Wraiths and Shadows

“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"