As the days dragged on Willow found no way to escape. Whenever White Flower came to deliver food, she was careful to re-bind her wrists and gag her. Willow was only permitted to leave the confines of the cart in the evenings to take care of her bodily needs, White Flower uncomfortably close for the entirety of the embarrassing event. While her feet were untied for the process, her wrists were not, and she held on to the end of that rope like a vice while she escorted her. Willow would watch as White Flower’s eyes had darted about the area, always vigilante but she kept her eyes mostly on her, searching for any indication that she was attempting escape.
Willow had trouble keeping track of the days as time went on. The complete loss of control was disturbing and in a desperate attempt to regain some kind of control over her situation she had severely restricted her diet. The continued fear that her captors were selling her into slavery was constantly on her mind and she figured an emaciated form would be unappealing for any buyers.
White Flower soon noticed and was quick to begin encouraging and eventually cajoling her to eat but each time, Willow would roll away and ignore her. White Flower had sighed heavily and departed, leaving the food in case she wanted it later.
It went untouched.
When she had returned to take Willow for her quick walk outside the frown wrinkling her face almost looked genuine. This new routine had repeated for another space of time. Willow really had no idea how much time was passing, although she’d noticed the temperature was steadily dropping as time did pass.
Several days later, after more rejected food, Willow overheard an argument between White Flower and Wandering Foot once more. They were discussing her lack of food intake and almost seemed actually concerned for her health. Willow presumed they were concerned about the price she would catch wherever they were going. If she was halfway to death Willow didn't imagine she would fetch a particularly good price. She also overheard them talking about the merits of bringing others in to speak to her about food, weighing up the likelihood that speaking with anyone would make her more determined to starve herself. They thought she might respond better to someone she may not perceive as a direct jailer.
Willow got her answer over the following days, and she met with more people that week than she had for the entirety of her captivity. Most were familiar faces, people she had known since she was a child, people she had called friend and defended to anyone who said they were bad people. She chose not to speak so gave them nothing but cold silences and furious, accusing gazes. With some, she saw the guilt. She’d been a major part of their lives. She’d helped deliver Moon Rose’s first child, saved Hearth Love’s life. Now, all those signs of friendship and love didn’t matter, were dead and tossed in the dirt as far as Willow was concerned. How could she call people that allowed this to happen to her friends? Regardless of her attitude, they all begged her to eat in their own ways. Some teary, some angry, some begging on bent knee, they all got the same response. Even Wandering Foot had dined to see her for the first time, speaking to her as Richard once had, as if to a toddler, reminding her that her body needed fuel to live.
Willow had raised an eyebrow at him for that comment. Given the situation did he honestly think she wanted to live? The food was mediocre at best, her muscles were cramping, she never saw the sun... what kind of life was that? Who wanted to live that? And then on the other end? Slavery? As if that wasn't worse than death!
The man had fallen silent when she had shot him the filthiest look she could manage and departed soon after.
A day later another man came to attempt to convince her to eat. This one she knew too, a boy just stepping into adulthood named Sticky Beak. It was a fitting name; she’d been the one to inadvertently discover this name. She’d taught him to read some six seasons back. She’d treated him the same as all those who had attempted before. Unlike the others however, he had lost his temper however, grabbing her face and shoving a spoon into her mouth. She had coughed and sputtered a half shriek, tasting her own blood, but he hadn't let up until she had vomited all over his shirt. He'd dropped her then and she had continued to heave, having landed on her knees. She had been retching so hard she hadn't noticed the blood trickling from both her mouth and her knees.
By the time Willow had come back to reality, White Flower had reappeared, having heard Steak Beak and Willow's struggle. Willow for her part had never seen a woman so short throw a man so viciously. She had screamed from the doorway after him and Willow heard a short scuffle happen as she turned and moved to help clean Willow of the sick, apologising fervently the entire time. Willow didn't pretend to believe white Flower’s act - why would she care? - but was grateful for the general clean up.
Willow was far more interested in the conversation or rather screaming she could hear from outside her small space. Willow listened as Wandering Foot ripped the younger man a figurative new asshole, repeatedly coming back to trust and decent behaviour. Her throat burned and as soon as her wrists had been unbound, she had requested a bucket of water: the first words she had spoken since she had been kidnapped.
White Flower tripped over herself to fulfil the request. But she was sorely disappointed when Willow returned to silence, quietly stripping her outer dress and shift off to clean them, laying them as flat as she could to dry them.
At the sight, White Flower had exclaimed, “Oh dear! You've had your corset on this whole time! That must have been uncomfortable. Let me help you off with it!” She had advanced forward.
Willow reacted instinctively, forcing herself as far back as she could manage, eyeing the woman. She couldn't help it. They had kidnapped her; one had seen fit to attack her? Who knows what else these people were capable of? White Flower froze, what looked like horror spreading across her face. That couldn't be right, Willow decided. Just annoyed that she hadn't got anywhere with her.
“I'll leave you to it than,” she acquiescence. “But if you'd like it off at any time you just let me know.”
As she departed Willow couldn't help the barbed comment that slipped out of her lips, “Why? So, you can take the last scrap of home from me?” White Flower froze and turned back but Willow had already rolled away. She didn't trust these people and she would fight back in the only way left to her.
The days continued with her minimal food intake. She didn't have the energy to do much more that lay about. Four days after she stopped eating completely Wandering Foot returned and clicked his tongue at her. He returned the following morning once more attempting to berate her into eating. This time he hit a little close to home, however.
“What would your family think of you sulking like this?” he demanded.
Willow shot him a glare as she rolled away, fiddling with her necklace. She’d taken to studying it as it swung between four points lazily. She waited for him to leave and give up as all the others had. Finally, he seemed to weary of the argument, releasing a long, frustrated sigh.
“If you do not eat,” he suddenly added. “We will force it down you neck. Wouldn't you rather just eat it?” he implored. “We do not want to hurt you, but you will leave us no choice.”
Here I am, a prisoner and he wants to talk about choices! Too exhausted to truly fight back she shot back, “You gave me no such choice. If you did not want to hurt me, why kidnap me? You make little sense.”
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She had never spoken to him in such a disrespectful way. She’d always held a great deal of respect for Wandering Foot considering just how many lives relied on his decisions, but now… well. The words burned her throat, she hadn't really spoken in days, weeks, hadn't held a conversation in what felt like months. Maybe her words were not as venomous as she would have liked but they did the job. The man froze.
“If you would only listen you would know that we mean no harm to you.” he reiterated his wife’s words.
Willow lifted her bound wrists, tugging strong enough that a small trickle of blood leaked from her broken skin with a lazy rise of her eyebrow, watching as he winced. “Would you trust the word of people who took you from a street in broad daylight and travelled days while she slept, drugged?” She shot back.
The man sighed, conceding the point. He lent back calling to other people, just beyond the door. Another man, Moon Rose’s husband, and White Flower climbed in. White Flower held her upright, around the middle, the man held her head upwards while trying to coax her mouth open. When she bit down and refused Wandering Foot pried her mouth open and the spoon was guided into her mouth. Willow stared at Moon Rose’s husband, pure hatred burning in her eyes. He refused to meet her gaze for more than a moment, choosing to stare over her head at White Flower.
In the liquid went and tears appeared in her eyes, and she began to struggle. The pain! It was unbearable and she was forced to choke it down as they held her nose shut, preventing her from spitting it back in their faces. She fought harder but the ropes burned, and White Flower’s arms were steel around her chest. Willow could feel bruises forming on her jawbone from the man’s hands holding her still. After the third bowl was pushed down, she began to sob, the pain so great. Yet they didn't stop, and the tears leaked down the sides of her face unfettered. Willow thought she heard the woman trying to soothe her and attempted to spit food in her face.
“It's just a few mouthfuls love,” she reassured, Wandering Foot preventing her attempts.
Willow hated her more for it.
When she had been force fed what they deemed an appropriate amount they began to shift her. Willow had gone limp in the pain and the woman was stroking her cheeks saying over and over that it wasn't so bad, and she'd feel much better. Her anger flared and she launched her head back, slamming it into the woman's chin while simultaneously biting down onto her hand.
She was quickly restrained and pulled away, but Willow managed to spit out, voice harsh and painful. “How dare you comfort me when you know I would be happy if you had never interfered where you had no right. How dare you touch me. How dare you downplay any of this.”
She felt a stinging and her head whipped to the side. Blood dripped down her lip. Yet Willow sneered at the younger man. “I am sure Moon Rose would be so very proud of you. How does that prove your any better that what I think of you?” He stumbled, eyes darting to the doorway where Willow suspected Moon Rose awaited results. White Flower stood, looking shocked before shooing the other’s out of the caravan. Willow heard Moon Rose’s shouts as they moved away from her. White Flower carefully retied Willow's wrist without looking at her and set her down before grabbing her husband’s arm for support and departing.
Willow swallowed her groan, fighting against wretched sobs as she spat blood from her mouth. She could feel blisters forming in her mouth, her wrists and ankles burning with each jarring movement of the caravan and her skin bruised. She fought to remain silent on that fact. She'd said her piece and besides, why would they care for her tears anyway?
Wandering Foot had returned and attempted to speak but Willow shot him a filthy glare, spitting more bloody spittle in his direction, her magic swirling around her feebly, wishing for his death and he abruptly fell silent and left hurriedly to lick his wounds.
This force-feeding ritual continued for weeks. Sometimes it was cool enough, but never often enough for the blisters to heal. Willow couldn't help but wonder if she would even be able to speak again. She never tried. It hurt too much and the fear that her voice would be gone wasn't worth it. Besides, these people didn't deserve it.
Willow wondered how long she had been held captive. White Flower seemed to visit her on a semi-regular basis, and she was really the only way for Willow to judge time although she spent most of her time ignoring her presence. White Flower had taken a softer stance, but still seemed determined to rebuild rapport. Slowly, despite the mess her mouth and throat were, she did regain energy and strength. White Flower had once been like a second mother to her and her overtures now of kindness felt more like a perverse parody of the comfort she had once provided. She got on Willow’s nerves more often than not and one day, Willow snapped at her.
“Do you speak like this to all your captives? Why bother?” Willow's voice came out damp and hoarse and the words felt like knives scrapping along the wound as she spoke. She sounded like a man who'd loved his pipe a little too much for fifty years. Willow wondered how much worse it would be if her magic, weak as it was, hadn't been aiding in healing as much of the damage as it could.
White Flower seemed taken aback by her outburst, but also didn't seem to have an answer for her. Willow ploughed on.
“You’re clearly not selling me as an entertainer; why bother getting to know someone you’re handing into prostitution?”
“What gave you that impression, Willow?” the woman demanded, hidden anger making itself known in her voice.
“Everyone knows what the Betrayer's do to their captors,” Willow stated, poisonously. “Woman sold as 'entertainers' and if she can't entertain? Into a whorehouse they go. Since you had no concern for my throat, you must be looking for a whore.”
The woman's mouth flapped in the wind for a moment before she demanded, “What was that about your throat?”
Willow had to pause for a moment, her throat searing pain through her before she responded after a quick sip of water. “You honestly don’t remember my voice sounds like this naturally, do you? I must commend your efforts though. Effective torture method,” she said sarcastically. “No one would ever expect soup to do so much damage. 10 points on that front.”
With that, Willow was done with conversation, her throat unable to withstand the torture and she had to force down coughs that felt as if she’d swallowed jagged glass. The woman continued to question her but even if she had wanted to, Willow didn't respond, closing her eyes against the tears.
Willow was retied and the woman left in a rush, although Willow barely noticed, feeling dizzy.
A moment later, however, she returned with Wandering Foot. He reminded her that he was the lead healer for the Betrayer's and berated her for now bringing her injuries to his attention before requesting to assess her throat. Willow's bared clenched teeth at him, jaw audibly snapping shut as she retreated as far as the rope would allow, pulling harshly ay healing wounds. They had done this to her in the first place, as if she would let them near something so vulnerable if she had the choice!
Wandering Foot pleaded with her on bent knees to let him see but she kept adamantly shaking her head, shooting distrustful glares at him if he came too close. She kept shifting backwards, further cutting of her circulation, oozing blood into the ropes but giving her just that little bit more space. Eventually, he apologised, and she was restrained and forced as she suspected she would be.
She fought back however and when he moved a finger into her mouth she bit down. Hard. She tasted blood and quickly spit it out before, again, she felt the stinging in her cheek, her lip split again, and she fell sideways.
“We are trying to help you, you ungrateful brat!” he exclaimed as the woman helped Willow back into a seated position, fingers dancing across her face trying to stem the blood. Willow flinched away from the touch.
Baring her bloodied teeth once more as she said, “If you had wanted to help me,” Willow croaked, blood dripping from her lip, pulling her face away from White Flower, “You would have never taken me. You would have let me be. You asked. I refused. You should have respected my decision. But, given your track record, I expected little else.”
Wandering Foot froze, looking panicked. Willow felt blood trickle down her chin, her face and neck sore from the slap and resulting whiplash.
“Please,” he eventually begged. “Please let one of us help you. Your father would never forgive us.”
Willow stared at him, dead in the eye filling her gaze with every ounce of defiance she had. “I will never forgive your regardless.”
He retreated.
After that, the food changed to that of cold soups and slowly, her throat seemed to get better. White Flower had stopped trying too and Willow relished in having won that battle of wills. It also meant she could hide her magical abilities just that little bit easier. If they found out how quickly and completely her throat healed, she doubted they'd continue to be so demure.
Things continued in this new way for another immeasurable expanse of time of cold food and silence. Willow had no idea how permanent the damage to her throat would be and, again, was too terrified to test it. There was no reason for talking and, while she was fed, she still grew weaker, and her muscles began to atrophy from disuse. An infection also sprung up in one of her ankles and both of her wrists, but her distrust was so strong that she refused to bring it up, hoping beyond all hope that either her magic would delay it, or it would kill her faster.
What other options did she have?