Tract

“They're around,” he lied. In truth, his mother had been long dead, and he hadn't seen his father and siblings in weeks to months. But the other man didn't need to know this. For all he knew, the man could be itching for a fight, waiting for an unsuspecting lone wolf to come by that he could beat up on. Rayios knew it was better to be safer than sorry. In the boy's mind, the man would be less likely to do anything rash if he suspected there would be someone around to help the boy out.

He stood there in wait to see the older male's reaction, not on edge but definitely cautious towards the stranger. Upon him introducing himself, Rayios' head tilted in confusion, and mild curiosity. “Slavemaster?” he knew what a slave was, and a master, but the full idea of there being one never crossed his mind. What exactly did a master do, and why did they even exist? “So what, you just... beat people up to get them to do stuff for you?” as far as he knew, slaves were just people too weak to protect themselves, forced to do whatever it is another person wanted. And the only way to keep them from running away or fighting back was by beating them back into submission. “I can't imagine that saving you any energy or time.” he was using the same tone now as he used on Malalia--a light dash of condescenting nature, but mostly just a harmless jab--when she was telling him about the benefits of pack life. It all sounded useless to him, now as much as being a slavemaster was.