Hobble-Along-Hobs trailed his beating-stick across the bars as he approached, and there was a scurry of feet in the dark as all the inhabitants of the blackness scrambled for the wall. Ar’Jay put his hand in hers a silent question she could not answer. Today? She squeezed it back tightly instead and hoped he took it as a reply.
He was older than he had first seemed, soft though. Softer than her. Softer than she’d been even when she was sun-bound and free. He’d not live down here for long. She was trying not to grow too attached to him, but it was hard. There was something pathetic about him she liked. Besides, he’d stayed here with her for seven buckets now what was presumably a week, if Hobs remembered to come punctually. There was no other way to tell the time down here in the blackness
