Lavorra awakens

How do the bandits fare?

How much - [1] Surprisingly lacking - without Lavorra to tip the balance, the bandits are repelled and routed by their would-be victims

Is Lavorra able to escape?

Yes/No (Unlikely) - [6,1] Yes but… Kurt returns to camp, the sole survivor of the ambush. Yet he isn’t alone…

—

Wake.

Lavorra jolts awake with a shuddering gasp. For a moment. She stares around, wild-eyed, in the throes of panic as she struggles to move, bound tight.

Slowly, she works her way down from the rush of fright, her chest shaking, eyes streaming with fresh tears as everything comes back to her. Her skin itches as if colonised by ants, still alive with the sensation of rough hands pawing at her; heavy members pressed to her skin, her lips, her insides.

Something woke me. Was it out there, or in my head?

She casts her eyes around. The camp is dark and silent, and she has slept through into the night. There’s no signs of the bandits - or anyone else.

It is a battle to admit to herself that she has a chance to escape. Every instinct tells her to just lay down, to go back to sleep; to be good, to suck and service the cocks that will no doubt be presented to her on her captors’ return. To take and let herself be taken.

Fuck that.

It’s the pain that get her moving: the ache in her abused loins and throat. The bruises she can feel forming on her neck and breasts. She flexes her forearms, trying to work free from the cords around them. They’re loose.

Kurt had only bound her legs and feet - he hadn’t thought to check her wrists. And the **** with which they’d manhandled her had begun to shake and strain the bindings keeping her arms captive. Slowly but surely, flexing and resting her slight muscles, she loosens them further, until she can slip free.

She sets to work on the rest of her bonds, freeing first her thighs and then her ankles, until she’s free, crouched naked and in pain - but free.

She crawls towards the scattered bedrolls, not quite ready to stand yet. Her thighs are run through with cramps, and her insides feel hot and tender. She tries not to think about how many of the bandits finished inside her, and what that will mean in the weeks and months ahead.

If I have weeks, or months. Shut up and focus on getting away from here.

She rummages in the closest pack, and manages to find a simple cotton shirt and a belt. It will have to do. She pulls them on, making the oversized men’s shirt into a tunic, her legs still bare, but at least she is covered.

Then, with a moment to collect herself, she remembers.

Melira. Oh Melira I don’t know if I can save you now.

She sobs aloud in the deserted camp, knowing that this dreadful encounter has likely cut short her rescue mission. Wounds can be healed, but the damage isn’t just physical. And if she’s pregnant…

You are. How could you not be?

She presses a palm to her forehead, trying to clear her thoughts. If she can’t get herself together and get out of here, then there’s no chance for Melira at all.

Her head jerks up, and she gasps as she earns a crick in her neck, the sounds of someone rushing through undergrowth suddenly exploding into the quiet night. Lavorra scrambles away, still on her hands and knees, crouched behind one of the tents.

Kurt emerges from the woods, his face pale enough to catch the ambient light. His eyes are wild and unfocused, and his face and golden hair are streaked with blood. In another life, he might have been a handsome young man, but looking at him, Lavorra only sees the twisted visage of a murderer and an abuser.

She feels her amulet grow warm against her chest, and thanks the Matron again that at least that wasn’t taken from her. Cautiously, she begins to move around the tent, stalking Kurt as he stumbles towards the inert campfire.