Cold air. Cold stone. Cold dirt. Cold iron. Skin radiated heat into the cool spring air, a perpetual fire encased in flesh and muscles. And as fire was encased in flesh, so too was the flesh encased by a stone prison. It was large, an open field of flat dirt, an open sky of blue and white above. It was a prison, one of stone with walls that reached farther than he could jump. On each side was a door of thick wood, easily broken with effort. Effort that would be wasted, as inside there were only more stone prisons with tall walls.

Dirt still clung to his hands, some still embedded under his claws. He had dug away at the dirt near the wall, only to find his efforts wasted once again. The walls ran deep, and men had come with sharp ropes and struck at him until he had relented.

A smell wafted through the air long before its source arrived, one of wet fur and flowers. He saw the smells bearer enter from above, walking through the carved holes that lined the area above the prison walls. The bearer of the mixed smells was well out of reach, even as he descended to the edge of the wall. In his hands was a bundle of yellow leaves, each neatly shaped and of the same size. He had seen many humans carry them around, staring at them as intently as a predator did prey. At first he had thought them odd for this quirk of theirs. What use was looking at leaves? He realized, of course, that they were not merely leaves. They were markings, ones discerned with the eyes. They told things to those who looked at them, just as those heard or smelled did.

The man spoke aloud, his voice carrying across the field. They were nothing but gibberish, sounds that meant nothing to Galal, though he felt a twinge of familiarity with them. Galal listened to the words in silence, eyes focused on the lone man, just as he had done the time before. When he gave no further reaction the man put the bound leaves under his arm and walked through the carved hole, leaving Galal to solitude.

While the smell of man began to fade, the smell of fur began to change, followed by the smell of blood. He breathed through his nostrils, the breath steaming in the air in a white cloud. Galal knew what was to come. He lowered his body, defensive. They were bringing a large one this time. Something more fierce, more confident. Muscles twitched in anticipation, and the sound of his own heart would have filled his ears had he not filtered it out, wary of the sounds of this new meal.

Galal sat in silence, alone in his odd prison, eyes focused on the doors. It would come from there, as the other had before. As the sun broke into the tiny glimpse of sky his prison allowed, he looked up to it, its light smothering the shade and warming his skin. He hoped this new creature was tastier than the last.