He felt something with far too many legs crawl over his chest. Instinctively, he tried to swat at it but his hand fell short by several inches as the manacle bit savagely into his wrist. The protein source scurried to his shoulder, then fell to the cold, damp stone floor. It was gone. He moaned.

Turning his head, he licked the oily seep that oozed down the rocky wall. It was his sole source of water. It was inadequate but at least it was consistent. Nourishment required good luck which he didn’t often have. That he was alone in the darkness was maddening even though at least it had one good side: he couldn’t see the precious few vermin that sustained him.

With increasing difficulty, he remembered birds, sky, wind, flowers, people. Those things seemed a lifetime away. Now, he would have been ecstatic with the daily visit that he used to have from his jailers.

He listened for a while to his heartbeat, then expanded his listening to encompass the entire room and its perpetual whisper of little legs on stone.