Shivering, she donned the black dress, the fabric clinging to her still-wet body like a second skin. It felt strange to wear a dress, the last time she had worn one was when she was but a child; preferring to wear the traditional warrior's garb of leggings, boots, and a belted tunic when she got older. Nevertheless, she was glad to be clothed again. Even a dress was vastly superior to being forced to walked around naked as if she were the sorcerer's pet.
But the loss of her weapon was disconcerting. Of course, Briar hadn't been flat-out expecting for Crevis to leave her alone in a room with her scythe, but she had still hoped. The blade was a tribal heirloom, after all, passed down from generation to generation. Casting a despising glance at the locked door, she wondered if her captor was behind that door now, congratulating himself on the torture he had inflicted on her.
The smell of cooking food wafted into her nostrils, causing her stomach to rumble. Turning around to face the table, her eyes widened with surprise when she saw a cup of clear spring water, and a single plate, heaped high with herb-roasted chicken and potatoes. Sliding back into the chair, she sniffed the food suspiciously, then picked up a piece of chicken and looked it over, inspecting it for abnormalities. Finding none, she took an experimental bite. It was delicious. Her plate and the cup were cleared in a matter of minutes, causing her to feel better now that she had a full stomach. Briar didn't want to alert the creatures that she had finished her meal, wanting the moment of being alone to last a little longer. Standing, she walked over to the bookshelf, inspecting the dusty volumes of various shapes and sizes. Briar glanced furtively in both directions, then grabbed a particularly thick book from the shelf and started to flip through it as quietly as she could.
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