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Ferry woke to find himself upside down, tied up from shoulder to ankle. His clothes were gone, along with his bags and weapons. He heard movement and struggled.
"Bitches!" He roared, swinging.
It was daybreak, but there was mist so dense it was blinding.
"Fury!"
No reply.
He heard a snort, pig like, animal. Shadowed figures passed through the mist, whatever it was, was incredibly fat, large and swollen. Way too round to be any of their group let alone of the Inqindi race. He struggled harder but stopped when he twisted enough to see a cooking fire and a steel pot beneath his head. Fat and swollen hands touched his head and pulled him down, holding him in place, Ferry roared but his roar abruptly changed to a submission cry when a smaller pot was brought to his neck by another pair of pink swollen hands, in the pot was a long-serrated blade which gleamed with the brightest silver even in the mist.
Ferry screamed.