Assallya carefully and awkwardly shuffled her bare feet towards the cell she was being led to, doing her best to keep pace with the much larger man she had been bonded to. His stride was longer than hers, more commanding and she was having trouble matching it. What was worse is that he seemed not to particularly care if he pulled her off stride with his greater mass. The constant concentration needed to make sure she didn't fall also meant she wasn't paying as much attention to her surroundings as she promised herself.

Her new companion was a great deal taller than herself, and judging from earlier, had a fair degree of muscle hidden beneath that coarse burlap sack that passed for clothing. It had her thinking he certainly wasn't a magician, priest or other academic. She rather imagined he was some sort of laborer or perhaps a warrior. It would be just her luck to be saddled with a common wood cutter caught poaching the king's forests.

About the worst part of all this, at least so far, was the prison clothing. Assallya peered down at the misshapen, artless, smock that she wore. It fit her poorly, her entire figure disappearing inside the voluminous expanse meant for a man at least twice as large as her and not even a belt to cinch it in at the waist. She imagined that was to avoid the prisoners using the rope as impromptu garrotes or other weapons but it wasn't in the slightest bit flattering. She rather imagined the lack of footwear was a measure to reduce expense. The cost of cobbling an entire prison would likely be prohibitive.