Quoth had been silent for the past few hours, their head lifted as the banging and feral noises stopped. They limped over to the slot in the door and slid it open, gazing down the long corridor, they looked at the guard. They were talking to one of the inmates. Their cell was at the far end, where there were 15 cells, specifically designed for flying furs. They were cell number 13. There was a small slot with bars, and the door was large and metal, rather than the glass walls the others had. Instead, there was a window around the size of an A4 sheet of paper. They slotted their beak through the gap and Cawed down the corridor, echoing all the way.
They regretted it instantly.
Why did they do that?