you want me to walk her like she's your dog?

His steps are careful, deliberate, ensuring that he doesn't go too far. Now that she's braced against him, using his bulk for support, he has to watch how he walks. His too long legs always ended up carrying him farther than he realized. Her warmth though is pleasant, a comfort against the brisk chill of the wintry north mountain winds.

When casually comments that she did look like a chew toy, he chuckles. Giving a gentle shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, Vesper doesn't give him time to speak before she's moving on. Whip lines? Harsh. Wilder thinks to himself, his face flushing to a more serious look. As she continues, her words strike a cord in him. He hadn't been quite that serious about turning grey, but she apparently was up for the challenge. Instead of balking like most others probably would, he glances down at her with a raised brow.

"Yer dad used you too, huh?" Wilder questions, knowing she probably didn't want to hash that comment back out, but if she want to dish it, she should be able to take it. "An' yer tryin' to tell me that Lord Oleander fought off a fuckin' polar bear for ya?" This time, his brows do rise in question and surprise. Sure, being a slave used for pleasure was demeaning and terrible, but what else was a slave to be used for? No, he was astounded by the fact that little healer Oleander would've been capable of such a fierce thing.

WILDER