Prison Cell

A hungry feelin' came o'er me stealin'
And the mice were squealin' in my prison cell

The harsh clatter-clang of the wakeup call shattered his sleep. Even though he'd not been able to get much sleep, it was still jarring and unnatural to be brought to such abrupt awareness.

"It takes a while to get used to that," the old timer in the next cell sighed. Aerrow frowned, holding the bridge of his nose against the wave of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him, unable to answer quite yet.

The old man pulled his shirt over his scarred hide. "That's how they wake us in the morning, ye see," he explained, "They don't like us to get too much sleep. Keeps us off balance of something like that."

Aerrow pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the feeling of revulsion as tiny vermin scattered at his movement. "What are they afraid of?"

"What is anyone afraid of in a prison?" The talkative greybeard replied with a shrug, "mutiny. Rebellion. Something like that."

The red headed man couldn't find it in himself to answer that. Of course the idea of a revolt had crossed his mind at his capture and incarceration, but in the ensuing days he'd been so deprived of energy and rest, let alone food…

…it was almost not worth it.

Instead, he changed the subject. "I'm Aerrow."

The man nodded, his roughly whiskered face creasing as he held a smile back. "I know, son. We all know."

Aerrow sighed. He looked at his hands and the wounds that decorated his skin.

"You didn't go easily, did ye boy?"

"I like to think not." He replied with a hint of a grimace. "I took some with me, I know."

Wood creaked, then feet patted on the ground. "Well, at least there's that."

Silence reigned after that.

The sky knight had nothing to fill his time but muse over the events of the past week, though thinking about it was painful. He couldn't remember much beyond the chaos of the fighting, but he knew that no one had made it out of there with their freedom. They'd all given themselves over to the fight, but in the end, sheer numbers had overwhelmed the Storm Hawks.

He could see each member of his crew in the last moment he'd set his eyes on them. Piper, being dragged by two large Cyclonians. Junko, subdued by a wiry soldier pressing cloth soaked in something noxious over his nose and mouth. Finn was shackled and bent half double, his crossbow kicked across the room. Stork was unconscious, a disturbingly dark puddle beginning at his temple.

Radarr…

He forced his mind away. There would be time to mourn later.

Aerrow started. He heard heavy footsteps thud down the strangely silent corridor.

"Who's that?" he asked his incidental friend, who shook his head.

"The warden, I reckon." The old man sighed.

And the auld triangle went jingle jangle,
All along the banks of the Royal Canal.