Wraiths and Shadows

"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.