Daoi Faelan leaned back against the cool wall of his cell. The stones embraced him--at least in his disoriented mind--and it was the only comfort he'd had since he'd been locked down in the "pound" as his captors called it (a speciest slur in reference to the animal shelters of the human world). Ironic they used a pejorative because most of them were either lycan or anthros themselves, at least the ones he'd seen.
Daoi sighed and rolled over, pressing his hands against the cool rock and lapping at the small trickle of clear fluid dripping from the ceiling of the cell. If it were clear it couldn't be too bad, right? Besides, it was better