He no longer desired his prisoners, they had been among his ranks for too long as it was; and what good were they? Nil. Their queen had come to seek them, craving their return. But he had denied her any access to the men, and why? Because he had an overwhelming skull of pride to maintain. He swayed against the early-morning breeze, pale nostrils quivering as his skull would pull backwards, ears flush against the defined contours of his skull. It was not a howl but a moaning bark, long and drawled in it?s tones as he announced his desires, and called for the unwanted duo and their attendance.

Glaciem was not awful -- but it was lonely. He had spent so much time alone, and now that he was once again without his family, he could hardly bear it. They never seemed to leave his mind. Night and day, begging him to return to them. But the call of Isardis would arrest him from his restless thoughts. Quickly the man would rise to all fours, stretching sleep from his stiff limbs and beginning to approach the leader of Glaciem. When he arrived, he would slacken his pace, nodding slowly toward the man. He did not love him, nor was his opinion particularly favorable; but he did not hate him. "Isardis," he greeted gently, voice rumbling from deep within his chest as he parted his jaws slightly to speak.

He arrived fairly quickly, however didn?t seem to be overly thrilled within his entrappers? presence; Isardis swaying with a brittle pleasure, a dwindling pride as the pale man presented himself. ?Valhalla?s queen had come calling some time ago, but I had a point to make,? he confidently began to explain, ruby gaze resting half-heartedly against the dusty eyes of the Prisoner, ?You?re no longer a Prisoner of Glaciem. Be satisfied knowing I released you through choice, for what use is a man who craves no more than to return to the lesser?s of Alacritis?? throat bubbled weakly, extended tail flicking about tapered hocks. ?Go now,? it was near a demand as his spine would rise ever-so-slightly, a faint suggestion of his supremacy as the King awaited his departure. There was nothing more to be said. Bronze was no longer safe from harm, but perhaps he?d be happy back in his rightful place with the inferior. Then again, what reason did his people have to damage him? For as long as the man stayed out of his hair, Isardis would ensure the same.

Isardis was unimpressed, as he always seemed -- Bronze did not care. He had never been a man of pride, always conscientious of where he came from and the life he had lived; and all he cared about now was his family. "Thank you." If he had to, he would take his children from Seracia and live alone with his wife, as he once had. "You will never see me again, and I can assure you my family will mind their business well." Even if he was forced to fight for his Kingdom once again, he would leave. He'd never been a man of honor; why start now? His family came before everything. "I will sing songs of your grace and your honor, Isardis, King of Glaciem." While most back home considered Isardis quite corrupt, Bronze knew he was simply a man; flawed, like the rest of them, and taking him was simply an act of war. One he would have done himself. He was grateful, but he would not linger long. Though he was tired and growing far too old to be traveling so far, he would not hesitant to distance himself from Isardis and begin to trek back to his family, his heart significantly lighter.