The carriage had rattled violently along the rough dirt road, with little concern for the comfort of its occupant. The windows had been barred and boarded, and the passenger was thought still living, yet there were none that dared to check.

"Someone needs to feed it."

"Are you even sure it eats? I haven't heard it call out once for food or water."

"Regardless if it chokes, we can't risk letting it starve before we reach the capital. Send one of the new recruits to serve as its warden; one we could bear to lose..."

Pike was still adjusting to the uniform. The armor had been rubbing against the back of his neck since they were forced to pick up speed through the Witling Forest, and the helmet continued to slip down below his eyebrows, obscuring his vision as they ran. If he could make enough on this job to settle his situation at home, the pain would surely be worth it.

His village was nothing of note, the people were poor, and resources were limited. It was a miracle that the witch had been found hiding there, and even more so that local men had been recruited to assist in its conveyance to the prison in Velmund.

"Oi, you! The one playing with your helmet! Hurry up and report."

"Sir!" replied Pike, rushing to stand before his commanding officer, and fearing the punishment awaiting him for having violated the dress code.

"Here."

A stone flagon of water and a hemp sack of food scraps were delivered into his hands.

"Sir..?"

"New mission for you, soldier. You're to feed the witch and keep it alive until we reach our destination. I'd recommend trying to keep yourself alive while you're at it. There's no telling what dark powers it may call upon to try and gain its freedom. Keep your wits about you if you want to make it back to Hofingrad in one piece."

 Rumors had abounded on the journey. Just what kind of creature the army had captured remained an elusive mystery. Rel was sure it was a woman, and yet it could turn itself into a man at will; while Min had heard that it traveled to the Cimbran Isle from a dark and twisted realm, where demons walked the earth.

Pike's hands were shaking as he approached the carriage door, the surrounding guards removing the bolt from as far of a distance as the length of their arms would allow. Pushed inside through the narrow gap they opened for him, the door was quickly shut and bolted once more.

His back bent, and his helmet slipping down, only a crack of light through the boarded window afforded him his first glimpse of the witch. A blanket was covering its head, while heavy chains were bolted around its wrists, and connected to the carriage floor. It lay slumped against the wall, and dangerously still.

"Y.... You there!" called Pike, "Sit quickly and take your food!"

The body did not move.

"What? Am I to feed you?" scoffed the put upon soldier, hoping his affected tone did not betray the anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach.

He had never seen a dead body before, and began to fear the worst as he inched closer to the prisoner.

"If you mean to feign illness then make a grab for me, I ought to warn you! I am far tougher than I look! I've fought many a brute in my day!"

The sincerity of his words was lost to the shaking of his voice.

Steeling his resolve, Pike tossed the sack of food on the carriage bench, and tugged at the witch's blanket. No hideous countenance nor stench of decay was uncovered.

"A woman..?"

In the dim light, only pale skin and fine features were revealed to him. Pike's gallantry was stirred, the stone flagon abandoned, and his helmet hastily removed.

"Madam..? Forgive me!" he cried, as he clumsily manoeuvred the body to sit beside his own. 

The fragile being's shallow breaths were all that Pike could determine. The water held to its parched lips seemed to awaken its will to live, the witch greedily drinking as its eyes flickered to something closer to open.

"Can you hear me, Madam?" asked Pike, "Are your senses returning?"

The witch shifted away from him.

"I've brought you some food... do you think you could eat it? I'm sorry Madam, it isn't all that much... I don't think they realized how weak you were."

"Madam..?" rasped the witch.

Pike had no plate on which he could serve the the stale bread and vegetable peelings intended to sustain the prisoner. Peering into the darkened bag, it was difficult to discern what was even edible. Without resorting to using the sack as a feed-bag, he had no choice but to use his fingers to offer it into the witch's mouth.

"You don't bite, do you?" asked Pike.

The witch shook its head.

It didn't matter that the food tasted bad, that it would be better given to the dogs than fed to a human; the witch had not eaten in two days, and no crumb was wasted. As the witch's tongue slid across Pike's fingertips, the novice soldier shuddered at the strange sensation.

"That's all there is," said Pike, "I'm sorry, Madam. I'll see if I can bring more when I return."

"You said it again," noted the witch, the masculine timbre of his voice becoming noticeably audible, "Why do you address me as 'Madam'?"

 Pike started back, wiping his fingers on the witch's blanket as he began to rationalize the absurdity of his actions.

"You! You tricked me that I might pity you!" cried Pike, "Your magic is as they say! Neither woman nor man, you are but a demon. Guards! Guards, I have fed it! Hurry and let me out!"

The witch sighed, resting his head against the carriage wall, and catching a sliver of precious daylight as the door was opened and closed. With neither his hunger nor thirst fully satisfied, he could only try and return to his restless sleep.

 At the next stop, the courtesies of their previous meeting were no longer extended.

"Sit and eat, or don't. It's up to you."

The witch complied, weakly raising his head and using the last of his energy to edge towards the promise of food and water. Only when he moved closer, did Pike see the stains of tears on his cheeks.

"You haven't changed back then," said Pike, "Is it your voice alone you have yet to master? Only a woman would cry from hunger..."

"I'm sorry..." managed the witch, "That you felt I had deceived you. As to my tears... there's something in my eye, but I haven't the hands with which to retrieve it. I do not mean to affect you." 

"Who's affected?!" challenged Pike, "I won't be tricked again. You may change your appearance to that of a woman, but it is clear you are barely akin to a human. My duty is to see you fed; I have no compassion for the plight of the wicked."

The witch smiled.

"I understand," he said sadly, "Feed me and fulfil your duty. I will gladly accept whatever you give."

Pike fought the urge to treat him kindly, and pressed the flagon's mouth firmly to the witch's lips.

"Forgive me for asking," said the witch, "I've sat with the odor of my own piss for so long it's hard to tell if it's me or the water that reeks of it. Would you mind holding my nose while I drink?"

The acrid scent of urine had been masked by the stronger scent of rust and fetid air. Pike hadn't thought to wonder how the witch had been relieving itself, assuming that magical means had halted the witch's bodily functions. Holding its nose was a tolerable enough request to grant.

The witch drank, surprised that the liquid continued flowing far beyond his limited expectation. The discomfort of his parched throat was lessened greatly.

"Thank you," he said, once the flagon was emptied of its contents.

"There's no need to thank someone for doing their job," protested Pike, "They allow me no spoon with which to feed you, so I'm forced to use my hand. Open your mouth and keep your tongue inside it... I will suffer no more of your slobbering over my fingers."

"My hunger had clearly driven me to desperation," admitted the witch, "I apologize for the impropriety of my wanton tongue."

The witch's 'wanton tongue' had lingered in Pike's imagination. There was only one possibility; the witch was disguising its voice to that of a man to confuse him, it was clearly the body of a woman. No other explanation sufficed for his misplaced arousal.

As with the water, the food was more plentiful than the witch could have anticipated. It was unlikely that the soldier had been ordered to give him anything more than could keep him tottering on the brink of starvation, the ration had been supplemented by the kindness of his warden.

"Thank you," repeated the witch.

"I already told you-"

"But thank you all the same. Even if it's only your duty... I am grateful to live another day."

The chained witch in the darkened carriage had been left with nothing. And yet Pike envied its gratitude for living. The hours marching, the aching of his body, and the welts that formed where sweating skin touched the metal of his armor; he had passed the point of wishing for another day to come and torment him.

"What do you have to look forward to?" asked Pike, "Your imprisonment..? Or your execution? Isn't it better to die in privacy?"

"Another day living, is another day where things may turn around," the witch explained, "Only at the end can we lose the hope of a second beginning."

"Ah," said Pike, "You think there may still be a way out of this. Look again, Witch. These chains will not break, and your captors have no mind to release you. Unless you plan to depend on your devious tricks to free yourself? What powerful witch wields so little magic that they'd allow themselves caught without a fight?"

"My magic does no harm."

"Bullshit," challenged Pike, "They wouldn't keep you locked up so tightly if you posed no threat to their safety."

"Their safety?" noted the witch, "Are you not one of them? Have you no reason to be afraid of me? Especially when you're this much closer than the rest."

"I'm already wise to your deceptions, there is nothing further to fear. And I'm only here to earn a penny, I haven't pledged my life to the Cimbran army, only my services in assisting in your transportation to the capital."

"And what will you do when your task is complete?" asked the witch.

"You ask too many questions," Pike replied, "Guards! Open the door. It's been fed."

The witch had wondered why the young soldier had been chosen for the task of delivering his meals. That he wasn't a Cimbran soldier at all, but a drafted body from the provinces, explained the reason clearly enough; he was expendable. He mused on whether or not his warden was aware, as he watched him disappear into the night beyond the carriage.

The witch stretched as much as his chains would allow, blocking the days that led to his capture from his memory, and hopeful that his warden would come again soon to alleviate his boredom, even if there was nothing to be done for the pain.

"Rel, he's made it back again!" cried Min, "You owe me use of your pillow tonight. I told you the witch wouldn't eat him."

"And I suppose you thought it would?" Pike asked the shame-ridden Rel.

"It was a joke, my friend, nothing but a joke. Which means Min will have to make do with only his own pillow to rest his head tonight."

"A sack with whatever dried leaves we can scrape together chucked inside of it hardly counts as a place of rest. Had I known, I would have brought a batt of lambswool from home... if only to pad this sodding armor and its jagged fucking edges."

Pike couldn't help but think of the witch on the wooden bench of the carriage. Only a blanket, and no pillow to speak of. His mind was wandering as to whether he'd left the witch's only covering within its reach when he'd gone.

"You think they'd waste the good stuff on us?" asked Rel, "We're lucky to have any protection at all. If it wasn't for so many of their soldiers dying on the hunt for it, there'd be no hand-me-downs for the likes of us."

"Soldiers died..?" 

Pike had heard of no casualties. He was a fool for almost believing the witch's assertion that its magic was harmless.

"Must be why they've got it chained up like that then," reasoned Pike.

"Oh, but it wasn't the witch that killed them," Rel explained, "It was the witch's husband..."