Nessa has completely lost track of time. To be honest, she is losing more than just time, pacing the bars of her tiny confinement, with only the scent of terrified animals, blood and death to keep her company. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her things--her mask and scarf--and if she wasn't feeling more feline than human she'd be feeling very naked. The sinking feeling in her gut isn't something that she's losing though, and she know, even through instinct and clouded thoughts, that if she didn't get out of the cage she was in soon, something very bad would happen.

They'd moved her away from the people, from what she could hear and smell, into a cage far smaller than the one previous. Once she'd shifted to protect Cynthia, they didn't much like it. She was filth to them--a human who could take the form of animals--and so they shoved her with the rest of the animals.

As fresh scent of blood and oil crossed her senses, the tigress gave a rumbling roar, which joined the desperate chorus of her cellmates, and then started her attempts and scratching at the cage door again. She was panting, and covered in the strange liquid that oozed from the walls thanks to her frantic searching for a way out, and when the bars do not budge once more, she resumes her anxious pacing, glancing at every movement with wide eyes and an arched back.