as something softer but bulky occluded her mouth.  It was a mercy, then, that she was still half-way to unconsciousness when the cruel boot brought a more lasting end to her spellcasting than the simple gag.  She groaned thickly, several sharp, brief agonies piercing the fog, to fade immediately into the dull background ache.<br/><br/>The pain did bring her awareness up enough to realize she was being stripped, and then yolked, but she could do nothing.  The stocks would have stopped her casting well enough - perhaps this means she would not always be in them, which might have been encouraging, if she had sense enough to think about it.  But no - what little mind was left was caught up in the present, a blind stumbling progress, tugged along, almost falling, sometimes even supported by the groping hands for how long she didn't know... but it was long enough for her scattered brain to piece together the terrible truth, that she was far from her companions, maybe out of Hagan's reach, but not any luckier for it.  Her dreams of a triumphant return, retribution, rescuing others... all dead barring a miracle for which she had no hope.