#theislesclosed.

“Don’t touch it.” His words were laced with a deadly venom, the instruction bordering on a demand which was hardly a tone he’d taken with her often. The seriousness needed to be there, she needed to feel the strength behind it, the urgency. Looking down at what had been disguised as a gift, sitting there as if it was trying to portray its own innocence. “It’s not what it looks like.” He’d seen them before, always the same haunting feeling though - it was fear, something Caiden rarely felt, but this was raw. Too close for his own comfort.

“We’re going to play a game.” The pair stood at what could be crowned the enterance of the forest, Cain eyeing the slave like it was a dare to disagree before the hint - just the slightest hint - of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Now run.” That was all he’d offered in way of instructions, hand waved toward the trees in demonstration of what direction and nothing more. Part of him was overly curious considering the wolf barely spoke, which in theory, meant he couldn’t possibly pick now to protest.

It had been a few weeks since the first chance encounter, something that surprised her considering she’d been planning on making a quick visit and instead it turned into something all together different. It wasn’t that the surprise was unwarranted or unappreciated, but just...well, not her typical motive. There was something special in that, or maybe it was the girl herself who had been special - but that was a well kept secret, one she didn’t intend on telling. After all, that always made weakness from flesh and bone, avoiding the notion like a self imposed Achilles heel. Champagne stem in her hand, attention flicked to the oracle as they sat on the balcony, away from the noise and distraction of the Cavae. “What was it like?” Casual question before elaborating. “Where ever you were calling home before here.” 

“Do you ever miss them?” He’d asked the question full of an almost wistful guilt, privacy introduced to the conversation by way of their native tongue. It was a tick, a slip induced by the wine that had been imported. It was promised to be closer to what they’d had back in the days where alcohol wasn’t quite as refined - when it was vulgar, from the earth, much like the two of them. Eyes closed as he’d lean head back, tipping it onto her shoulder idly as a rigid pillow. “Who we were without all these scars and shit?”