Maria squirmed, straining against the ropes holding her, the sun beating down on her naked flesh. Thrown over his shoulder, she could feel the powerful muscles of her captor beneath her as he shrugged off her attempts to escape. Dust flew into her face, and she spat out grit as the cries of other captured men and women filled the air, and another sound, too, the low, steady beat of hundreds of marching feet, their captors carrying them off to the high, red peaks of Wyrmstone mountain, whose silhouette stood out against the sun like twisted claws rising to the sky. Maria squirmed again, more vigorously this time, and was rewarded with nothing but a hearty laugh and a slap across the ass from her captor. She blinked back tears, trying not to think about how she was completely naked, completely exposed in front of all these men.
How could this have all happened?
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