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Thrax dreams of her. Dreams of her softness, the sweet perfume that is uniquely her’s, dreams of her flesh and how it is pliable but strong against his. Thrax dreams of what they would create with their union of their bodies, of her sides round with children. Children that would not be slaves for entertainment, and not slaves of a higher entitlement. It is an idealistic fantasy. It is not Saturnina’s reality and it is not his. That reality has never belonged to them. Their love had been a secret until it was no more. He had freed himself. He had taken the boon as a victory hoping that by buying his freedom he might be with her in the way he always dreams …but Titas is cruel and denied him. Freedom is a lie, Thrax thinks as he stirs awake, his mood declining into darker depths as if he is the sea. His marred lips twist into a scowl as he glares at the grey rock wall, illuminated by the moon’s beams. He is not free. He is a gladiator. He will always answer the call of his Dominus: he knows no different. He will always give into the high of adrenaline, intoxicate on blood. He will always need that fix because he is a gladiator. Just as he thinks Saturnina will always answer her own calling: become Domina. She will raise her own legion of gladiators, take the seed of kings and when she grows round it will be with princes and princesses of an enterprise that is an impossible ouroboros to break.
Still, he thinks, his icy gaze softening with thoughts of her because his feelings betray him, he loves her as he always will. Saturnina is on his mind often, and he struggles between the tug-o-war within him: what is more painful? Being away from her or being near her and watching as she fulfills her destiny. A destiny that does not include him. At least …not in a way that they desire it to. He does not know. Both are painful and so he does not dwell upon either as he pushes himself to his paws, gives his pelt a hearty shake and abandons his makeshift bed, being careful to skirt around the borders of the pack that is nearby.
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a mistake. aria realized this as soon as she was too close to backpedal. she had bound herself to the borders and hung close for a while now, and hadn't planned on leaving until she saw him. he was dark, maybe even reddish if she had imagined it so... she'd mistook him for constantine. though, the closer she came the more she realized how much larger he was-- and constantine was pretty big from what she remembered. his fur was littered in large scars, whereas she remembered constantine to be so much sleeker. and his eyes, he didn't have the same eyes as constantine, or even casmir. those owlishly yellow eyes were replaced with a pair of icy blue ones-- which reminded her more of lasher.
she made herself small, a ways back (though still too close for comfort), and eyed the male in case her noticed her.
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He is careful but he is alert. He seeks no trouble. There is only one thing he wants and he has disguised his cowardice as honor. He has ran away from his love when he is denied her …not by her, but her father; but he could not stay. He is not strong enough to endure the torture of her growing round with another’s seed as it took root, he could not watch her always be out of his grasp. So close but so far away. It is not a Champion’s place to challenge a Dominus, for freed as he may be he will never hold that power. And the high blood does not breed with their slaves. Twice Thrax was denied requests and he was out of ideas and he knew he would only distract Saturnina from her purpose. She was born who she was, and he was born who he was and they could never change that.
A scent yanks the gladiator from his circling thoughts, his head snaps towards the direction of the woman abruptly, marred lip curling back from his teeth only to soothe his hostility as she shrinks in on herself. Not a threat. Her yellow gaze is owlish as it stares at him and he shifts his weight, uncomfortable. Not because she reminds him of his lost love. There is something familiar about her but he cannot place it. They had met once, in a different lifetime when Thrax was a different wolf …but he does not remember. He does not know. The familiarity persists but eludes him of any and all clues so he brushes it off as reminding him of a gladiator he has sparred with, or a diplomatic guest he was forced to entertain in Thracian’s Edge. There had been so many of them that they had all blurred together long ago.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” The gladiator promises her, though he understands if she does not believe. He is a stranger and all he has to offer her is his word. Whatever it is worth.
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she was not small enough, and he had become alerted to her presence. he turned, pulling back his lips into a snarl. she stood up straight, her eyes still wide and moonlike, prepared to flee if he attacked. the stranger, however, settled, and she released a small breath. his response to her stance was appreciated, she supposed, but she could only remember ferhago and how seemingly pleasant he had been before things had abruptly turned. she stared still, though the size of her pupils decreased, rendering her less 'deer-in-the-headlights'.
"i thought that... i mistook you for someone else," she shared, almost daringly, her feet stuck in place, refusing to come closer. "i didn't mean to stare, i just-- i haven't seen him, in a while." she thought of constantine, and casmir, and as she noted his gaze more calmly now-- lasher. she missed all of her mayfairs, finding it unfair the world would strip all three of them from her... what were the odds?
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She stands straight as he notices her, and for a moment is reminded, against his will, of his Saturnina. There is no resemblance in their appearance. The gladiator’s beloved is the color of spilled ink with eyes of a mix of moonbeams and clear skies. This woman is all pale snow with eyes the color full bloomed sunflowers. Besides that, Domina does not shrink in the presence of men like him. She commands them. She asserts herself as their superior and it is men like him that shrink in her presence. Thrax is desperate enough to draw haphazard similarities even if there are none to truly be found. He is lonely and he misses with a fierce ache. With her words, it seems that he is not alone in wishing to draw unlikely similarities. He understands that, well but the end game is he is not sure what to do about it. “I am Thrax.” He offers her his name, simply, because it feels like a social obligation but without the Dominus to introduce him he is left to do it himself.
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her gaze narrows, her ice-white irises filling again with the black of her pupil. she's thinking, though she's not sure where to pin this interaction on the safety scale-- and isn't sure if she's going to figure it out right away. "aria," she responses simply, repeating the name thrax over and over in her mind. maybe it was a useless habit to her now, but when she was in donnelaith her sharp memory and name-face-recognition helped her in more ways than one as an alpha. she would remember thrax.
her eyes dared to dart away, to the sides and around him. "you don't look lost," she pointed out, though she didn't feel that he knew where he was, "are you headed somewhere?"
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Aria, she gives her name and he tucks it away. It brings with it no recognition despite the restless feeling of familiarity that continues to elude him but persists like a mewling pup craving attention. Thrax does what he would not ever do to a mewling pup: he ignores it. He lets out a low scoff as she points out that he does not look lost. Lost was a subjective term. As far as Thrax is aware he has never stepped paw inside these Wilds before but does that necessarily make him lost? He does not think so. He is not lost in the physical way. He is without purpose. In Thracian Edge he knows his place. He knows his purpose. He knows that even though he bought into the lie that is freedom that he was not and will never be free. He will always be a mongrel, always be someone’s slave for entertainment. A prized show dog to be shown off and bred for more gladiators. It is the only call that Thrax knows how to answer, it is the only life he knows how to live. Leaving behind Saturnina when she is denied to him again and again by everyone but her was his choice …but it was likely his only choice. He thinks now that that Dominus would not have allowed him to stay regardless, as he had been concise with his intentions. “Not everyone who wonders is lost, lass,” He tells her with a soft laugh. Except he is, kind of. “No where in particular.” He admits with a lofty shrug of his broad shoulders. It is true enough. He has yet to consider what his next move will be or if he will deign to wander around the Wilds hoping and fantasizing for what he knows can never be.
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his scoff forced aria to flinch, though she wasn't necessarily offended or frightened. it was just a response. lass, she repeated a few times, reminded again of ferahgo and his damned pirates. this man didn't feel the same as him, and she was in a different situation entirely, but it hung around in the back of her mind like heat waves wafted above hot stone.
"i guess so," she returned with a light dip of her head. maybe it was a metaphor too, for her own life. she did not wander though, she stayed put, and yet somehow she was so lost she couldn't even remember which direction she'd come from. bizarre.
hesitantly, she shrugged her shoulders. "you don't need a place to go, do you?" she asked, thinking of her mountain. moonspear was low on subordinates, and as useless as she was, maybe she could try to bring him in. and, selfishly, she thought, though he was not the same as constantine, his presence reminded her greatly of her mayfairs.