Pain.

“It is all I know now,” Alma thinks in her mind. Sighing softly, she welcomes the agony of fresh bruises and open wounds from the whip. They hit the air, and she grits her teeth in order to stop the groan of pain rumbling through her chest. She closes her eyes, blocking out the entire city. She focuses on the way the breeze caresses her cheek and brushes her thin hair. She inhales the warm scent of the thick stew that the Drein rebels, her captors, are making. Her stomach ...