Altar of Twilight we control nassau

[table width=85%][tr][td]

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.

[/td][/tr][/table]