Gerald lay on the slab of rock they had the nerve to call a bed and allowed his back to stretch on it. 'Overall, not the worst prison cell I've found myself in.' He mused. The bark on the ceiling spoke of its thickness, but Gerald felt no need to attempt to break out at the moment, despite the guards they placed near his cell. It was dark, it was quiet, and it was lit by the firelight of torches, which cast long glaring shadows on the bars. A lone bucket stood in his room. His toilet, and only companion besides the slab of rock. "Could I get a blanket?" He asked his guards. "It's kind of cold here."
"Shut up." One responded. "If you say another word, we'll add being insubordinate to the long list of charges."
