The hound snaps his fingers and a small group of men walk over to him. You hear him whisper, but you can’t make out any of the words. Four sets of legs trotted off.
You hear a shrill whistle and then a mass of interlaced arms are supporting your weight as the carabiners are removed from the harness. The four men that Mr. Hound dispatched were trotting back towards the courtyard from the barn, carrying an overstuffed leather upholstered chaise lounge between them with the precision of a military drill team. No sooner was the last of the suspension ropes removed than you are lowered to the lounge and pairs of hands immediately descend on you to undo the buckles of your harness.
The intensity of the events so far in the evening, combined with the wine have left you in a languid state. The motion of the hands working the leather straps and metal buckles clear of your body is pleasant noise amidst the jangling of your overstimulated body. You hardly notice as the piggy returns to stand in front of you at the end of the chaise with a silver tray holding an odd assortment of items.