With a twist of my hindlegs, my hooves came free from the walls, just in time for the guard assigned to my small group to tug at the chain attached to our yokes. He leads us like dogs out of the hot, dusty, candle- and lantern-lit mine shaft, travelling through tight, cramped, and winding tunnels occasionally broken up with rickety ladders. Eventually, however, we arrive at a massive, wide-open cavern full of other inmates, waiting in line at the heavily guarded prisoner processing facility in the middle of the cavern that gated access to the sole cargo lift that led back up to the prison complex. The lineups of work groups at the facility’s doors—three prisoners to one guard—were long as expected, but our turn came soon enough. The guards there had the routine down to a science at this point: place us in a crush, remove our mining equipment and yokes, peel the filthy and damp cloth face masks off of our muzzles, inspect us for any stolen material, and once all was in order, funnel us towards the elevator.