As soon as the knife slid into view, her eyes flicked to it, watching it and the shift and bunch of his wrist and forearm muscles as he sliced with methodical care. What he told her of his people was not exactly surprising, given the word of the outward push the Roman dogs had made over many years, swallowing whatever weak tribes bent before them.<br/><br/>"Rome can try to make a meal of my people, but will find that we will not slide gladly to her waiting gullet; we will stick in her craw, and slice her throat from within, if need be." The words were haughtily assured, spoken as he looked over her prone, bound body, and she shifted a little as his gaze took in the swell of soft breasts and the flare from toned waist to hips; a small scar that curved down from hip to thigh, thin and long since healed; the down of hair as brightly pale as what graced her head, nestled at the apex of her thighs.<br/><br/>"No, you aren't," she said shortly, not caring to tell him that though rituals and celebrations had found her bare before men of her tribe before, none had dared gaze upon her so openly as he.