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Rúan forced himself to breathe — forced control over his thoughts and his whole self.

In. Out. In. Out.

The man in front of him took a breath, directing Rúan’s attention to him, and said, “My name is Niarok. We’re all stuck in this place, and it seems to have a mind bent on torturing us.”

Mind? This place has a mind?

Puzzled, Rúan tried to work the scanty pieces of information together.

Get yourself together — surroundings can’t have brains.

Why had he considered that in the first place?

I’m delirious, he decided. Delirious from the pain.

“Your leg is bleeding badly,” the man called Niarok said gently. “Is it all right if I bandage it?”

Hesitating, Rúan swept his eyes over his crowd of onlookers, landing on each face as he struggled to memorize their individual details.

Returning his gaze back to Niarok, Rúan nodded stiffly, gingerly unbending his knee but being careful not to let his mangled calf touch the ground.