I RUN FROM WOLVES // OPEN

[DANYLA]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Everything he was began and ended with slave. There was no turning of a new chapter or page, no new phase to his life- not before now. Before now, any descriptions of his person finished or started with, "for a slave." "He's bright for a slave." "He speaks Tevene well for a slave." "For a slave, he is fascinating." The entirety of his identity revolved around those three words, and he had never asked for it, which could be said for anyone. They never requested life at the end of a leash, or one tampered with beyond their knowledge, yet here the others stood, bowing at the feet of no master. So yes, he was terrified of that, although it felt less like a transition between pool and ocean as it did land to sea, knowing only how to walk before floundering as he struck the water, gulping for more air than he could swallow. Danyla never imagined himself beyond what his master made him to be.

Yet fleeing had been his decision, one of his first fully autonomous choices. Maybe that was why it had gone poorly.

Many things seemed destined that way lately, and so when a voice abruptly broke through his concentration, Danyla startled terribly, wrenching his leg from the bucket and upending it in the process. His heart quivered, as a rabbit in the vicinity of a predator, and Danyla averted his eyes from the smaller creature, swallowing. The instinctual need to shrink and await the consequences kept him from comprehending what she spoke. He heard, but he did not...hear. It was only when his pulse no longer thrashed as violently that he managed to lift his tongue.

"Danyla. I am- I was cleaning." He startled again, but less obviously when the lion arrived, pierced ears twitching. Winterwolf spoke softly, but for Danyla, any voice was thunderous when he had to listen, and he kept his eyes on the ground. Occasionally, they would interject when he recited as well, though with more condescension, occasionally questioning his master's classical Tevene teaching because of a squabble over how a word was translated. Out of his control, as many things were, but, also with many situations, Danyla was not exempt from consequence.

Though he was accustomed to crowds, he tensed further with another arrival, staring intently at the overturned bucket and the glitter shimmering in the dirt. "Ir abelas. I am sorry I have nothing for you. Ovid was not my master's favorite."