[b][center][u]Aoife, the Listening Mouse[/u][/center][/b]

[i]How long have I been here?[/i]

Over seven-thousand five-hundred, under eight-thousand, days. It was hard to measure the exact passage of time when one couldn’t see the sun--so Aoife based it on how many times she’d slept. They’d moved her to a different cell exactly thirty-seven times. The Warden had figured out that Aoife was learning and plotting against the structural integrity of each of her cells--learning how to escape. It was disappointing–what else was she supposed to do in the Maw? Just [i]exist?[/i]

[i]I’ve been here long enough that I’ve had to cut my hair seventeen times.[/i]

It was really the only reliable source of time passing--her hair. Nothing else in the Maw seemed to move or grow. Her hair had recently reached the point of tickling at her eyes, but not long enough to be held back with a tie just yet. A few more inches before the eighteenth cut.

But something had changed. Something was new.

Instead of waking up in her cell, the small halfling realized she was waking up to tight bonds and a new location. She was in a too-large chair, her arms tied behind her and ankles tied to the cold metal legs. Aoife wiggled slightly as she rose into consciousness, testing the unfamiliar feeling. It was wire-like rope that held her in place--[i]I’m not big or strong enough to warrant chains. They know that my mind is the reason I’m here.[/i]

As Aoife tried to get a sense of her surroundings, she realized that whoever had brought her here--the Warden, no doubt--had known to cover her eyes. The halfling found that her eyes would not open, harsh cloth tied around her head to keep her blind. Was she being moved again? She was always kept unconscious when she was moved to a different cell--her mind had started building a mental map of the maze-like Maw, and the Warden didn’t want that to continue.

[i]No, I’m not moving. This is something else.[/i] Aoife kept her breathing shallow as she moved her head slowly, using her ears.[i] It’s a bigger room--the echo. There are others--I can hear them stirring.[/i] She heard the gentle pitter of a graceful stride on a stone floor. A voice like a honeyed blade spoke, inquiring what the Warden needed.

[i]Ah. [/i]The Warden has gathered a collection of denizens of the Maw together, then. [i]But what for?[/i] Aoife quickly realized that everyone in the room had received different treatment--the honey-dagger voice was not bound like Aoife was. She could hear someone--someone [i]large--[/i]grunting and straining against harsher bindings. Someone else let out a bit-back scream, but not from torture or bindings. Everyone had received a different treatment--[i]which means they have different strengths and abilities. Different types of threats. Different reasons for being in the Maw.[/i] And the Warden had placed all of them under her control.

[i]Well, I can do nothing but listen, the Warden has made sure of that. So let’s see what my captor has to say.[/i]

Aoife kept her ears trained towards the center of the room, but didn’t make a sound. She would listen. It was what she did best, after all.