Syvis seethes, holding onto the cave wall and trying to make out the figure in the darkness “Who's there?”

His hair is matted, dried blood crusted on his skin, wounds left untreated that scarred horrifically. It isn’t an uncommon sight to see elves in this conditions. They’re losing the war against humans. His entire squadron had been slaughtered in front of him eight years ago, only four years into the war. Syvis was the lone survivor, spared on a whim and then used as a mule by human soldiers. He’d been forced to cart around their belongings in chains. He was helping humans kill his people.

The chains on his wrist clatter about, rubbing the skin more raw than it already is. His ankle had become infected months ago from the open wound never healing. Hatred had been the only thing keeping him alive. He refused to die by the hands of humans. Syvis would sooner take his own life.

“I’ll kill you if you don't come out of the shadows,show yourself to me” he says. His teeth pull back into a snarl. The threats aren’t empty, because every bone in his body will try, but he’s much too weak to do it. It’s shameful how low he’s fallen. He’s no wounded bird, he’s meant to be a soldier fighting for his kingdom.

He doesn’t turn away, but he shifts to slam the chains against a rock. The metal contorts. He raises his hand and does it again. Syvis must escape.

With a shout he slams the chain against the ground for a fourth time, freeing his wrist. He’s heaving from the effort.

Syvis stumbles, before falling over onto his side. "Crap..."

Should you help him?