I can't destroy what isn't there

The Warlord needed fodder for his ranks. That led him to the slave traders. They moved often, but he knew their ways. He wasted only a day before he found them, and was accompanied down to the slave pens. He passed miserable specimens, his experienced eye searching for potential. He was looking for young, and untrained. Or old, and seasoned. The old he would only take if they were crippled in some way. A reason they had failed to free themselves. The sort that would be good as a teacher. Or the young, with potential buried in their growing bodies. He dismissed the first few pens he moved by. Too wiry, too broken, too much cruelty in their eyes. Slaves broke that way, sometimes. They were useless to him.

He walked until a scent caught his attention and he froze in his tracks. His guide came to a stop a moment later. Eyes politely on the Warlord. Sirius spent good trade on them, it afforded him a few oddities. He took a moment to work his way through the scent. To understand why it seemed faintly familiar to him. When understanding came, his eyes darkened with concealed rage. He never expected to find one of the brood of those wolves. He had no curiosity as to the fate that led her here. He turned, following his nose. "My Lord, my Lord, those slaves aren't processed yet" his guide protested, but not too strongly.

They both came to a stop in front of her pen. She was a pale, slip of a thing. Like a Wraith, a ghost cladded in fur and dirt. She was pressed to the side of the pen, looking as if she would will herself out of existence if it was within the realm of possibility. Meek, and damaged. He could see the missing tail, and one paw didn't look right. He couldn't tell the extent of it unless she stood, and it didn't look like she'd be doing that by her own volition for a while. But his eyes didn't falter as they trailed across her body. His expression analysed her like so much cargo. He couldn't let his emotions out, not here. Not now.

"This one." He said to his guide. The wolf beside him gave the slave a doubtful look, but a sales pitch was a sales pitch. "Of course, My Lord." He said agreeably "This one is a fine choice. Young, malleable. A pretty wee thing. A good amount of sex appeal." He gave a sideways eye to the Warlord beside him. He said the last not because the Warlord was interested in that sort of thing, but because he'd been known to buy merchandise to save them from such a fate. This time, there was no appalled grimace in his client's expression. Only cold, appraising eyes. The guide cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well, the boss hasn't had his fun with this one yet. These things up the price, as you know." His bargaining was met with further silence, and he struggled not to fidget. "Those crystals you brought us last time, two. Plus a dagger from your blacksmith." He bargained. The Warlord turned to the guide now, his eyes disapproving. "She’s damaged goods, she doesn't even have all her parts. Are you trying to cheat me?" He asked with indignation. "One crystal, and nothing else." He bargained. The guide did fidget now, trying to determine how much he could push. But another glance to the damaged slave left him sighing. "Deal." He agreed at last.

The Warlord handed over a crystal from his pack, and turned to the girl. "On your paws." He ordered, voice cold and demanding. A subtle threat, and a need to be obeyed.


"Speech"

Unconsciousness was pretty well as good as it was going to get for her at the present moment. And while she was left alone in her temporary holding cell, it was the state she actively tried to achieve. However, between the ambient noise of the other gathered wolves, and her own aches and pains, sleep was easier said than done. Her throat burned with dryness, her gut protested the emptiness- both intentional weaknesses to keep control of the captives. And because of the minimal access to basic resources there was a consistent throb to her head right behind her eyes- making them overly sensitive to the light. With her silver gaze clenched shut, she pressed herself into the corner of her enclosure- the side of her face and shoulder supported by the makeshift structure. Her knees curled into her chest as she lay on her side in a loose fetal position.

Adelina was entirely tuned out of the world, and became only vaguely aware of the fact that she was no longer alone judging by the two masculine voices on the other side of her containment- though she didn't open her eyes to check. Her muscles tensed on a reflex as she heard her description, which was quite generous actually. While she was new to this ring, these were not new circumstances- having been traded to this lot for goods by her previous captors. Those of which who had done the "capturing" and "breaking"- had gotten their value from her, and were ready to move on to new prospects. But if this man was going to attempt to drive the bargain up, she didn't feel it was her place to stop him. It was when the guide mentioned her feminine appeal that she narrowly opened her eyes. She once again forced the phantom sensation of tucking her tail on herself- even though that was a personal dignity she had lost a long time ago.

Through interlocked eyelashes, she saw the massive obsidian frame belonging to the seemingly interested brute. She remained still through the negotiations. But after the deal had been struck, and after the sound reminiscent of fumbling through belongings, it was then that she was addressed for the first time. Her silver gaze fluttered open just as she hauled herself up on clumsy limbs. It was difficult to steady herself through the inflicted weakness, even still, she stood at attention with an adverted line of sight to await her next instruction.

I can't destroy what isn't there

The Second and final time Zee had died, it had been because of a terrible illness. His Wie had delivered the final blow herself, to save herself from a slow and painful death. She had done so at Sanheim in an effort for her death to mean something. That whatever Gods might listen would see her sacrifice and that it would bring something to her family. Some safety, perhaps. The Warlord could not fight Gods and illnesses, and he had been left with nothing to quench his vengeance.

The first time she had died, it had been a group of mercenaries. They had faked her death and left him to mourn for months. When he discovered the deceit, he had tracked them down and killed them to the last. He had never discovered why they had done it, and had wondered if it wouldn't come back and bite him one day. Catching their scent in this woman was… shocking. The mercenaries had broken his wife. Weakened and hurt her. If they hadn't, perhaps Zee would have had the strength to survive her illness. Yes… this death he could lay at their feet, as well. At her feet. This was her fault. He could not tell her age through the grime and bruises, but she was the last standing to answer for them. And she had so much to answer for.

He let himself into the pen, payment already made to his guide as he approached the newest wolf of the Armada. She saw the way she struggled to rise, and almost moved to aid her. It would have been instinctive. Sirius had come a long way from the tyrant he had been in the original Ashen Empire. A people that had long faded to dust. He curbed the impulse, seeing it as a weakness now more than he ever had before. He could not afford compassion for his enemy. Instead, he reached forward. Not to stabilise her, but to run a paw down her cheek. "I am Sirius. Warlord. Leader of the Armada." He said, voice soft. Azure would understand, but no other of his kin would. They would not.. no, could not know. "And you, Poor, sweet lamb. You are a wolf with such weakness in your limbs. Such clumsiness. You look as if you must tumble and fall so easily. Is that how you broke your paw? Did you fall?" He crooned gently to her, reaching down and touching a paw to the crooked limb. "Perhaps if we rebroke it, it might heal true…" he smiled at her then. Yes, this one. This was the one he would take home.

"Speech"

When she was met with the familiar sound of an opening barrier, she couldn't help the reflex to swallow her nerves. She could feel the proximity to the towering brute shrinking with each passing second, though she fought the urge to look up to look at him. Instead, she stood as still as she could- minus the faint tremble in her back legs. Her silver gaze remained fixed on the ground before her, and she almost held her resolve until she felt his touch at the side of her face. It was gentle, but her muscles still tensed in reflex. She didn't trust it. He introduced himself as Sirius, followed by his title and pack. She committed the information to memory, but in the end, it all meant nothing to her. No matter who she answered to, her position never changed. Or at least, that was what she had been taught.

His words were sweet, but she hated the way they made her feel. She couldn't help but get the feeling they were coated in venom. He asked her a question, but she couldn't tell if it was one she was supposed to answer or not. Part of her didn't want to. Part of her didn't want to confess her crime, so she chose to remain quiet. Even still, she recalled receiving the punishment as if it had been yesterday. Early on in her capture, she thought she had an opportunity to escape. That was a mistake- or an opportunity for an educational experience as it had been phrased to her. It went on for weeks.

Now she had very little feeling in it from the previous trauma. However, with her eyes fixed on the ground, she witnessed him reach out and touch her flattened and misshaped paw. He made the implication that perhaps it could possibly be healed if broken again, but she didn't believe him. Swallowing again, she attempted her own voice. "I-If it pleases you ... sir." Adelina finished- her voice dry and broken from lack of use. It was the response that she thought he would want to hear. However, the spike in anxiety that pierced her gut couldn't be ignored. Another wave of tremors enveloped her limbs, but she did her best to lock her knees to try and convince them to be still

"It just may" he agreed. He wasn't a healer, and he certainly didn't believe rebreaking it would heal the old wound. However, he wasn't sure if she was wise enough to perceive the underlining threat in his words. He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "All your wounds tell a story. Little Lamb. But that story is of our own making, isn't it? Yes. I do believe you have fallen a great deal in your young life…"

"Come."He ordered, pulling himself back to his full height and turning without waiting to see if she obeyed. He led, and he knew she would follow. Taking her out from under the belly of the mountain. He did not ask the guide for her name. Nor did he ask his newest prize. “I’m torn, I was thinking Wraith, but I’ve named it for a rank already. Perhaps Shadow…” He mused. Looking back at her, letting his appraising gaze rove slowly across her body. So she would understand what he was doing. Stripping her of her stories. Of her identity. “No. you’re too light for that, you're like snow, or mist. Mist…” He paused again, looking thoughtful.

His pause dragged on before he spoke again. And, one could be forgiven if they assumed one thought didn’t connect to the other. “I knew your father, did you know?” he said companionably as he led her from the last of the slave pits and out to the dubious freedom beyond. He grinned then, looking back over his shoulder at her. Wondering what emotion he might find in her eyes. “Well. No, that’s not exactly true” he amended, almost apologetically. “I knew the taste of him. I wonder..” He paused, looking thoughtful “I wonder if I might recognise the exact tinge of metallic that was his alone, amongst the rest of his band and kin? If you share enough of it, that is” he said. Stopping at the exit of the mountain. Nodding to members of the slaver band that lingered here. Even as he looked back at his pride. Wondering what she would do with this new information. A part of him hoped she would attempt to flee.

A slightly more aggressive touch- a pat on her shoulder, startled her as she stood on the edge of panic. He implied all her previous wounds had stories behind them- that her paw in particular was her own doing. She was sure her previous captors would argue that they were all her doing. That each wound was entirely avoidable, and each was a representation of poor decisions she had made. But he did not ask for the philosophy she had been taught, so instead, she would offer a shallow nod in acknowledgment, or confirmation ... whichever he interpreted it as.

Without further exchange, he commanded her along, turning on his heels as he left the cell. Without giving herself the opportunity to process, she staggered after him. The first few steps being fairly clumsy. But once she got the hang of her gait, it came a bit easier. His longer legs carried him a lot smoother and faster, and he made it obvious that he wouldn't be waiting for her. With his back to her, she allowed herself to look up at him. Taking in his massive shadowed frame with the occasional white markings. Though when she got the faintest indication that his attention was going to shift, she adverted her line of sight to the ground behind him. Adelina felt his gaze assessing her, for what, she wasn't aware. Not until he continued offering further options, she came to the conclusion that he was trying to sort out a name. Or maybe a label. Just something that she would be known as going forward. In the end, it didn't matter to her. She knew it was expected of her to answer to whatever he wanted to call her. Though she would never forget her given name, and in her mind, it was said in her mother's voice.

It fell silent between them as he maintained his focus on her. Only to be broken when Sirius said something that rattled her more than she could have anticipated. It was then, she sought to look at him with more curiosity and interest than she had dared in a long time. The girl had never known her father, just from stories. That he and the other males of her band were murdered, which ultimately led to the scattering of those who survived- her mother included. But when he retracted his statement only to describe to her that ... he knew the taste of him. It took a moment for that to register, but he didn't give it time for her to process. He continued on, glossing over the implication that he was her father's murderer. Adelina could feel a surge of emotion flooding to her features. "W-why are you telling me this?" She asked, beginning to understand where his sweetly disguised animosity was coming from. He kept talking and talking. Did he want her to talk back? The rules were becoming muddled and not knowing what was expected of her brought the welling sensation of anxiety back to the pit of her chest.

The Warlord could see her processing all this, but wasn't sure exactly how she felt about it. The emotions that flitted across her face was an enigma to him. Or perhaps he didn't want to understand them. Afraid that if he let himself, he would feel far too much pity for the situation she was in. For what he would do to her. He was a little disappointed that she didn't try to run. Damaged and weak as she was, she wouldn't have given him much of a chase.

He nodded goodbye to the guards without speaking, leading her out into the open. They had a great deal of mountain to traverse before they made it home. Why was he telling her this? To hurt her. To put it out in the open. Did she idolize the father she never knew? "Your father was a slaver. Ironic, isn't it?" He said, slowing to let her navigate a tricky set of rocks. He didn't offer her any aid, or acknowledge how much the path was likely to be hurting her injuries. "He stole my wife, and now I've stolen his child. It's almost a shame he didn't live to see it." His expression was almost regretful, but anger replaced it too quickly. "But that doesn't answer your question. I wanted to see what you would do. Would you follow your fathers killer, Meek as a lamb? I've changed my name. Mist doesn't suit you at all. Lamb. Your name is Lamb, little one." The change of topic as sudden as the way his anger came and went.

It was ironic, but a fact that she had already known. While she had lived alone with her mother for a long while- nearly to her first birthday. The previous life that Sirius spoke of eventually caught up to them in the form of a rival band- her first captors. They had come to clean up and claim any lingering pieces after her parents' band was exterminated by a revenge-seeking murderer. Here she was, answering for decisions that had not been hers.

She was appreciative that he did slow when they passed over a particularly difficult passage of rock. It wasn't that her misshapen paw particularly hurt anymore, however, she couldn't use it to grip anything to try and maintain balance. Nor could she feel if she cut it on a particularly sharp stone. It took some concentration to make sure she found safe footing, but once they were through, her attention returned to the man she followed. He explained that his wife had been a victim of the band her father ran with. "I didn't know him." She said softly, maybe more to herself than Sirius. Truthfully, she didn't know if he would have cared the same way this man cared for his missing wife. As she understood, her mother hadn't been more than a possession either, but she didn't like talking about it. So she never got the complete story.

As far as the answer to her question went, she wasn't sure if it made a difference to her- knowing or not knowing. But clearly, he had his answer. In the same breath, he returned to his earlier train of thought on a new name. When he offered her "Lamb", she fought off the desire to cringe.  "Yes, sir." Adelina answered instead. It was one of those words- the way he said it, that made her feel particularly sick.

"No, I suppose you didn't." The Warlord agreed. He still didn't know how old she was. But even if she had been just a child, she hadn't been at the compound where his Wife was kept. She couldn't have known her father very well at all. Not before the Warlord had claimed his life as compensation. He led them on in silence for a short stretch, picking up the pace as he went. In the silence he examined his thoughts and decided that he was disappointed with her reactions. Disappointed that she was broken. She was a pitiful creature, and there was little satisfaction to be had from it. He wanted her to be fighting him, to feed his rage. To FEEL something. He didn't want to pity her, but it was hard not to.

"Pick up the pace" he growled after a moment, almost stalking now. His long strides swallowing the ground beneath him. His stride only lasted five breaths, and then he whirled. Turning on her with a snarl. "So, daddy died. And then what?" He demanded, halting in front of her so she could go no further. "They broke you? Tell me how." He wanted to see her squirm. He wanted her to protest. To shoe something other then her Meek obedience.

When the silence fell between them, she didn't know how to react. The prevailing question at the forefront of her mind just so happened to be ... what now? However, she dare not ask it aloud, as she was sure she didn't want to be made aware of the answer. Instead, she was ordered to move faster, in which she did pick up her hobbling pace. But when he suddenly stopped, she nearly collided with the man. It seemed that he was upset, and she didn't know what to say. Or even where to start. She didn't think he cared about the part where she lived with her mother on their own for the first year.

Then he added a clarifier, wanting details on the methods who first captors had employed. "W-well, in the beginning, I tried to resist ... but I was shown the consequences of that." She started, being intentionally vague as to not have to go into details that would cause her to relive it. "We were in i-isolation, though, it was just something we had to learn for ourselves." There was no guidance to be offered from wolves who had traveled down this path before them. So, it was up to them to learn the rules. "They would set us up for failure, just to be ... corrected. In the first few days, my bindings were left intentionally loose, my containment left slightly ajar." For some reason it made her feel guilty now, that she had tried to escape. She didn't want to admit it, but felt it had been implied enough. "I fell for their trap before I knew better. Now I do." She finished, slowly holding up her ruined paw to indicate that was where it had come from. It was also an attempt at trying to lightly ensure that she wasn't going to try to run now.

The more she went on, the more frantic she slowly became. She didn't know what he wanted to hear. She didn't know the stopping point, and while she could on and on about her treatments, she really didn't want to. But Sirius had yet to stop her, so she dug for more. "They were disappointed that I had no skills or talents to contribute initially." Adelina explained, admitting to him that she was generally useless, except for one thing.  "Though I was ... modified, and taught how to be used." She finished, again, not wanting to come out with her condition forthright. But it was very obvious that she was missing her tail. She didn't want to have to come out and expressly say it. "I-I don't know what else to say." She tailed off quietly in a pleading tone, admitting her uncertainty in their current conversation. She didn't want to have to go into any more detail.

I can't destroy what isn't there

She nearly collided with him, and he had to fight hard to resist the urge to steady her. His eyes darkened with the war inside himself. But his rage did little to settle as she spoke of how they had broken her. Of isolation, and learning the ropes through trial and error. Errors that ended badly for them each time. He glanced at her mangled paw as she raised it, and he curled his lip. He smacked the paw away from himself, but didn’t otherwise interrupt. Stammering and uncertain, it seemed to the Warlord that she wished to shrink in on herself. Moments later, he understood why. She had been modified. Used. he glanced towards her doct tail, and he understood. His pupils dilated a little. It had been a long, long time since the Warlord had indulged… and then he was thoroughly sick of himself. “So now you're a docile little Lamb?” He mocked gently. He did not want her to be so broken.

Hurting her only made him feel like a monster. Zee He reminded himself. If it wasn’t for her people, I would still have my Zee. “We are almost at the Armada, so it’s time for ground rules. Any injuries you sustain from here on out are from training exercise, or falls. If I hear otherwise, you have plenty more paws for me to choose from.” he looked to her mangled paw for emphasis. “Within the Armada, you will learn to fight. You will obey me first, and foremost, but you will do as you are told if other wolves give you commands that do not contradict my own.” He leaned in closer to her now, placing a paw beneath her chin and forcing her eyes to his. “You will be ranked as a slave, and a slave within the Armada strives to better themselves. Today, your name is Lamb. Work, and learn, and be more than this. And you will earn yourself another name. Perhaps, one day, another rank.” He growled. Because hope could be one of the most dangerous, seductive things. “I will not claim your body unwillingly.” He added in, voice softer. This, he could concede to. If he fell that far, then what little of Zee remained in his memories would be lost to him.

"Speech"

Adelina had such a difficult time reading him- not that she was very good at that kind of thing anyways. Sirius seemed angry, disappointed, and possibly confused to a degree, but all at the same time. He asked for an explanation but didn't seem like he cared much for it. Not that she expected him to care, but she had anticipated a different reaction. When he struck her paw away, she immediately put it back to the ground, making a mental note to not do that again. As she went on in her explanation, she thought she saw recognition in his eyes as he looked her over once more.  But then came that look that she thought could be a disappointment. The way he mocked her for being conditioned, made her feel like he didn't want that to be the case. "Is that what you want me to be?" She asked, her own confusion evident.

When he started laying the rules of his pack, she did her best to commit everything to memory. Most of it she had expected. Some of it she didn't quite understand. She didn't know what other kinds of injuries he was referring to. The majority of the scars she bore were inflicted by others, wouldn't that be the case here as well? Unless he was referring to if she made an attempt on her own life ... she didn't know. Surely if she received an injury in a confrontation with one of the other Armada wolves, she wasn't meant to resist? Then what?

But the part that left her taken completely off guard, was that she was meant to learn how to fight. "Fight? Why?" She asked, immediately afraid. She wasn't supposed to fight back. That was one of the rules. But now the rule was to fight? She didn't know if she could.

I can't destroy what isn't there

“No.” He told her shortly. “I don’t buy slaves that have lost their spark. I would not have brought you at all, if I hadn’t recognised your scent” So docile, and broken. Was there anything left in there? Did he even want to know? Perhaps he would have been better off leaving her in the slave pens. Likely, she would have been used tonight. Abused, and eventually, in another few years, tossed away. Too broken to be of use to anyone. He wanted her to suffer, so why did the thought make him so angry?

“Because everyone in the Armada learns to fight. From the Warlord, to the lowliest slave.” He informed her as she questioned him. He raised a paw. Looking as if he intended to touch her chin again, but let his paw fall before it could touch her skin. “We’re burning daylight. Move.” He ordered, turning away from her and leading the way towards the Armada once more. It hadn’t even been one day, and already he struggled to treat her as an enemy. He was worried. Worried that his compassion would overrule his good sense, or that the temptation she had offered him would lead him across a line he could not cross. Modified, and taught how to be used.

"Speech"

It seemed that he didn't even give her question any thought. His flat response of 'No' felt like he had hit her- just in a different way. Her limbs trembled as she tried to wrap her mind around what he had said. What was the point? "I don't understand." Her tone was still soft- but for the first time in a long time, she allowed emotion in her voice. Maybe that was frustration? Or maybe just an upcoming anxious breakdown. She felt she was going to burst with stress. "Why do you buy slaves at all if you want to be the one to do the breaking?" Or would that make you a hypocrite? Would it make you like my father? She wanted to say those words. She wanted to say them so badly as the tears began to well in her eyes- she had no idea where they came from. Perhaps it was just the dam beginning to break.

The idea of fighting just added to the beginning of her downward spiral. "I-" She cut herself off. I can't fight. I shouldn't fight. But the rules were changing. This was a different game. And facing that realization was one of the most difficult things she had endured in a long time. He turned away from her- made a statement about how they were burning daylight and needed to move. But she wasn't sure she could. He took a few strides, and she stood frozen. Feeling the urgency to follow, but momentarily forgetting how to use her legs. Adelina was desperate but simply didn't know how to carry on. The facade of an individual that she had become, was all for nothing.

I can't destroy what isn't there

He looked back at her, frowning heavily as she spoke. Confusion in her tones. He had laid out the rules and expectations clearly for her. What was so difficult to grasp? if you want to be the one to do the breaking… he slowed his steps, shocked. And surprise at the shock he felt. She saw him as a villain - because that was exactly what he had shown her. So why did it surprise him so much to think she believed he brought slaves to break them? That wasn’t him. That had not been him since the original Ashen Empire had owned him.

He had sworn. Promised himself. He would not be them. A slave wasn’t to be recklessly abused. They were to be taught, and driven, until they rose up by their own volition. He saw the tears in her eyes, and gritted his teeth. “Shit.” He snarled. Closing the distance between them. He raised a paw again, and then dropped it. Confused. “I want to hate you, wolf. I want to hate you so bad it burns in my veins. Why won't you let me hate you?” he snarled at her. Bearing teeth as he spoke. “I don’t buy slaves to break them. I buy slaves to build them up. To teach them, and let them grow. But my wife is dead. And you, you broken, whimpering creature get to live. how is that fair!” He was yelling at her now. Losing control.

"Speech"

When he cursed, spinning around on his heels to return to her. She cringed- clenching her eyes tight and tensing her muscles waiting for the impact. However, it never came. Tentatively, her eyes fluttered open as he went on to express how badly he wanted to hate her. Wolf. "My name is Adelina." She interjected softly as a single tear fell from her cheek. It didn't matter if he acknowledged it or not. She said it, and that was what mattered to her. But when he asked the question as to why she wouldn't allow him to hate her, she didn't know what to say. I don't know how to make you hate me. I'll try, if that's what you want, came to her tongue, but couldn't bring herself to say it. She didn't want to be hated. She spent the last year of her life being conditioned to please. Giving everything she had to please another.

When he went on to describe what his intentions had always been- now or in the past she couldn't tell, her eyes opened a little wider. Then it struck. But my wife is dead. It was then that everything fell into place in the back of her mind and she saw him for what he was. Grief. He was a grieving man, and while he might want to hate her, she felt empathy for him now. She flinched as the tone of his voice rose to a yell. Every fiber in her being suggested that she should cower and advert her eyes. But in the moment, self-preservation was lost on her. "It's not fair!" She responded, not matching his volume, but louder than she had spoken in a very long time. "And it will never be fair! Life isn't fair! None of this would have happened if fair had anything to do with it." She added, eventually caving from the anxiety and looking away from him to allow tears to flow as they shared a breakdown. She crumbled, lowering herself to the ground, numb to the world. "But here we are, left with the pieces of who we used to be that just don't quite fit together anymore." She murmured to herself, lightly rocking in an effort to return to some semblance of calm.

I can't destroy what isn't there

His breaths heaved in his chest, and his eyes, which had been wild just moments before, began to settle. “Well, then.” He said softly as her own voice rose. Her own battle cry joined the fade of his own. He looked at the girl, found her spark, and his heart broke. Zee had always been the one who was never afraid to raise her voice to him. To answer his anger with her own. He would never hear the rage and anger of Zee’s voice again. But he heard an echo of it in Adelina’s.

He crouched down before her. Raising a paw towards her, and for the third time he let it fall before he could complete the gesture. “There it is. Little Adelina. There's your spark” He said softly. “There's hope for you yet.” He wanted to hate her, he had hated her. For a brief moment, until she had developed into a person before his eyes. He could hate the idea of her, he could hate what he wanted her to represent. But he could not hate the broken pieces they had left behind. If she had been one of the guards, one of the slavers. Perhaps then he would have taken her down, and torn her slowly to pieces. But fate wasn’t kind enough to gift him with answers he could compartmentalise away. He crouched down beside her for as long as she needed to regain her sense of calm. “You will find the Armada to be far different than the places and people that have owned you before.” He rubbed the back of his paw across his eyes. Feeling tired, and old.

"Speech"

The lull that settled between them was comfortable- at least for the moment. It seemed that retreating to a point of inner thought was what had been needed from both of them to bring the temperature back down. She was only vaguely aware of his presence when he came to crouch at her side.  His voice was gentle, but this time it felt genuine, and she appreciated him for it. She heard her name on his tongue- the first time in over a year's time that she was acknowledged as an individual, and she found solace in it.

When he went on to describe Armada to be a different place, this time, she believed him. Heard his words, and took them for truth. As the flood of emotion dried up, she raised her chin from the ground to look at him. "What was her name?" Adelina asked softly. She wanted to know it, but also wanted to give him the opportunity to say it out loud if he chose to do so.

I can't destroy what isn't there

He grimaced at the question, fighting the urge to withdraw. But she deserved to know her name. The reason he had picked her out, and had given her a hard time from the moment he had discovered her scent at the slave traders. “Zee. Her name was Zee.” He said, leaning back on his legs, before rolling to a standing position. “Come on, Adelina. Let's get you back to the Armada.” He said, but things had changed between them. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to bring himself back to that point with her. He would not be able to use her as a scapegoat. Blame her for the bad things that had happened in his life.

“Tell me, did you have any training before you were taken? In any trades?” He asked. His voice was less commanding now. Not demanding an answer, but requesting one. Now, he wanted to know about her true life. Not the terrible things that had been done to her.

"Speech"

She didn't mean to inflict more pain by asking, and half expected Sirius to retreat. However, when he did finally introduce her, she offered him a silent nod- not wanting to linger if it was a sensitive topic. Zee. Adelina would remember her out of respect. Mentioning Armada again, she needed no further prompting. "Yes, sir." The girl answered, raising herself to a standing position on unsteady limbs once more. Though once they got moving, what balance she had returned to her.

When he asked what background she had, she regretfully had very little to offer. "No ... I was raised by my mother. She was kind, but also didn't have the opportunity of learning anything." Up until moments ago, she was convinced she would live out a very similar life. "But, I can care for myself." Adelina interjected, wanting to assure Sirius that she wouldn't be dead weight.