The days are getting shorter, Zsaria thought as she drew herself up from the rock of the bluff overlooking the eastern beaches. While she certainly appreciated the brisk winds, the dwindling hours of sunlight had occurred to her as quite a rapid and unwelcome change. Where was she supposed to hide herself away in her free time? Now that she had forged bonds with some of her fellow reavers she found it increasingly difficult to be alone in the pridelands. Shame, she enjoyed her time alone. Such as it was, she supposed, it would always be better to have friends at your back in battle, even if they vexed you in peace.
Ferawyn did not like this place. He didn’t like the fighting or the rough n’ tumble nature of the lions in this pride, and most of all, he didn’t like being a slave. Or a Thrall, whatever it was these Viking creatures called it. There didn’t seem to be much rhyme or rhythm to his situation—all he had been doing was running away from an angry lioness when he had run into that damned brown lion, and before he had really understood what was happening, he had found himself here, in captivity, doing s**t for other lions.
That was not cool. And he was getting his a** out of here if it was the last thing he did. As it was, he had managed to slink his way away from the majority of prying eyes, and there seemed to be few lions about, none of which were, at the moment, paying him the slightest bit of attention. Well, that was all good, but if they did decide to focus their attentions on him, he had a plan. He was going to sing his damn way to freedom.
Zsaria, having been trained amongst brothers and, out of necessity, her fellow Reavers, had a strong sense of when things were not as they should be. Her focus sharpened as she turned back toward the pride, thinking perhaps one of Taraxa's cubs had slipped into something it shouldn't be in. She'd have to hurry back then. No, that wasn't it, she realized, noting the appearance of a somewhat familiar male on the horizon. Leaving the dens. No no, that wouldn't be allowed. She remembered this male, with the bright blue hues that rivaled her own. He was a Thrall, and there was no good reason that anyone would have sent him out here. "Thrall," she called with a faint amused trill in her voice, "Have you come to get me or have you found other... Business, upon these cliffs? I believe they'd hold little to interest one such as yourself." While she didn't entirely embrace the practice of capture, she knew it as a vital tentant of the pride, one which she couldn't allow violated under her watch.
Crap. Indeed, it seemed as if his luck had run dry in recent times. First the capture, now this. The pale lion shifted his gaze in the direction of the lioness’ voice. She looked familiar, but only because there didn’t seem to be an overly large number of lions within the pride. She was one of the Reavers, probably; one of those fighting ones.
His past experience with females had been largely… angry ones, usually involve his telling one that he didn’t actually love her and her reacting by going into a rage. Oh yes, he knew how dangerous females could be—especially trained ones… he would have to tread carefully here.
His mind spun. He would have to bring her closer. Then he could make use of the singing voice he had been blessed with. He had never actually sung anyone to sleep, per se, but he had come close enough, and desperate times called for desperate measures. “Uhm, yes?” He decided, clearing his throat. Come on, pull it together Ferawyn. “You’re being called. For something.”
Hah. It was a terrible lie, and he didn’t suppose she would fall for it in the slightest, but perhaps… just perhaps, it would be enough to bring her closer.
"Something?" She raised a brow, usually her captain or warlord was much more specific in the nature of the call. Perhaps she was being called to cubsit, she thought with an inward cringe. No, she didn't feel like that at the moment, the thrall could do that himself. "For what?" she asked coarsely as she walked toward him to pass in the direction of the dens, "There's little I do that I have not already seen to." Though she felt no animosity toward the thrall and she did understand that he came from another place, his vague statements irritated her. She had grown into a lioness who liked things visible and clearcut, with logical connections. She liked answers, and he wasn't giving them to her, at least not properly. There was no need for extra work to get answers from a thrall.
“Uhm, well I have this message,” he said as she neared. The mere idea of escape, of freedom, was sending thrills down his spine and making his heart pound in his chest; the accompanying idea of punishment if he was to fail… He took a breath and wracked his brains for a song. Something nice, slow, lilting. A lullaby of some sort.
“A…” For a second, he faltered, and then he heard the music in his ears and almost immediately, his anxiety began to fade. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound… that saved a wretch like me… He his voice humming, low and even aloud, and then he found his voice. “I once was lost, but now am found… was blind but now I see…”
Listen, please listen, he thought, and prayed that his idea would work.
Zsaria seemed confused at first, but as he sang a soft lilting buzz came over her. He could be useful, she thought, keeping her eyes just open enough to watch. Useful, but perhaps not as clever as he felt himself to be. She was a Stormborn, and a Stormborn did not leave herself open to traps. After a moment she found herself humming along with him, reminded of the way her mother used to sing to them each night. Granted he was not the beauty she had been, that lost some of the effect, but he had heart and there was something to be said for that. "You have a wonderful voice thrall," she said with a little smile, her eyes still partially closed, "What is your given name?"
It seemed as though she held little animosity for Thralls—that was a shame. He hated the idea that he might ruin that sentiment, no matter what the result of his attempt to escape would yield. He wished that didn’t have to break the trust of anybody in his fight for freedom, but nothing came without cost…
"Ferawyn,” he said softly, considering her praise. The actual, straightforward compliments like hers that he had received over the years, he realized, were few and far between, especially in his childhood. A wonderful voice had been expected of him growing up, something that his parents had taken for granted. It was a pleasant change, and terribly ironic that it had happened here, of all places. “Thank you.” He added, hoping that it sounded as sincere as he meant it, before beginning to hum again.
"I am Reaver Zsaria," she said with a quick nod of her head, not so low as she would to a fellow reaver but low enough to be polite. "I haven't heard you singing here before, have you been keeping it all to yourself?" There was a hint of teasing in her voice. While she didn't believe thralls should be allowed to advance she did have a tendency to appreciate their unique usefulness, and this one should be entertaining, not minding cubs or whatever they had him at. "Where do you stay?" She didn't mean the question to pry, she was simply curious, and beginning to wonder again why he was out so far from the dens.
“Just poor timing, perhaps,” he said with a small smile and a shake of his head. He hadn’t been stuck here for all that long, after all, and… well he had been too busy scheming and coming up with an elaborate plan of escape to indulge too much in singing, he supposed. It hadn’t been intentional, in any case. That, and the fact that he hadn’t been altogether pleased at the thought of entertaining his captors voluntarily. Clearly, though, he had done just that with Zsaria.
But she seemed a little… different from the rest of them. Nicer was the simplest way to put it, and he had to wonder why. It didn’t seem like the most appropriate subject to broach, though, so he decided against asking her about her attitude toward Thralls.
“I stay near Gunnar,” he answered without quite thinking. Crap, perhaps he shouldn’t have told her. But he supposed it was something she would have found out sooner or later. After all, Gunnar had been the one responsible for bringing him back to the pride in the first place, and Ferawyn supposed that in the customs of the Vikings that made him more or less like the brown lion’s… property. The thought made him cringe mentally. Property, indeed.
"Ah," she said with a bit of a knowing breath, "He can be a little coarse." While she considered herself on good terms with the other reaver she was the first to admit that they were not kindred spirits. He seemed to deeply enjoy his position, whereas she did it as a duty. Thinking about it she had never questioned his opinion of thralls, she didn't even know how this one was treated. "You'll find that many of us are grateful to our thralls, those that do their duties and walk with a calm mind at any rate," she added with a smile, "And those who do not wander as if they hope to disappear." Her eyes were sparkling, however he took the sentiment would be quite revealing to his personality. Defensive, he had been. Confused, loyal. Angry? Well, angry she would deal with if she needed. While she didn't wish to hurt him she wouldn't be responsible for an escape. She certainly didn't need anymore bad things surrounding her own reputation.
Ferawyn nodded. That breath, as if she understood his reservations… for the first time in a while, he felt like he was being treated as an actual lion, and not just as a—well, a thrall. The novelty he found in the notion surprised him, as if he had already gotten so used to just being a thrall that he was beginning to think like one. It was a shame, and if his parents had known what he was thinking at that moment, they would have been mortified.
But there was something that it, this small act of kindness from this lioness that suddenly made the idea of escape seem less satisfying. And for a split second, he glanced her, thinking of the freedom that lay beyond, so close to his reach. But maybe not today.
He returned his focus to Zsaria and smiled again, a real smile this time. “Maybe you could tell Gunnar that,” he said, though it was more a… badly humorous joke than anything. “It’s good to know though, really.”
"If you stick around for a while, you could tell him yourself," Zsaria laughed, knowing that Gunnar perhaps wouldn't appreciate a thrall with a strong personality in the same way she did. Ferawyn didn't seem rude or aggressive, and she wondered why he had seemed to be making a break for it. Thralls were well provided for here, she couldn't think of a good enough reason one would try to leave. Surely he'd know that he was attempting to escape a fortress that held some of the best fighters around. "Where did you learn to sing?" She asked, settling to a seat in front of him.
At that, his smile grew somewhat less radiant. Stick around? He hadn’t paused to consider what might make him stick around, or what would happen to him if he did, but now the possibilities began to hit him. What if he became… less? What if, in his servitude, he grew used to obeying mindless orders and forgot what it was like to be free? What if he stopped yearning for freedom? Would he stop singing?
That last terrified him more so than any of the other questions. Life without song was really no life at all, and he shuddered to ponder what it would take to make him stop singing.
"Uhm,” he took a moment to readjust his thoughts as her question pulled him from his haunting reverie. “Home.” He said wistfully. “My entire family sings. I learned from my parents. Been singing ever since I can remember.” Of course, he hadn’t seen his parents or his brothers in years, and indeed didn’t even know where they were, or, more morbidly, how many of them were still alive.
"Family is always the source of the best things," she sighed wistfully, tipping her head toward him, "It must have been a nice place to grow up. I grew up here.' Not that the pride was hard to grow up in, well not normally. Her own childhood had been a little strange in comparison to how her adulthood functioned but that was another issue entirely. "Do you still consider that place home?" she wondered, sensing that it had been a long time.
He nodded his agreement. Indeed, his best memories seemed to have come from his childhood, and regardless of the pressure he had been put under growing up, he had to admit, he had had more fun then than in the rest of his life.
“It was,” he said, thinking back to the savannah grasses and sun streaming in through the scrappy canopy of a single tree, the blue sky, the distant thunder of hooves. Of course, it was probably nothing more than a highly romanticized version of his childhood home, but in Ferawyn’s mind, it was perfection, and he had no intention to change that.
“I don’t suppose being here was too bad though, considering what you are now.” He hadn’t gotten the Stormborn’s ways down completely, but he knew enough to know that being a Reaver in a pride full of Reavers could only mean good things.
“I… I like to think so, that it’s still home.” He said with slight hesitation. “Truth be told, I’m starting to think it might just be because I’ve never stayed in any one place long enough after that to have any other home.”
She flashed a smile, seeing an opportunity to reiterate her earlier point. "Perhaps if you stopped trying to run for just a little while you could see the beauty in this place too," her voice was soft and comforting, a motherly side of her that did not get much exposure, "You may feel under appreciated but thralls are what keep this fortress strong and functional, you mean a lot. And your children will always be protected here, should you choose to have them." She didn't know how much of his situation had been explained to him but to her it didn't seem too far separated from being a hunter. Sure, there were times where he was required to follow orders, but unlike other prides of rumor they were not overly cruel nor were thralls considered disposable. If one had to be captured, it wasn't the worst option. "This place could be home."
He knew there had to be merit to what she was saying. Maybe she was right. But there was still some part of him that resisted the notion, part of him that refused to think that this would become his existence.
He had to steel himself against exactly that, seeing the beauty in this place. Because he knew there was beauty here—there was beauty everywhere, and he could see it wherever he went. It was what made him fall in love with new places, over and over again. But that couldn’t happen here, if only because he didn’t want to have any reasons to stay.
