There were some strange encounters. Those of the kind that leave you with an unknown aftertaste in mouth.
For Valymn, it had been this great blade with severe hairstyle. The sullen look, the rigid posture, and the icy glance. He had scarcely dared to look at him. A cleverman didn't look a blade in the eyes. They were not equal. And yet, the warrior had sought his gaze, almost touching his mind sometimes. Especially when he was screaming on the two worshippers who served him as assistants.
A little overwhelmed, he had finally confronted the blade. Well, almost. He stopped and fixed a point somewhere on the blade's leatherclad shoulder until he spoke to him.
"Don't you know how to train your humans?" hissed the alpha.
He faintly growled, vexed.
"Our slaves are submissive and obedient", he replied afterwards.
"Yes, because they fear you."
"We are their masters."
"Yes, but scary masters, who could kill them at any given moment", noted the blade with a half-smile.
"We are wraiths, they are kine!" he replied, scandalized.
"Indeed. Terrified kine. My slave is gentle and compliant. He looks for my satisfaction with dedication, not out of fear for his life, but in the hope of a reward."
At that moment, he had raised his eyes, staring stupidly at the other wraith.
"Humans only react to fear."
"No. It is right that it's easy to terrify them, even a larva can do it, but to give them confidence, to teach them to... eat in your hand, is a real art form."
The warrior had stared at him, looking happy to feel him puzzled.
"Your slave is eating in your hand?!"
"Way of saying. He knows that if I touch him, it is never to hurt him. If I put my hand on him, it is to give him the gift of life, or to reward him for his actions. He knows that no one has the right to raise his hand on him, or he will have to deal with me. He knows that as a good master, I will always make sure he doesn't need anything. Never hungry, never cold, never afraid, and in return for these few little things, my slave gives me everything. His life, his time, his mind and his heart. He has neither friends nor family. He exists only to serve me, and to revel in my satisfaction."
The warrior had searched the pocket of his coat and produced a small paper bag.
"I got those treats for him. In three days it will be a very important celebration for his people, and these things are a key part of the rite. By offering him these foods and mere hours of my free time, I am reassured of many a valuable and useful service. You should try it too. Maybe your slaves would stop confusing disinfectant and solvent while cleaning your tables."
He had not answered then, only signified with a nod of the head that he had understood, and the blade left. He had not seen him again. The queen of the latter, who had come to visit, left a few hours later taking her wraiths with her, and life had resumed on the hive, but like a worm that makes its nest, the words of the blade had not left him alone, and he had thought about it, at the most inopportune moments.
And then, months later, he found himself examining a glittering fabric on a mixed market of a neutral world. The shawl was pale blue, a shiny thread sparkling in the dim sun. Fair liked to wear that kind of color. She would probably appreciate such a present. He growled at the absurd idea, and walked away, before returning, passing again and again in front of the stand under the hopeful glance of the worshipper who held it.
With a vanquished hiss, he stepped forward, the few coins that costed the shawl in hand. Fair would have a present at the end of the year, and he would probably find another for Febrile.