After the encounter with Vesper, Oleander had requested he take her for a walk to help exercise her healing muscles. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the whole slave business thing as he made his way to the infirmary. Long strides carried him in an unhurried fashion through the col's warrens. From what Oleander had told him, the boy wasn't particularly fond of the girl, not caring to make time for her, but she did still need care if they wanted her to live. A conundrum, wasn't it?

Since he was also still low on the totem pole, Wilder didn't object to the request. Plus, Vesper was pretty entertaining in a "she thinks she's big and scary" sort of way. He mulls these over until he makes it to the infirmary, popping his head in first to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything important. Once he's in the clear, the swamp-colored wolf goes over to Vesper's cot.

"C'mon, yer comin' with me," he says, muzzle motioning toward the door, not giving her a choice.

WILDER

Oleander had deemed her capable of moving. First, he had ‘encouraged’ her to go to lessons provided by the pack's steward. Now, he was insisting she take a supervised walk around the pack. Her victim today was Wilder. Oh goodie. She'd already given him a start once before.


She didn't know when he would arrive, and she had been lightly dozing when he turned up by her bed. She blinked at the earthy wolf, Adjusting to his sudden presence. “Is this a jailbreak?” She asked blandly, sitting slowly up. Every wound in her back pulled and tightened, and her breath quickened. This was going to be… not fun. She'd been injured many times as a slave, but her whipping followed by the bear mauling her back was definitely the worst she had ever sustained.

She got gingerly to her paws, taking it slowly. She really did hope Wilder didn't try to rush her. Perhaps she should have been kinder to him, considering he held power over her.

Wilder lets out a snort, a smirk marring his charcoal lips. "You can call it that," he muses, taking a step back to give her some space to move. Thankfully, he's a patient man. Though he doesn't have the courtesy or manners to not stare at her like a fucking weirdo, he does give her time to make it up and off the cot. His vermilion gaze roves over her body, watching how the bandages and scars move tautly over her skin and fur. Compared to his injuries, he couldn't imagine how badly hers must hurt.

Once Vesper is up and ready, he leads them out of the infirmary and toward the outdoors. Winter was finally coming to an end and though snow still blanketed the ground, it wasn't as cold as it had been in previous weeks. Preferring the fresh air over the musty smell of the warrens, Wilder nearly forgets that Vesper can't walk as fast he can. Even with his scars pulling and stretching at his own skin, he's a few feet ahead of her before he stops and looks back at her.

"Well, we ain't got all day if ya wanna escape," Wilder teases, clearly joking because he didn't need that sort of trouble on his tail.

WILDER

She definitely noticed him staring. Or was it leering? She actually wasn't sure how much of a safety net She had in Oleander. Just because the young healer was clearly repulsed at the idea of using her to get his jollies, didn't mean the rest of the pack subscribed to the same sentiment. 


“Enjoying the show?” She asked, voice dry as bone. Her back hurt like a motherfucker and she'd lost most of the courtesy beaten into her by the slavers. Oleander had made her bold. Perhaps foolishly so. 


She was pale by the time they made it to the dens exit. If her babysitter was entertaining any ideas of indulging himself with the shiny new slave, she knew it was going to hurt like a motherhumper. She was shaking from excursion by the time they left the den, and she was fully ready to risk it all and beat him if he so much as remarked on it. Luckily, he had pushed ahead and almost forgotten her instead. Mores the pity.


“Did you bring the wire cutters?” She asked, forcing one step, and then another. She could do this. One, another, one, another. She was making progress. Leaving the wretched healer den behind.

Wilder clears his throat awkwardly when he's caught. "Yeah, wouldn't you?" He retorts back, a quick raise of his brow and snort from his nose before he's off through the corridor.

It's at the end of the corridor when he turns to look, noticing how pale she is. His question is rebutted with another question that leaves his head shaking. "Do I look like I got anythin' with me?" Wilder quips back, his expression a mixture between teasing now and concern. Every step she took was clearly painful and he wasn't sure he had it in him to be cruel to her. Sure, she had an attitude problem, but so did he.

Pausing his stride so that she could catch up to him, he lets out a sigh. "So what's yer story?" Wilder questions, not giving her any room to avoid his probing inquiry with an intense gaze that settled upon her face. And when she's finally caught up to him, he takes a step closer to her so that she could lean on him for some support. "Ya ain't gonna get stronger strugglin' that bad either," he comments, another comment that wasn't to be argued with.

WILDER

Yeah, he enjoyed looking. He let the jailbreak quib fall to the wayside and grilled her about her past instead. She grimaced, but as sharp as her tongue was when she was uncontested, she'd been dealt enough pain to think twice about disobeying a direct order. The look in his eyes told her he was serious. When he leaned closer, she knew she was in trouble. He may have seemed like a pushover in the den, but he was all business now. She assumed he was scouting out her weakness, how easily she would roll over, and give him what she wanted.


“I was born to slavers.” Yeah, her dad had probably fucked her at some point, but she never did know which of her slavers he was. “And raised by them. My mother made me escape-” yup, she glossed right over that “-and from what I understand, Lord Oleander essentially brought me with the expense of his healing skills. So, the Armada owns me now.” She spread out a paw, and instantly regretted it when pain spasmed across her shoulder and back. She let out a slow breath. Better to get this over and done with. “So if your looking for a fuck, you need look no further, your shiny toy is right here.”

When she didn't lean in to support herself against his shoulder, his ears fall back. Was she stupid? Did she think he wanted something from her? Eyes narrow, studying her as they walk slowly over the crunching ice. Lass sure is stubborn. Wilder thinks to himself, unsurprised when she mentions that she was born to slavers. That much he already knew from what Oleander had told him.

The next bits were where his surprise came in. "So yer ma was a slave too or?" He questions, expression relaxing for a moment as his brain tries to understand what she was insinuating with her secretive words. "Didn't realize the Armada was fond of slaves," Wilder muses quietly, his nose wrinkling for a moment at the thought. What was the point of a slave? Maybe he'd need to ask Basilisk for that answer.

He nearly misses the spasm that jolts up from her paw, her face contorting in pain due to his plaguing thoughts. He almost commented about it, but she interjected too quickly. Snipping at him about how if he wanted a fuck, she could be his shiny toy. Stopping in his tracks, Wilder gives her quite literally a very bewildered look. Speechless, really, as he tries to register what she had actually just said to him.

"Listen, raised how ya were and even now, I get it, but I ain't lookin' for a shiny toy," he finally replies after a moment of pregnant pause. "I came from the wilds, I barely got manners to go off of, but slaves ain't what I'm about," Wilder says, his expression scrunching back up as he sends his paws back into motion. She could keep walking with him or go back. "I'm jus' an apprentice so I kinda gotta do what they tell me too," he adds on, his tone rather flippant as if to say he wasn't much better than her.

WILDER

“Yup, she was a proper slave, broken in.” She said dryly, at least she had been until Vesper came along. She supposed everyone had a weak spot. When she barreled through what she thought Wilder wanted from her, she was met with an expression that was becoming more familiar to her. The same bewildered look Oleander had given her, what was with these Armada wolves? Surely they weren't all so innocent. Why the fuck did they have slaves than? They were a contradiction.


His words sounded defence, and she answered in kind. Straightening a little, though it cost her. just breathe through it. “You're the one that was looking.” She shot back, what else was she to think? “How was I to know it was just window shopping.” but he had more to say, and she snorted. If thought an apprentice was the same as a slave, he was delusional at best. Stupid at worst. “You Armadians are a weird lot. I bet I could turn your fur white by dinner time.” Oleander was lucky he'd started out that way.

His ears fly backward, embarrassment warming his cheeks. Okay so she had caught him looking - well staring actually. Clearing his throat, his face scrunches up for a moment as he thinks of what to say. He could ignore the comments, move on to a different topic, but perhaps that would make it worse? Honesty was the best policy, no? "Ain't even window shoppin'," he replies back smartly, a grumble in his chest as he realizes too that she isn't going to go in for his offer of support though her pain is clear.

Instead, Wilder finishes the last inch or so between them and presses his side to her shoulder, eyes looking down at her like 'this is what I mean, dummy.' Once Vesper is supported enough that she could walk a tad more comfortably with him, he continues on. "I wasn' raised by no one. My parents abandoned me by the time I was six months," his lips weave into a frown, a sigh extending from his mouth. "So I ain't like these Armadans either. I'm... wild? Feral? Unsocialized? I ain't got the right word for it, but basically, I was starin' cause I ain't got manners an' yer tore up like a fuckin' chew toy," he takes a few steps, a brow raised, begging her to contest what he's had to say. If she was sharing her past, he might as well share his, right?

"I bet ya couldn't even get me close to grey," Wilder teases, hoping to shift the dour mood into something a tad more playful.

WILDER

The motley wolf came closer, and she tensed, staying still. He pressed his side against her, and she finally got the hint. Right, probably sick of her slow as mud pace. She started to lean a little into him. Feeling that she didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

When he told her some of his past, she finally realised she was trying to label attributes to him that wouldn’t stick. He wasn’t like her slavers, he wasn’t like the Armada wolves. He was something else entirely. Did that mean she would trust him? Hell no! He was feral, like her, and she would trust herself as far as she could leap right now.

Couldn’t even get me close to grey. Was it a challenge, was it? They walked along the Col. Their pace was slow and careful as she adjusted to the feeling of her fur pulling with every step. But she was accustomed to pain. “I do look a little like a chew toy, don’t I?” She agreed casually. “The wounds that started it are whip lines, where they lashed a whip down my back again, and again. See, I told the dude fucking me that ants had bigger weeners, and at least that cleared him from being my dad since it was too widdle to eject anything.” She said conversationally. “The rest of the wounds happened a few days later, when I was trekking through the tundra with my black splayed open and a polar bear thought I looked like a walking buffet table.” She was glancing at him out of the corner of her eye to see if his face got all blanched like Oleander did any time she spoke about her treatment. Yeah, she bet she could turn him white.

"Speech"

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

She tried not to think about how she could feel Wilder against her side. A tough give to support instead of take. Who would have thought? She knew he'd turn out to be a bastard just like the rest of them eventually. But for now he was giving her an interesting side of himself. She found herself… almost enjoying the conversation. The challenge. She wanted to see him squirm.


“Never did figure out which of the bastards he was.” She said agreeably. He didn't look too phased. His hair didn't even stand on end and he was quick to change the subject to Oleander's prowess. The bastard.


“Ohhh” She said thoughtfully, limping along beside him. “You're shopping for the other side. I'll let Oleander know you want to see him flex his hunky muscles and fight off a polar bear for you.” She fluttered her lashes at him innocently.

His nostrils force a snort, breath pluming around him as he can't quite believe her words. Was she really trying to convince herself that she didn't know which one was her father? Did none of them stick out enough as familiar? Terrible. Deep down, he knows its sad and upsetting, a traumatic life to live, but her outwardly demeanor really does make it seem as if she doesn't care. How much was she truly hiding?

"Probably for the better," he muses, his tongue clicking against his teeth in a 'tch' sort of noise as they continue their slow stroll through the col. An occasional wind rushes past them, reminding him just how cold it was this far north. Surely the summer would be warmer? He hoped so.

Suddenly he balks, mouth dropping and ears folding back. "Now that ain't what I said," his muzzle wrinkles at the thought of finding another male interestin'. "Sure sounds like yer the one who's interested in those hunky muscles," Wilder quips back, baring his teeth in a snarky smirk at her.

WILDER

Yeah, it probably was. She regretted not having the chance to kill the bastard one day. A fool's hope, she was no fighter. Together, they walked along a little further. Not covering much ground of this cold Northern territory. She'd yet to get a tour of the place, and she didn't think she'd get that tour today, either. Already she could feel the toll their gentle place was having on her body.


She may have jested, but she truly didn't understand why Oleander had done it. She supposed He hadn't known her worth at the time, or lack of it. When she teased him, Wilder tensed and she almost laughed. Huh! She'd scored a hit, found a weak spot. She'd have to dig harder there. She might have done so then and there, but he bared his teeth at her and she instinctively braced for the blow, flinching back. She knew loose muscles took a better hit and let herself sag. But she forgot how injured she was, how much she was leaning on Wilder and tumbled down in the snow.

Their steps are slow as they move through the Col. He doesn't mind that they're not really going anywhere. It's not like he has anywhere else to be yet. For an Apprentice, he hasn't actually been paired with anyone so having something to do at least gave him a purpose.

There's a silence that falls after his last words, his sneering smirk falters, eyes looking down to the worn and broken girl leaning against him. He sees her flinching, ears falling back, bracing for something that he doesn't understand. Did she think he was going to hit her? Dang, he could be an asshole sometimes, but not that much of an asshole.

In the next moment, Vesper was tumbling down into the snow, no longer braced by his form. A gasp leaves him as he stumbles after her, trying to help catch her, but failing miserably. Plopping into the snow beside her, he noses her cheek to see if she's still awake. "C'mon, I couldn' have been that mean to ya," he mumbles, half-teasing, half-being serious. Sighing, he looks up, his face steeling, tucking away the emotion. "Do I need to go get Oleander?" Wilder questions, his vermilion eyes looking back down to her.

Pain flared up her body as her back hit the snow, and she could do nothing but sit there and breath for a moment. When she felt the touch of a nose against her cheek, her eyes flared upwards. The touch was unusual enough that she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Between that and her fall, the sharp-tongued girl was momentarily speechless.

Her expression finally pulled into a frown as Wilder mentioned Oleander. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I must have dramatically swooned at the thought of Oleander's muscles…” She said, her voice dry as ice. He didn’t mention her flinching, and she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up either. He’d have been well within his right to smack her, but these goddamn Armada wolves were twisting her up in knots with their restraint. She just wanted it to happen already. The suspense was killing her.


"Speech"

Her eyes dart up to him and he can't help but pull his muzzle away, giving her space. Still, he stays in the snow, knowing she will probably need help up. Though he's patient, he worries and wishes she would speak. At least her breathing seems normal and nothing was out of sorts. His gaze stay on her, waiting until her bone dry voice speaks to him.

The comment has Wilder rolling his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he gives his head a shake. "Oh, that's it, hm," he lifts a brow, assessing her once more, wanting to ask her for the truth, but also not wanting to get bit. Had he found her weakness? Or was it trauma from being an abused wolf? A slave. "C'mon, you'll catch a cold stayin' in the snow," Wilder rumbles, lifting his hind end up so that he perches into a play-bow sort of position. Leaning his shoulder toward her so that she can brace herself against him, he helps her up to standing.

Once he knows she's firmly on her paws, he gives his coat a shake, looking to her apprehensively. "Should we get ya back? Had 'nough of bein' outside yet?" He questions, his expression fading from that mildly concerned expression to more of a playful smirk. "I'll race ya," Wilder teases, giving Vesper a teasing wink.

WILDER

She knew he wouldn’t leave off until she got up. Never mind that the cold from the snow around her was already seeping into her coat. Melting where it touched the warmth of her body. She was going to be damp and cold, damn it. She leaned against him, braced against his body as she climbed to her paws with a soft groan. Man it hurt. It hurt so much. But at last she was standing again, her body a mixture of numbness and pain. She wanted to go back to bed, a part of her wanted to cry, but she had decided a long time ago to give no one the satisfaction of her tears.

Wilder, the strange wild wolf, was clearly trying to cheer her up. Perhaps he felt guilty for being the one to put her into the snow in the first place. “Yeah? And what will I get when I win?” She huffed at him, a little out of breath just from the effort of rising.

"Speech"

It would be obvious to anyone watching from the outside that Vesper was ready to go back to bed. Being this close to her, Wilder could see it written clearly in her eyes. Even if she refused to show the true emotion lingering underneath, Wilder wasn't that stupid. His own shoulders had been torn up and the muscles beneath were feeling sore. If he was feeling the repercussions of his injuries, surely she would be feeling hers more than he was feeling his.

He does play along with the game though. Better to keep acting the fool than to reveal every card in his paw. "I'll do whatever ya want for a day," Wilder replies suddenly after a few seconds of thoughtful silence. His gaze moves down to her, wondering what her reaction would be. "But if I win, ya gotta let me get ya back to bed. Deal?" A brow raised knowing that her end of the bargain would be a far better prize than his own.

WILDER

Ohhh. Now wasn’t that tempting. She’d never before in her life had power over another wolf. A hungry light lit up subtly in the corner of her eyes. She wanted to win, no matter what it cost her. Foolish, reckless wolf that she was. She had been teasing when she had asked what she would get, knowing it to be impossible. Now, he had given her something to fight for. Yeah, she was going to make a mess of herself. But wouldn’t it be fun?

“Deal.” she agreed easily. She knew the bargain was badly lopsided, but she didn’t care. She pulled away from Wilder, taking in a few quick, short breaths. Flooding oxygen through her system. “Go.” she said, and she ran, taking off from his side.

She made it five steps before agony exploded across her entire system, and she ended up back in that godforsaken snow. Only, this time she didn’t move, apart from a single soft cry of agony as she fell. Was she even breathing?

"Speech"