It felt as though the earth had trudged around the sun one hundred times when in reality it had only been half a fortnite. Jittery and battered, Thereos was beginning to take on a rather ragged appearance. His curly brown locks streaked with glints of silver looked more unkempt and his coat less sleek. Even the curves of his muscles seemed to droop as the centaur was starve of fresh air and sunlight, as a wilted flower locked in a stone box.

Confined to one floor and one floor of this stone prison only, one could almost mistake the centaur for some of the silently screaming pictures of those inmates who had been in Azkaban for far too long.

Eyes slightly glazed over and looking at nothing in particular, Thereos now stood in front of the bulletin board with the intention of posting up his next lesson's notice. Though, presently, he had lost the will to do that.

His hooves were craving the grass beneath them...