you have nothing to lose but your chains // open, captive

He lands without ceremony, clumsy paws scrabbling for purchase on the sleek tiled floor. The floor is cold, almost eerily so for someone who has only ever felt seasoned wood beneath him before. It reminds him all the more that he's a far ways from home, that he's somewhere he could never call home. So his captor's flat words seem to strike a match under him, a violent shudder rocking his spine.

"What?" he says, with a jittery laugh rimmed with hysteria. "What? That's not—this isn't home. I wanna go home." He know he sounds pathetic, but he's too anxious to care. Home feels too definite. Home feels permanent. This situation is temporary at best, he tries to console himself. Very soon, Hawkclan members will come swooping in, throwing this terrifying structure with its cold glossy floors up in flames.

Unless they don't notice him gone.

A knot ties itself at the base of his throat. That's stupid, unbelievably stupid. Has he no faith? Of course they'll notice. Of course they will.

He flinches away from the touch, however reassuring its intentions. "You're- that's not true," he rasps, his breath coiling through his throat. The people in Hawcklan kept—keeps—him safe. He isn't safe here. Surely it's the one who took him from home who is bad, not those he was taken from.

But as others arrive, he becomes more and more confused. For people who take no issue with kidnapping children, they're... nice. It's weird, it's suspicious, but he's scared and he needs all the support he can get. Even if it's from the people who's causing all these problems for him in the first place. Is this Stockholm syndrome or something? His head hurts.

"Milkcub," he mumbles, dizzy. Milk, for the ivory of his pelt, for the flowers that grow on his body. It's such an insipid name. He feels so small.

Someone else is approaching, and he doesn't look happy. Somehow she's surprised by his unfriendliness, even though she should be expecting this kind of acrimony from the beginning. She should be seeing disgust, contempt, cruelty. She should be beaten down, ripped apart, flayed. What more could she expect from people who would sink low enough to kidnap children? But they're being so nice to her, and it's so confusing.

So it almost comes as a relief that there's someone here with murderous intent. She welcomes the panther who stalks towards her like a thundercloud, seeming ready to strike. It's so weirdly difficult to demonize these kind people, to see them as bad people, but now here comes someone who can shatter this illusion. Once he lays a claw on her, she'll be able to hate and fear these people the way she's supposed to instead of having all these conflicting emotions.

She squeezes her eyes shut, sucks in a breath, and waits for the blow to come.

The blow doesn't come.

The panther simply welcomes her to the Exiles and walks off.

Now she's even more confused than before. So even the scary-looking people here are nice? What the hell is going oh lord there's a giant snake coming this way.

"I-I don't want to have fun, I want to go home," she insists, her voice weaker than before. It's hard to concentrate when there's an actual behemoth right next to her. She considers pointing out that she didn't—doesn't—have curfew back home either, but decides otherwise. Somehow she knows that it wouldn't really help her case.

Candy? Oh, wow, he really does have candy. Her focus shifts towards the bag of gummy bears being offered to her; she needs something to take her mind off the reality of the situation. And she's also easily distracted. Priorities, right?

"Uh- thanks?" she says, tentatively reaching into the bag while taking care not to poke the wolf with her antlers. That would be kind of awful. She pops a small pawful into her mouth and chews, pointedly not looking at the basilisk. She can't taste much of anything. "So, um, why am I here? Wh-when can I go home?"