Three things disturbed Ogrin that night, and robbed him of his sleep.
His belly (its constricted emptiness, its intermittent, grinding spasms – like the yelping of a dog when kicked).
His head (hot and dry and full. Heavy and thumping).
And his fears. Indistinct, momentary fears which shot across his mind, flashed briefly, but slipped his grasp.
“This place…” He moaned as he turned over and over, and back. “This place.” Had he had tears to cry… Well, no matter. His face creased and wept silent agonies. His body tightened like a clenched fist.