Dawnlark Plains I'm so sorry. I thought you were the waiter.

It did not take much of a genius to figure out what the Amazon before him was displeased with the lack of information he had to give her. For a brief moment, Skagos felt the struggle of obedience warring with ...disobedience (for he had no other word for it); the drive to let something witty and sarcastic roll off his tongue as he would have if it were another Gladiator or Slave he faced in the stead of an Amazon. The dauntless Skagos did not dare to compare himself to the Old Queen, though it was more than the markings of her blood, of the Coatl's, that marked him as hers. Six's personality had been forgotten in his legend, in his myth, twisting him to be the idea slave and Gladiator that all boys should strive to be. To be remembered. It took a lot to impress the Amazon women, after all, something that the young Skagos knew well; evidenced by the earthen draped woman before him. His assurance hadn't done anything but irritate her further by the deadpan and contempt colored tone she used for he didn't dare look any higher than her chest. 

He agreed with her, to some extent, though he agreed to disagree at her calling him useless. If he were useless he would have been killed in the arena long ago, nor would he have been promoted to Doctore, but he didn't bother to voice this. It was no use, he knew from experience. He was obedient, and the obedient didn't argue. They agreed. “As my lady wishes,” He'd already told her that Quetzalcoatl had sent him, though he had no idea why it had to be before the children had been born. Perhaps she hadn't expected him to know the details — after all the men were not allowed to see the children, not even those that sired them, not until they were old enough to be integrated either into the Amazon's society or as slaves to be trained. If death did not claim them before, or if the boys hadn't been left to die. Not all mothers were cruel as Cihuacoatl to actually eat their healthy living boys, but then again not all of the Amazon women were as twisted as the old queen. A zealot to the tenth degree if Skagos ever saw one.

“The Queen Quetzalcoatl would welcome you and your sisters back, if you wish to return. She did not anticipate Tezcacoatl's death,” Skagos paused and drew in a deep breath. “Is someone going to return to inform her of the grave news, my lady?” Skagos inquired, because it would not be him. He was playing the messanger boy here because Quetzalcoatl had commanded him to, but such news should be delivered to her by an Amazon sister that she trusted and cared for, as opposed to coming from a slave. Especially a slave that had wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into that soft, pliable throat of Tezcacoatl's and tear his jugular from his neck. A desire born out of little else than jealousy that morphed into contempt and hatred the older they got.