Another from the vignettes

            When she was thrown against the wooden wall of the tavern she promptly curled herself into a ball to avoid looking at anyone. Her senses assaulted by the simultaneous scents of stale alcohol, unwashed bodies, tar, and general dirt; she had to breathe through her mouth initially to avoid vomiting.

            She had no way to keep track of how long she was there. No one approached her or offered her anything to eat or drink. Even though she was eventually able to breathe normally through her nose, she was still overwhelmed by the smells and then the sounds. There was shouting, cursing, arguing, and chairs scraping and sometimes crashing together. Male and female voices blended together, the volume dropping or increasing randomly.

            There was an argument near her. She recognized the voices of two of the men who were holding her captive. Someone accused someone else of cheating at a card game. Chairs scraped, boots thudded, then the sounds of blows being exchanged. She made herself smaller against the wall. Finally an accord was reached, and by the sounds she could tell that they were returning to their game.

            At some point she let her eyes close and her body relax. She allowed herself to doze off, the better to deal with the stress. On one level she still had some awareness of the noise and the smells of where she was, but now her mind was in a peaceful place where it could at least seek some solace.

            Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by a footstep next to her. She was jerked into reality by the sight of a brown leather boot next to her knees. There was a movement, and a cup was set down by her feet.

            Before she had a chance to move towards it, she heard the voice of one of her captors shout out from their table nearby.

            “Hey, get away from there.” The area immediately around her went eerily quiet. The scrape of chairs and boots was loud.

            “What?” the voice came from directly above her. “She’s been sitting there for hours. I gave her something to drink.”

            “You don’t go near her and she doesn’t get anything. No one hangs around her. So get away before you have more trouble than you know how to deal with.”

            The brown boots moved away. She found the courage to lift her head a bit and look at the cup, but the man who was her main captor kicked it away. She quickly curled back into a ball, face towards the wall. Outwardly cowed and obedient, inside she harvested a tiny hope that the brown boots might come back.