Trouble with a capital T

Strai was given one ounce of freedom, to go with the three ounces of ass kicking that Vidarr had doled out after he had caught him and his strange oozing son fighting. Well, actually, he had caught Strai stealing and the ooze kid interfering. The viking lord had claimed Strai for his pack, and had finally released him from the wardrobe. He refused to return his knife, or his freedom, but Strai would take what he could get.

The Thrall made his way down to the steppe, eyes darting around him cautiously as he moved. He did not think for a moment that he was unsupervised, or that he would be able to slip from the pack’s territory. Besides, Vidarr had given him food and shelter. He would take that charity, and grow stronger. As soon as he was strong enough, he would carve his name in Vidarr’s flesh, so he would not be easily forgotten.

Smiling a dark smile, he made his way to the strange stone ruins, and caught sight of some pygmy pipsqueak staring at her own paws. A satchel filled with unknown goodies rested over her shoulders. He took a step on approach, eyes narrowing on the bag. “Hey, you. With the half-assed tail. What’s in the bag?” He said, his voice a low, gravely thing.

"Speech"