More came. Wrapping his legs. His torso. His arms — pinning them to his sides, immobilizing him. His mouth — the vines found his jaw, wrapped around it, forced it shut. His eyes — wide, red, furious — remained visible. The only parts of him not covered.
He looked like a mummy.
A Pharaoh's mummy — wrapped in vines instead of linen, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose visible, his body immobilized, his strength useless. He tried to scream. The vines over his mouth held. The sound that escaped was a muffled, strangled, animal moan.
The thorn-vines found his balls.
The thickest, most hooked, most cruelly barbed vine wrapped around his sac — the heavy, dangling, vulnerable flesh that even a barbarian could not protect when his hands were bound. The thorns dug in. The vine squeezed.
His eyes went red.
