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The Prisoner sat in a thick wooden chair with faded worn cushions, her fur covered arms roped against her sides and her wrists roped together in her lap. Her bare feet, soft and impossibly smooth soled, were stretched out before her and rested in a sturdy pair of polished oak stocks. A blind fold hid her eyes, but the twitch of her ears and nose gave her all the information she needed about her surroundings. Her tail rose to swish mindfully behind her. “What the…” The prisoner could smell old wooden floorboards; a strong earthy scent mixed with the chemical touch of a polish. She could smell the colder damp of the stone walls along with the mould that gathered on them. She could hear birds and insects and other things beyond the stone walls; they were coming from above her. “Underground,” she sighed, “and I’ve been captured…again.” The prisoner let out a little sigh. This wasn’t the first time she’d been captured or tied up, which should be more embarrassing considering who