In the darkness of the hood he was aware only of movement and muffled sound. He was blind, disorientated, his normally acute sense of smell overwhelmed by the strong odour of the soporific drug they'd soaked the hood in before thrusting it over his head. All sense of direction was lost to the swaying of the wagon combined with the effect of the drug. His limbs were weak and shaking, had he not been tied so securely he would have fallen to his knees. As it was, his wrists were straining hard at the manacles that held him upright, skin rubbed raw and red.

He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was here. He barely remembered who he was or what he had been doing before the time of the hood and the drug. His sense of self was slipping into a darkness blacker than that which surrounded his eyes and he had neither the sense of mind nor the will to hold onto it.

He became aware of the wagon pulling to a stop and heard muffled voices that seemed to come from miles away. The words, lost to the hood and the wind and his confused mind, made no sense. He ignored them as he had all the other noises. He no longer cared what his fate was. There was barely a He to care about anything any more.