One man's trash

He studied her a few more moments and then shook his head, turning away. They had the healers den to themselves for the moment. No one was critical enough to warrant staying here. He contemplated leaving her there for Oleander to find, but he didn't know her well enough. He couldn't risk her poking through the critical supplies that could be found here. 


He yawned, standing around was catching up to him. He was usually on the move too much to feel the exhaustion that would otherwise seep through his bones. He turned back to the slave, a frown on his maw. So far, her answers had been short, revealing little about herself. “How many masters have you had? What duties have you performed? Do you have any skills?” He grilled her, killing the time until Oleander turned up.