Atnorsa had straightened and followed where he led, hand clasped in Anastasius' as they entered the front room. She twisted a little to look around, until she was walking backward behind him, squinting in the comparatively dim interior of the place.<br/><br/>She was worlds different from the growling, struggling warrior that Quintus had carried up onto the ship hours before. Evidence of bindings was all that ringed her wrists and ankles, the skin worn raw, and she was unabashedly nude, bare and pale with a shocking flood of dried dark red flowed down from her chin, and tiny flecks of it on her belly and breasts.<br/><br/>Her expression was the most markedly different. Where before she glared, scowled, growled, now Atnorsa moved with easy grace and looked round the room with a detached and almost childlike curiosity, her hand clasped in her captor's.