One man's trash

Basilisk snorted in mild amusement as Ignita turned her attention to the slave. She was far too gentle on them, she desired friendship too much when she was a leader. He eyed them together a moment as Ignita reached for the others paws. A sly thought flitted through his mind, and he smiled. “She's a lovely gold, isn't she?” He said conversationally, as if it was an idle speculation and not a lead up to something else.


“I bet if she had children, they'd look just like yours.” He winked at Ignita, who was still rather mad about his proclamation that she would never bear another litter. Moving passed his wife as he did so, moving into the supply room which was the first door on the left. Grabbing some basic blankets and food. Leaving Ignita to digest that as he prepared what the slave would need.