Wraiths and Shadows

"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.