How to Save a Fae (Heir of Dragons Book 2)

still alive, after all.
Minx took stock of herself. Her arms were bound, but she could move them. Her legs, though heavy as lead, were still mobile as well. She reached up gingerly and touched the sore spot on the back of her head, where the club had earlier connected. Her hair was matted with dried blood and the pain was intense, but the blow hadn't caused a severe wound by the looks of it, and it had already begun to heal. All told, she was in reasonable shape. She focused once again on calming herself and waited for her senses to stabilize. You've gone through worse than this. Much worse. Take a few minutes to get your feet under you. When you find a way to get these ropes off, they're going to wish they'd killed you when they had the chance...
She heard voices nearby, but recognized none of them. These voices... It must be the Wuffs, she realized. Minx struggled again, her arms quivering as she tensed against her bonds. There was nothing for it; her bones would break before the ropes would give. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to stave off the dizzying pain of her head wound. She felt the ground beneath her, sensed blades of cool grass against her flesh. Where was she? Had she been taken far from the hilltop? Where was Mau?
This latter question proved the most pressing. Minx reached out to the Faelyr telepathically. Mau, are you there? Can you hear me? She grit her teeth, eyes gradually opening. Mau? Please, talk to me. If you can hear me, please say so. I... I just woke up. I was hit on the head... I... I don't know where we are. I think we've been taken prisoner by Wuffs. She waited with bated breath for an answer. Unless the distance between them was great—or something was interfering with their mental link—the two of them were always able to maintain telepathic contact.
There was no reply, though. All around her, she heard the mutterings of her captors, the Wuffs, and nothing more.
It was all Minx could do not to fall into complete and utter panic. Waking up injured and bound—a prisoner—was bad enough. Realizing that she could not communicate with her partner left her chilled to the bone, however. Is she all right? Did they do something to her? Maybe she's out of range... or maybe they... Minx wrestled against morbid thoughts and instead focused on recovery. One thing at a time. Try and open your eyes, look around. Then, if you can, stand up. You can work on the ropes afterward...
This wasn't the first time that Minx had been cut off from Mau. During her previous journey, in the run-up to the great battle, she had been temporarily separated from the Faelyr. Mau had been kidnapped by Alla, the Fae-dragon hybrid, and had been given a curious collar—an invention of the Zuscha—which had prevented her from using her telepathic abilities. Perhaps Mau was nearby, but the Wuffs had utilized a similar tool to keep them from communicating.
Minx struggled to stabilize her breathing, and all the while her head ached as though on the verge of splitting. Her vision was slow to return, and even when she could make out her nearest surroundings, everything in view wobbled unsteadily. She cursed herself, wishing she'd been more careful. If you hadn't been moping, distracted, they wouldn't have gotten the jump on you. What were you thinking? The hillside is crawling with warriors.
Fighting to regain her senses, another voice seemed to intrude on her thoughts. Maybe they should have just killed you, she thought. Her chest tightened in despair. What's the sense in fighting? You can't compete against these odds. You and Mau can't turn back the tide. Two fighters can't win the war—not on their own. You were delusional to think that you could ever make a difference...
Once again, she heard the Wuffs chattering amongst themselves. They sounded amused, content with their quarry. She tried to look at them, to get a feel for the area, but her vision was so blurred she couldn't even tell what time of day it was. All the while, the despairing voice continued to sow doubt and bitterness within her.
Why fight anymore? The Fae did this to themselves, didn't they? We've always been a prideful race—have always thought less of others. Considering we've spent generations spitting on the dragons, why should we be surprised that they hate us? We never even bothered to learn about other races. We simply convinced ourselves of our innate superiority. Why would they help us in our hour of need, knowing how dismissive we've been of them? I have always loved and served my people... but in this, we have made a terrible error. Our lack of allies... our lack of alliances with other societies... we only have ourselves to blame. When the Fae have been destroyed... when our cities have been dominated and Heilo Lake has been conquered, it will be our fault. We won't be able to pin the blame on anyone else this time around...
She'd been cognizant for some minutes now. Chasing out the negative thoughts, she focused instead on her recovery. Her sight still lacked perfect clarity, but things were beginning to improve. In the dubious shadows that her eyes initially picked up, she could nearly make out concrete shapes—living, moving figures. She closed her eyes a moment, taking several breaths and giving her senses another chance to catch up. Just relax. You're fine—they didn't hurt you nearly as badly as they could have. Don't panic and you'll be OK.
Minx tried once again to focus her vision. Blinking hard, she fixed her gaze on the dim sky above. Then, listing to the right, she scanned what appeared to be a handful of Wuffs seated on the ground, chatting. None of them noticed her—she was nothing to them but cargo, by the looks of it. She tried counting them, her blurred vision