Clifford did nothing but let the feminine bandit complete her task. Truth be told, his throat had been feeling dry as the sands he came from, and he wasn't exactly capable of asking for anything to fix that. At least his captors were [i]somewhat[/i] proactive in keeping their bounty alive. The cup of water had emptied, the bandit stood up, glared at Cliff for a moment, and proceeded out of the tent.

Clifford waited for just a moment before he began darting his head every which way, looking for something, [i]anything[/i] to get out of here with. He kept switching his vision, jostling the post he was tied to while he searched and-

Wait.

The post was loose.

Clifford put as best of a grip as he could on the thing, planting his feet in the dirt beneath him and pushing upwards. The post, indeed, rose just a bit out of the ground. Clifford couldn't tell how far it was going, but he was going to risk it anyway. Before any of the bandits bothered to come back.

He slid forward, pulling himself with his feet. His bound hands lowered, reaching the base of the post. He lifted it up as best as he could in that position, straining a bit. He dug his fingers beneath the wood, feeling the dirt it was planted in. With a few stressed and forceful movements, he pulled his hands under the post and out of the ground, and then quickly replanted it.

He was free of the post, but he had to formulate an escape plan. He slid back up to the post and raised his arms over his head, doing his best to make it look as though the dirtied rope was still wrapped around the wood.

Think. Think, [i]think[/i].