The dampness of the ground had become his friend at this point. The softness of the ground was a vast difference from being shoved and slapped around, among some other unmentionable events. He didn't know why he was being kept here, but he kept track of the days. 17. He'd lost a bit of weight to prove it, beard becoming unkempt.

He was surrounded by trees and tents, often times being shoved into different ones for different means. The majority of his captives were women, only a handful of men, but all spoke a language he didn't understand and wore a different style of facial covering to hide their faces. Only one woman spoke English well enough to be his "translator". Calypso she called herself.

Something was clear, though. He wouldn't know the way out of this forest alone.

Price trudged, or more so was dragged in the pouring rain. His wrists were bounded once more by a thick rope. He didn't fight, not yet. He hadn't been too harmed, but he was covered in mud after being shoved a little too hard.

As the man in front continued to guide him forward, he caught a glance of a radio in one of the women's hands, the mental note of it kept close to his chest. His arms were tugged as he moved too slow for their liking.

He could feel the stares on him, and the rain began to pellet his head. Calypso beside him spoke in that unknown language of theirs and tugged him to his usual tent, a stake in the center bolted to the ground that tied to his wrists. Just as scheduled, it was tied securely. At least he could reach the cot on the left side.