Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – One Hundred and Eighty-Three

They dropped her at the foot of the tree and turned away in silence. The youngest pausing to kick her in the place where her ribs were already broken and spit a gobbet of green mucus onto her face.

It was going to take a long time to die, even with bones piercing her lung and ropes so tight as to cut off circulation. One tear ran down her cheek – she hated herself for that weakness. 

She didn’t see the Forest Lord approach. But when he set his horn against her breastbone she knew herself to be free at last…

©️jj 2019

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