Even without the light of his wand, he knows her by the silhouette she casts on the dirty stone walls. Hair running rampant, framing her face like a mane, dried blood panting the side of her forehead and cheeks, diminutive stature only emphasized by recent malnutrition, arms so thin she could slip the shackles off her wrist if she wanted too.  Her eyes snap to him, burning dangerously, like the lioness in the tall savannah grass, stalking.