People of the Tower (Ark Chronicles 4)
“ Odin stirred in the filth, in the cold slime of the pit. With his single eye, he gazed out of the hole in the earth. Stars twinkled and the night wind moaned.
Thirst had become his sole concern, a terrible urgency for something to slake his parched lips. At one time, he had sipped the putrid brew he lay up to his chest in. For several days after, he had vomited and fever raged. It was during that time his left eye went blind.
The pit was an awful prison, a deeply dug hole in the earth filled with slop, water and now his filth. Some days, they threw him weevil-infested biscuits or bones with rotting flesh. If they remembered, they lowered a bucket with brackish water. Long ago, his clothes had rotted off. Naked like a worm, he struggled in the mud, periodically drawing out his legs to peel off bloodsuckers. His beard and hair was matted, his body caked with slime.
Tonight, he shivered, coughed and hoped they remembered the water bucket tomorrow.
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