The straw she sat on was dirty but more comfortable than the cold stone alternative. Morwen counted the days by the regular visits by her goblin jailor, pushing the sloppy gruel through the cage's bars. Again the food was disgusting yet when the alternative was the constant ache of hunger even the gruel won out. 

Morwen spent her days remembering spells and enchantments her father taught her, the years of training still there - buried beneath the years of what she had been through since. Not that it made a difference what spells she could remember, somehow every spell she attempted failed else the jailor wouldn't have survived pushing this gruel on her.

She heard the familiar sounds of the rounds beginning, the slam of doors as the goblin began his rounds, moving through between the cages. He was getting closer and, despite her revulsion at the thought of the gruel, her stomach growled in empty anticipation. Something was different today, she heard the grunts of speech as the goblin paused next door and then, after a pause, the muffled sounds of movement and the slap of flesh on stone made their way through the walls. Morwen was blind to this new activity but her mind ran wild with the possibilities, holding onto the hope that the prisoner had won.

After a few of Morwen's longest minutes in the cell she heard footsteps in the corridor, saw a torch held higher than the goblin could manage. She stood and called out hesitantly.

[b]"Hello?"[/b]