NO LIGHT, NO LIGHT // JOINING?

[DANYLA]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]He knew, in comparison to other slaves, that laying at his master's feet and demurely answering questions from guests were tasks that did not demand much of his physical strength. Danyla had to remain lean and fit to be appealing, but he wasn't used for manual labor, and he did not clean a grand house from dawn to dusk. Regardless, they were typically...in a sense of solidarity with one another, a silent sort, but when he grew a little older, he recognized there were still divisions between them. A magister's slave had higher respect than a mere lord's did, but even so, Danyla had never imagined that one might leave the position of slave -when their debts were paid, if they were lucky- to a career involving a life they once had. To go from slave to slave-catcher was bizarre, and yet, Danyla heard the stories, whispered between servants and slaves alike. One individual in particular, called Banal’ras’iroth by most, stood prominently apart from the others. Typically, Danyla hadn't paid much mind to chatter, but the stories he heard put a chill in the tropic air.

So he did not call him quick shadow. Danyla called him Eshne, like them, because that wolf was not a fellow. He was a leash, too, no matter where he came from.

Danyla saw him in frigid blue eyes. He'd never imagined how ice-cold they were in the stories, but now he wondered if they looked like this lion's. 

He wouldn't stare. He couldn't, gaze tethered to the ground beneath the weight of the commanding stranger's eyes and voice. The dark wolf was taut and then relaxed, repeatedly, a forced cycle of attempting to calm himself, as though one tensed before a blow but knew it would only worsen the hurt. Not that Danyla had ever been harmed in such a way. How they looked at him though- that always felt like a lash to his back. How the lion looked at him wasn't entirely like that, lacking the hunger, but he still felt it so tangibly that he flinched heavily when a voice suddenly snapped the cord pulled tight between them.

The speaker was smaller than Danyla, though that never meant anything, and as soon as he'd gazed upon the serval, he stopped, eyes on the ground once again. He didn't know how to answer. People never wanted the truth when they asked questions in his experience. When his master stared at him and questioned in that airy voice if he was satisfied, he had to say yes and mean it. "I am fine," he said eventually, inhaling deeply. No one wanted him to be strong, to be a man- they wanted him to be pretty, and docile. Not a dreamer.

"I thank you. Thank you." If he knew their social habits here, he would have prostrated himself at his paws, or whatever it was that showed gratitude. Instead, he briefly glanced upward, and upon seeing the smile, quickly averted his gaze again. "My name is I- Danyla. You do not need to waste your time for me."

A small jerk, when he heard language he hadn't expected, both for its origin and its meaning. He couldn't keep himself from lifting his head to stare at the lion with round eyes, mouth slightly ajar in a very unbecoming way.