Each footfall of River’s shot panic up her knee, stabbing her heart with a pained intensity. Fear expands within her, threatening to break her skin. She struggles and fails to maintain each measured inhale.
Anita walks beside her in a manner of submissiveness, head lowered to the floor, a shawl wrapped around her head to hide the formation of new bruises that map her skin. Odin had done that to her, River realized, horrified. Her stomach cartwheels at the prospect of what he might do to her.
“What does he want with me?” River finally manages to speak, a strange touch of pain in her voice. She glances sideways at Anita whose gait is monotonous and holds a slight limp to it, each footfall causes her to wince in mild discomfort. “Anita-”
“Just count to ten,” the girl whispers in finality,
