Blackfeather Woods I'm sitting in a railway station, got a ticket for a destination

Potema appears to be lost in thought to him and when she answers his inquiry her response is absent minded enough to confirm his suspicions. Still, he assumes that if she minds his questions — borne out of his desire to both understand her that has remained such a haunting enigma to him and to sate his own curiosity — that she would have snapped at him long ago for them. “Why?” Kjalarr asks, words barely more than a low rumble of a purl as they leave his lips. The fur of his withers bristles for a second as a contemplative frown tugs at his lips. Perhaps, he considers, she’s simply content where she is. Perhaps she does not want to hold the title of Dark Master. Then again, Kjalarr’s always had high ambitions and has found that thus far they’ve gotten him nothing but trouble in his life ( or maybe it’s the circumstances in which he goes about accomplishing them ). The truth was her rank mattered little: what was most important to him was that they were together. Maybe not in the way he’d entirely like for them to be together but still. For the moment it’s all he’s going to get so it’s good enough for him.

Kjalarr takes a moment to reflect upon things, thinking that he’d have had much more of an issue with being a captive than he admittedly does. Maybe it’s less about the circumstance and more about who his captor is. If it were anyone else other than Potema he knows he would never have been so willing: they would’ve had to kill him before he allowed himself to become enslaved. But it’s not anyone else; it’s Potema and …he’s happy. It’s probably twisted and highly unorthodox but it doesn’t change the feeling that he distinctly knows to be happiness warming his chest. “What do you seek, High Priestess?” He asks her next, noting the furrow of her brow.

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