He had seen it. That was the worst part of the whole wretched business. He had been so close.

His claws dug into the ground as he was dragged back to his cell. It wouldn't make his captors release him, but at least it would slow them down while he feasted his eyes on the sunlight. There was something unique about the colours of nature, and he wanted to remember them all.

Until, all at once, it was too much. He released his hold on the dirt and closed his eyes. He has seen freedom, been close enough to smell it, only to lose it again. He swore that he would never again try to escape; even while he knew that he would, in truth, never stop.

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(outa time, outa ideas, outa here!)

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