The sun was setting, dyeing the sky shades of orange and purple over the dark walls of the old stone keep. The night air, now fresh, carried with it the damp smell of the dungeons and a distant echo of off-key chants. In this forgotten corner of the kingdom, the Brotherhood of the Shadow, a cult of fanatics with strange beliefs and cruel methods, had established their stronghold.

We, two cunning and determined figures, moved stealthily through the shadows of the keep's courtyard. Our coats, one a dark brown and agile like a ferret's (that could be you) and the other a grayish and robust like a wolf's, blended with the gloom.

We knew our mission was risky, but the cause was worth it: to rescue Marian, the fox, from the clutches of these madmen and dismantle their influence in the region. We had tracked the rumors, heard the cries, and finally confirmed that Marian was in the hands of the Brotherhood. Her appearance in our minds was clear: the same vibrant orange fur, distinctive white markings, and expressive gaze we had seen on the wanted posters. The Brotherhood considered her a "sinner" by some quirk of their twisted scriptures, and their plan was to use her in their abominable rituals. But we were more cunning than they were, and we would not allow such injustice.

As we approached the main tower, the air grew tense. We could hear the guards' raspy voices, hooded figures moving clumsily. Our heightened senses detected an opening, an unbarred window on a lower level, through which the stench of sweat and confinement seeped. It was through there. With coordinated movements, we slipped inside. The silence of the dungeons was almost more oppressive than the noise. Dark corridors, rusty cells, and the echo of dripping water created a gloomy atmosphere. Finally, we found her.

In a larger cell, Marian was tied to a thick chain hanging from the ceiling. Her posture was one of exhaustion and anguish, her large breasts weighing forward and her muscular legs trembling with exertion. Her eyes, the same ones we had imagined, were filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. The red ropes that bound her and the devices on her nipples, which we had already seen in the informants' sketch, confirmed her torture. Her lilac hood was half-fallen, and her snout showed the clear sign of prolonged suffering.

Our presence didn't go unnoticed for long. A pair of guards, a pair of badgers in gray robes, were approaching down the corridor. There was no time for subtleties. "Marian!" I whispered urgently, while my companion was already quickly working on the shackles with a specialized tool. Her eyes flew open, a spark of hope igniting in them.

Marian: "Who...?"

Marian, reeling from the release, tried to straighten up, but her muscles were stiff. We helped her, holding her firmly as the guards' growls grew closer. We left the cell, and while Marian was still struggling to regain her composure, my eyes fell on something else.