Amora was silky, sweet like Turkish delight, but to demons humans always tasted good, in the past they had evolved on a diet of mankinds flesh, hence their still predatory teeth. What strange turn of the tides was this that he could sample her in such a different, such a delectable way!<br/>He fell into it like a dream… then she stiffened against his touch.<br/>And pulled her up knees to barricade him away from herself.<br/><br/>For a moment Neath faltered, tipsy mind swimming, unable to comprehend that small gesture of… of what?<br/>Rebellion?<br/>Discomfort?<br/>… Hatred?<br/>Did she really hate him that much? How was that possible?! It was HIS hand that had saved her from those awful cramped cages! HIS bold move that had pulled her free from the cruel clutches of those meathead slavers! HIS MONEY that had graced her in such finery and settled her in such a gorgeous manor house! How dare she hate him!<br/><br/>He pulled back, lip curling into a disgusted snarl, “Ingrate!” he hissed and struck her, back of his hand stinging as it met her cheek with. The noise tore through the air like cannon fire. He watched her fall back, watched the way her hair flicked out like a ragged silk scarf caught in a blizzard. Naeth got to his feet, snatched up her arm, hooking one taloned hand roughly beneath her armpit and hauled her up too.<br/><br/>Hated.<br/>Well this was nothing new now was it!? Mages were despised, feared, spat at everywhere they went!<br/>Even before then he had hailed from a nomadic family.<br/>Gypsies if you will.<br/>Drifters in a more common, barbaric tongue… who had travelled from one land to the next, never rooting in any one place. People associated them with black magic, accused them of thievery, drug peddling and worse of all curses. His elders never wandered alone in the streets for fear of being beaten to death by drunken, local kids looking to get their kicks, it had happened before, mothers pulled their children away when the little blighters had stopped to smile at their shows (juggling acts, fire breathing, anything to bring in SOME money to survive on…), sisters and daughters were raped because EVERYONE knew gypsy girls were easy and no one cared for their dignity, petitions were made to remove them and, when they failed to work, their caravans were set ablaze in the darkest hours of night, often with someone still inside and when they’d gathered on the grass outside to watch and mourn, the mothers still tearing their hair at the roots, screaming their throats raw and clawing at the earth until their nails wore away and their fingers bloodied, THEN the locals would turn away in wilful ignorance. Or worse yet, laugh.<br/>Authorities did NOTHING.<br/>No one cared for gypsy devils, they were lower scum than humans.<br/>Oh Neath was not new to hatred. It’s bite was still spiteful as ever.<br/><br/>“Come here!” he growled. There was a glint of silver at his hip as he pulled his knife roughly free from its holster, still gripping her arm, holding her up. Her jerked her forwards so that he had a better angle and cut the binds that tied her.<br/>They slackened in an instant and the rough rope fell to the floor like something dead.<br/><br/>“Can you write?” he demanded, letting her go, stepping back so he could watch her expression. His was one of pure anger and patience forced through gritted teeth, “Are you literate girl!?”