Whilst the purple hedgehog girl railed against her captors under her breath, the sudden shooting elicited less of a response in other parts of the camp. In fact, in a particular cell in the 'specialty cellblock' it garnered no response at all. That was due mainly to the unusual condition of the occupant. The raiders who had been at this particular camp longer- or more regularly- called her "Old Hellion", a nickname bestowed in jest and mockery. She was an unusual find indeed: Her ears were long and pointed and amazingly acute. Dark, leathery wings were folded close against her back. Her fur- where it was visible- had a tortoise-shell pattern to it, mostly in blacks and browns, but with some russet-reds and oranges to it as well, with even a few hints of yellow here and there, all with a slight metallic lustre and iridescence to it. The hair of her head, black like much of her fur, came down to just between her shoulder-blades. Her clothing was faded, but of hard-wearing and durable quality. Her build was slim- though with more than a suggestion of leanness to it- perhaps like the build of a dancer or athlete. Even within the confines of the cell she retained an aura of the exotic, but this quality was offset by the fact that she was also completely inert; neither moving nor speaking and with little to indicate that she was still even breathing.

She sat where she had sat for a long time now, the dust slowly gathering around her, though whether she had been placed in the meditative cross-legged position or had assumed it herself was a matter lost to memory. As if to emphasise the inert nature of this silent inmate a profusion of growths, not unlike leaves but more reminiscent of a pangolin's scales, appeared to have spread throughout the fur. Perhaps she should have sold for a very high price not long after her capture, for no one who looked on her would doubt that she was a "ghost" creature. But soon after her capture she had become strangely inert and lifeless. When it became apparent that no measure of force not resulting in permanent damage would rouse her- and fearful of permanently damaging a prize catch- the raiders had simply put her in the cell she now occupied, perhaps hoping for signs of life to return- or waiting for her to die completely. Here she remained, eyes closed. Unspeaking, unmoving, not even eating. But there were yet indicators of life. The strange growths that covered her served to keep her vital functions active. And the movements of eyes behind sealed eyelids showed that she dreamed.

The dreams were varied, often full of images drawn from memory. Sometimes she dreamed of strange and twisted ruins. Sometimes of tribes stranger than any ruins ever could be, in vast and ever-varying lands of great beauty and peril. Sometimes the dreams were of wild, primeval-looking, untouched mountains in far-flung places. But of all the dreams the dreamer dreamed, two were more frequent than the rest. One of these was the dream of ancient days. Though the ancient world had died its catastrophic death long before her birth, the dreamer often vividly dreamed of that time. In those dreams she would wander the great streets of the shining cities, with every corner every avenue and alleyway familiar to her as her own skin. She would gaze in wonder at the glittering towers that reared into the sky, farther than the eye could see, and sent dazzling sunlight bouncing from their flanks. She would see the mechanical marvels that were available and stare in wonderment at the vast, winged ships that sailed the skies. At other times she would dream of the terrors of that vanished era,and the horrors wrought by its people, that had reduced it to nothing but ash and memory. The second of her recurring dreams was of the day of her capture, of how her own lack of familiarity with the weapons of the raiders had cost her her freedom. And of how the sliver, the tiny fragment of metal implanted in her flesh had triggered the unexpected reaction that led to her present inert condition. And now, she spent all her time in a limbo of dreams, not completely asleep but not awake either, simply...dormant. Waiting. Waiting for the strange function of the metal sliver to be disrupted. Waiting for the deliberate aid or chance occurrence that would allow her to reclaim control of herself. Waiting for the day when she would rise from slumber into the waking world again. Waiting for the time when she would regain her freedom.