<blockquote>The prison-pit had been an ochre mine once. In the long hours since the Brothers of Dule had sent Twistfinger down there at knifepoint, she’d explored every crevice and tunnel. Years of scavenging strange magic had given her clever fingers and good vision in the dark. A thorough search was the only control she could maintain, for now.
The pit offered little but rocks, not even an old digging-stick, and throwing rocks could escalate her situation in dangerous ways. They’d left a waterskin, a ragged bedroll, and a bundle of tasteless greens. Escape might be possible, but she’d need to pick her moment. Until then—she grimaced and chewed the last stems to a stringy pulp—she could endure anything the Brothers had in mind.</blockquote>
