The revelation that they were in the bandit hideout where Fenn and her had first met was not a happy one to the boy. In the years since, the kitchen where they stood had been laid to waste. He had sparse, pleasant memories of the old Amari he had met then. Yet even those were tinged with fear -- though then, it hadn't been of her.

Iron, iron everywhere. Fenn constantly shifted how he sat in the cramped cage, trying to minimize his contact with anything, because everything burned him. He crossed his frail legs together in a way that kept his feet off the floor. Yet, it wasn't enough; leaning back meant leaning on the bars, gesturing too broadly meant brushing up against them, and wiping the tarry blood off his wrists meant touching his searing shackles more than he already was. Worse, the only way he could communicate was to write on the rusty cage floor, singing his fingertips. All the same, he almost would rather have the iron than Amari’s skin-crawling hands patting his hair. That familiar gesture stung more than anything else.

Everything about this situation had been designed to be as cruel as possible, and Fenn was at a gaping, wide-eyed loss as to why. What mistake had he made to deserve this?

Why?

She hadn't answered his question yet, leaving him grinding his teeth in fear and frustration.

Why?

All that heart-racing uncertainty solidified into a cold ball of anger in Fenn’s chest as the forlorn whining, whimpering carried through the air. He strained against the chains that restricted him, right up against the bars of the cage.

Daugi!

The direwolf’s unhappiness echoed clearly around the building. If Amari had bothered to lock him up so cruelly, then what might she have done to his friend? That though yanked at Fenn’s heartstrings just a little too hard, snapping him into full alertness. His pain be damned! The seething Fae whipped to reach into his bag for his whistle, wanting to let her know that she wasn't all alone, but his bag was (unsurprisingly) missing from his side. He winced at its absence.

Amari knew him just a bit too well.

As he turned to glare hell at the fire-haired stranger who held him captive, she rolled her eyes and turned away. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I haven't even touched your mutt yet. I’ll be ri-i-ight back,” she sang to him wickedly as she sauntered out the door. “Don't go anywhere!”

Fenn fumed at her retreating figure as the door wheezed shut. Like hell he could.

In all truthfulness though, Amari’s words had stirred a determination within him. Soon as she had left, his glass green gaze was examining every inch of the room, every crack in his cage. All he could think about in her short moment away was devising an escape. He didn't know if he could stand up against his old friend in combat, but he’d be damned for certain if he did nothing at all.

Escape was his specialty, wasn't it? A deranged giggle welled around the anger in his chest. He’d escaped dragons and bandits and all sorts of things. This time couldn't end any differently, he decided.

There was little for him to find inspiration in. Peering into the sun-spotted gloom, he saw that anything remotely useful was all the way on the counter, at other side of the room. His bag was there, and so was a pile of dubious… tools. They looked as if they might be useful -- sharp too -- but he couldn't very well reach them. Damnit. If any of the snow on the floor was closer to him, he could at least scoop some of it between his wrists and the iron cuffs, but he couldn't reach that either.

His only asset was that the floor outside his cage was peeling and rough…

Fenn cautiously stuck a frail arm between the sturdy bars, grabbing a splintering bit of the floor and snapping it off. It was about two inches long and twiggy in diameter. Quietly, he pulled up another of similar dimensions.

Holding his breath, he inserted the slivers into the locking mechanism buckling the shackle to his right wrist. They went in deep enough. His brows furrowed in concentration as he wiggled them around, searching for the tumblers by instinctual feel.

His ears flicked up as he heard a joyous clicking. Fenn’s breathing caught in his chest, a grim grin creeping up on him. Yes! Now all he had to do was push the tumblers down… And flinch as the flimsy wood snapped ineffectively, wiping the cheer from his face. Shitshitshit, no! Fenn swore on internal replay as he reached for another two splinters, and then another. They were all useless, all rotting and soft and unable to spring the lock. The hope drained out of his face, leaving him pale. An angry almost-noise -- a near growl -- was pent up in his throat. It came out as a toothless squeak.

“Oh Fennik...” a heartless voice called out from the other room, accompanied by a frightened yelp. “Someone’s eager to see you!”

The door’s knob turned.

Fuck! Fenn angrily swept the broken splinters out of his cage, certain that Amari would either laugh at or punish his piddly escape attempt were she to know of it. By the time she had dragged in her second victim, Fenn was curled up in a little ball of unspoken rage.

Daugi, to her credit, was taking this about as well as Fenn was. The wrathful beastie was bound by thick chains, flecks of froth foaming from under the muzzle clamped around her powerful maw. There were four writhing black tendrils sticking out of Amari’s back. Fenn shuddered at the powerful magic-warmth radiating from them. They looped around the direwolf’s bonds, pulling her inevitably into the room.

At first, Daugi resisted each forward step she was forced to take. But the moment her rolling red glare lay rest on her little Fae, the wolf barreled eagerly into the room. She butted her head against Fenn’s cage as if to squeeze herself between the bars, eyes wild with fear. His heart broke to see her so frightened. This was the friend that had stood with him though all his idiocy and all his frustration. The friend who had defended him from whatever horrors he brought upon himself, from the demons that would swoop in from his past.

Fenn strained against his own rattling chains to give her a reassuring scratch on the chin. Though her rigid stance relaxed, there was something unconvinced in her muffled wuff back.

Laughter rang from Amari. Her eyes glittered like pools of mortal blood. “How sweet…”

(Did I do it right? ^^’)