Ramsay touched the creature with the tip of his finger, pushing its chin away to examine it further. The beating had been severe. Bright blood clumped in the creature's mangled beard, mixed with mud, and offered up a warm earthen smell. Flesh torn hung in black stripes, twisting as they dried. Rags worn no longer had a singular color. Body crumpled beneath the head which hung low, and heavy. Quiet, measured breathing signaled the creature was still alive.
Ramsay swept his gaze around slowly before squatting down closer. Once he was sure they were alone. He placed his hand on the other's shoulder, and was mildly surprised that it evoked no response.
"Reek," Ramsay tried, squeezing the shoulder. Nothing. The night chill was coming over the grassy hills, sweeping along the valley, and coming in through the kennel entrance. The dogs stirred behind their iron bars and drew closer to each other for warmth.
The creature Reek could see, through the haze of concussion and the veil of filthy hair that hung before his eyes, the hilt of Ramsay's knife on his belt glinting in the torch-light. Reek wondered if he could take the knife and slit his own throat, or if Ramsay would move faster and stop him. The punishment for failure would no doubt be horrid. Especially if Ramsay mistook his deed as an act of murder against Ramsay himself. Reek shuddered and closed his eyes.
Ramsay felt the tremble and spread his cloak over Reek's back, so they might both share the furs' heat. Then he sat beside him and patted him. A dog nearby yawned loudly, evoking a second dog to growl, then silence. The torches danced as the cold wind whispered through the kennels, and the flames hissed when bits of snow drifts hit the fire.
Ramsay's back was cold from soaking in the stone wall behind him, his trousers damp from the saturated straw beneath him. But his eyes were black holes of flame, and his chest grew warm as Reek leaned into him. Ramsay pulled Reek a little closer, covering him more with his cloak. He stared into the flames as minutes turned to hours and the torches began to wither and fade from over-use.
"Next Time you steal my leftovers, I might not be so kind," Ramsay said after an eternity.
Reek opened his eyes, muscles seizing with fear. He clenched his able fingers into fists, clutching involuntary wads of Ramsay's shirt.
Ramsay smiled. All he wanted was a reaction, one that didn't disappoint. This seemed like it might be a good one yet. He felt Reek bury his nose into his stomach, and wetness followed.
"Yes, m-master, you're v-v-very kind," came Reek's stuttering reply. "Please, forgive me. I w-won't do it again."
"Shhh," Ramsay brushed Reek's hair with his fingers. "Of course you won't, Reek." He kissed the top of Reek's head. "Go back to sleep," he said, voice suddenly stern.
Reek ducked back into Ramsay's chest, but his heart would not calm. His body would not relax. He clung stiff, like a dead bird frozen to the branch of a tree. His eyes closed, but dreams did not play through his mind. Only the waking horrors that were his every day life.
Ramsay tilted back his head and drifted into a slumber, warmed and soothed by the bodies of his beasts and the prison he confined them in. And he alone held the key.