He was practically carried from his cell, his feet stumbling and weak. Since being put in this hole, he had come to regret the negligent care he had taken of his body. He was thin, and pale like many of the rest. Shorter than most as well. His ragged hair and beard were too dirty to see the auburn they naturally were, or the gray that was creeping prematurely into his temples. The lack of room to move and near starvation deteriorates everyone down here, but when he was taken up with the others, it was clear that he was in worse condition than most.
That was the most obvious difference between this prisoner and most of the rest being steered upstairs. As they reached the better lighting on the floor above, another difference became apparent. His shackles were not the iron of the rest, but silver, etched with religious symbols. 

In the room with the barred window, he got as close as they would let him to the smell of fresh air. The life it gave, from the plants all around, was purer and closer than he had tasted in a long time. 

He got the barest taste before he was pulled with the rest into a line. Another man was dragged away for the barest moment’s indecision. He determined not to join him. 

When the red woman approached him, the hedge wizard, Rolf White, said “I accept.”