The wind shifted and the scent hit him square in the face as Carjen scrambled to his feet, alarmed. It was a deep musky scent, powerful, like a sack of bricks to the brain. There was blood on the horizon. Immediately, his eyes scanned the ruins, his attention now peeked. This was an odd place for a hunt, would be an even weirder place for some rough sex or something innocent of the sort, no, there was no casual explanation of blood out here and he’d rather not hear of it, he’d rather be home in his study by the time whatever ravaging beast set upon whatever innocent prey it might have in its claws. Before he could turn to his horse and go, a shape appeared from the shadows, first darkened by them, alive within them before breaching into the sunlight like the seal on a letter. Carjen bristled as it moved toward him, scrambled before him, falling over in his shadow. He hated dogs. But as the small figure wiggled and squirmed, desperate to gain its footing and awareness, he made a realization that changed everything.

Not a dog at all.

Tilting his head curiously, the werejaguar looked upon the striped mongrel for a brief moment, before the baying of hounds caught up with him and his eyes jerked to meet the charging forms of the mastiffs. He scowled. This was not his fight, whatever this werebeast had done to anger his captors was his business and his alone, Carjen had no reason to interfere. But he had formed himself something of a reputation as breaker of chains, and the man clambering up from the ruins was swinging one menacingly, he wanted to at least entertain the idea, however brief it may have been. If the young one was a slave, and the man his master, it was not the kind of situation Carjen could stomach with ease, the blood pouring down the hyena’s side, the terror in his eyes. It was all so familiar to him that he could not look away, only stand there and frown. His cold green eyes met the man’s as he clambered up the hill. A friendly person might’ve extended a greeting, but Carjen said nothing, only waited, bristling but silent.

The shadow of something flicked behind him, waving in the sunlight, faintly spotted. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d sprouted his tail but he was grateful for his body’s instinct. Flexing his fingers, he found them toes with unsheathed claws. Those might come in handy in a minute.

Carjen sighed, relieved that the dogs had stopped, this gave them time for a discussion. He was better at discussion than he was at fighting if he was honest with himself. Still, his hands remained dexterous paws and in a display of strength, he took a long moment to slowly crack his knuckles against his padded palms. Beneath the dark fur the bones popped loudly in the empty space between them, louder even than the grumbles of the large dogs. The werebeast stepped to the side, getting between the man and his prey almost unintentionally, almost. Nothing Carjen did was ever truly unintentional but he really was trying to convince himself to let this slave go, let the man have his prize and the dogs their chew toy, he was too busy managing his lands to look after a lost young boy. And yet, he found himself reaching out with one paw, steadying the man where he stood.

“As you may be able to tell,” He gestured with one paw, flexing his fingers to unsheathe his claws in the light, they shone white in the sunlight, curved and sharp. “This fight has plenty to do with me.”

He paused, looking over his shoulder down at the wriggling shape on the ground. Pitiful creature, the boy was scrawny and looked young, spattered with both freckles and scars alike, the two almost fighting each other for control of his skin. His hair was a mess, his neck was stained with the gray halo of a collar and his wrists with the tell tale stress of chains. It annoyed Carjen the way he remembered that cold darkness of chain, the smell of damp dankness of cells and dungeons, the teeth and claws of his fellow werebeasts as they fought for the amusement of men. It was weak of him. He should just go home and tend to his leather, prepare for the coming storm, groom his horse, bask in his rich life and his luxurious things. This boy had been dealt what he’d been dealt, he couldn’t save them all. But their eyes met for a fleeting moment and Carjen had to look away quickly.

“I will buy him off of you.” He started, removing his paw from the man’s shoulder so he could retrieve the coin purse tied to his side. He shook it and it made noise heavily in his hand. “He’s obviously more trouble than it’s worth, for you to have chased him this far. Determined little scamp, no good for a slave. How much?”

He pulled open the small leather bag and let some coins tumble into the pad of his paw. They shimmered in the light, stark golds and silvers against his black fur.

Carjen made a point to seem skeptical, calm and calculating despite the danger of displaying his claws. That was exactly how he liked things- calm, calculating and a little bit dangerous. He looked back at the hyena shifter, seeming to give him a long thoughtful appraisal before turning back to the shady figure and the dogs. He counted out three gold coins and held them up between what would’ve been his thumb and index finger on his human hand, paused, and then after some thought, added a fourth coin. He intended to pay four but the little display might make the foolish human think he was getting a generous deal and get him to leave them alone quicker, less likely to turn around and ask for more. The jaguar handed the coins over, making a point to drag his claws along the man’s palm as he withdrew. He really didn’t want to have to pay five, or god forbid six for the scrawny little snot, he wasn’t worth that much. So he was sure to be a little bit threatening, a little bit dangerous. He could’ve just as easily taken the boy by force if he’d wanted to, and he wanted the man to know but was too subtle to say it aloud.

Turning swiftly, tail flowing behind him like a cloak, he reached down and grabbed the hyena boy by his arm, hefting him harshly to his feet. It was easy for the jaguar, his human form was lithe and slender, it really didn’t suggest the strength that he had hidden within his frame. The boy might as well have been a sack of potatoes for all he weighed and Carjen swung him around just as harshly, his grip rough and unyielding, claws pricking at the young man’s flesh but not enough to puncture. It was for show. He wanted the boy’s former master to think he was just buying another slave, a guard dog for his estate or a servant for his maybe less than savory appetites. He didn’t want to let on that he cared.

Did he care? Carjen stopped short for a moment, searching the horizon for his horse. No, he didn’t care, that wasn’t something in his programming, he just needed more men for his clan, more hands for his fields, more servants to scrub his floors. His keep was largely void of people most of the time, it was quiet and lonely, which was how he liked it but not how he wanted it. The boy was as good a werebeast as any, he’d serve as well as any and that was that. Sneering, he dragged to boy toward the horse roughly, listening over his shoulder for the sound of footsteps leaving.

He didn’t care, he didn’t.

Carjen came to a stop next to his horse, peering over his shoulder at the retreating form of the gnarled slave owner he had purchased his new charge from. He waited until the figure was completely out of sight and into the ruins, the barking of his dogs distant even on keen felid ears, before he finally sighed heavily and let the boy go. His hurried and harsh demeanor softened, the hard lines of his face lessening, the wrinkles in his forehead disappearing, though his green eyes remained cold and stony. He gave the boy a pointed once over, tilting his head one way and then the other to get a really good look at him. A voice in the back of his mind chastised him. The boy was no good, small and slim and underweight, it’d take time for that wound to heal, for his hands to find a place on a farm or in the castle, he’d have to… tend to the poor thing, it was really quite the sorry situation. But, always able to put on a show, he tried not to look too disappointed.

“Let me have a look at that.” He spoke quietly, sounding more irritable than he felt. He couldn’t hold this boy at fault for this, it was his own undoing, his own weakness. He had a soft spot for mistreated slaves and he knew it, he knew it well. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

He turned to the Friesian grazing pleasantly on the grass, blissfully unaware of the politics going on around him. The jaguar undid some straps, unrolled some cloth, rearranged some things on the back of the horse’s saddle, before turning and kneeling gently by the boy’s side. He needed him to turn, to grant him access to the wound, but that required a bit of trust that, had their roles been reversed Carjen wouldn’t have granted anyone, so he waited patiently, calmly, tail flicking thoughtfully. Even kneeled down he was almost as tall as the boy but he tilted his head down to look up at him questioningly, almost pleadingly. Carjen didn’t plead but he did understand that what he was asking was a lot.

He tried to use distraction to keep the situation calm. “What’s your name boy?”

“Farid.” The jaguar repeated softly, testing the word on his tongue. He’d never heard it before and was tempted by an innately curious nature to ask of its origin, to keep the conversation going to distract from the pain that binding his wound was going to cause. But that was just not his way of doing things.

“My name is Carjen Brando, the Nightwatcher, breaker of chains.” He said flatly as he lifted the roll of cloth to the boy’s side. “You are not my slave Farid, I don’t keep slaves, it’s a barbaric practice. But I do expect to be repaid for freeing you, do you understand?”

As he spoke, he unraveled the cloth. It was thin, designed for patchwork and lengthening pieces of armor and leather should they not fit right, it was definitely not intended to bind wounds and would not last long. They’d have to hurry back to the keep, where he could tend the wound more properly, perhaps even stitch it. Carjen was not a doctor, in fact he had no doctors or medical personnel on hand even back at his estate, he wasn’t sure if this boy would survive in his care even with the best intentions. But sewing skin couldn’t be too different from sewing leather, and he did have plenty of tools and cloth back home at his disposal. Perhaps the boy would be fine, only time would tell them.

He reached around the boy’s torso, long arms serving him well as he wrapped the cloth around, pulling it tight across the gaping wound. He only had enough to go around twice, and even then had so little left that he couldn’t tie it, so he paused, reaching into a back pocket for his handy needle and thread, which, after putting the needle in his mouth to free up one pawhand, he threaded and then used to sort of stitch/tie the cloth together at the ends. It was a clumsy sort of fumbling process, he really didn’t know what he was doing, but he worked swiftly anyway with the kind of certainty only an alpha could have doing things. He sat back on his paws to admire his work, giving the naked boy another once over. His tail flicked thoughtfully again. It would have to do.

“You’ll come back with me to my estate, rest up, heal your wounds. But once you are settled, there will be work to be done.” He stood as he spoke, brushing his hands off. He turned to his horse, remembered the boy’s awe at seeing the beast for the first time, paused and then turned back to him, brow furrowed curiously. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

Carjen pursed his lips thoughtfully, parting them briefly to run a tongue over his very visible canine teeth. The boy’s lack of knowledge complicated things but only just. Manus was a good horse, he was calm and quiet and obedient under saddle, although usually this was only true for Carjen, the jaguar’s solution would still probably work out well. Stepping aside, he gestured to a stirrup with one black paw.

“Put your foot in here and heft yourself up.” He stood by, ready to be of assistance in case the boy was unsteady. “Swing your leg over and you’ll be in the saddle, it’s quite simple.”

Once the boy was situated, Carjen planned to shift. His armor would change with him, he’d be a huge cat with a collar and some scaled mail hanging from his chest and shoulders, a loud gaudy thing that he wasn’t a huge fan of but it was better than needing to make a new set of armor every time he needed to change. He’d take the horse’s lead in his mouth and lead them home at a brisk trot, able to move faster and keep up with the horse more easily as a jaguar than as a human. It would take them an hour or two to reach the keep, they’d probably beat the storm that was coming which was a pleasant thought. Carjen was not fearful of water, unlike most felines, in fact he loved to spend time in the lake near his castle, to sit in the shallow water and just bask in nature and solitude. But rain was different, he had armor to protect, the boy would probably be in pain if his wound got wet and god knows what it would do to his horrible bandaging job. It’d be better if they stayed out of it.

Chase Fire Keep was a small but quaint little manor- the castle was small and unassuming, more of a squared off fortified house than a real towering fortress. There were smaller cottages scattered around its base, their thatched roves just barely visible above the edge of the tall stone wall that encased the whole thing. It would be dinner time when they approached. Carjen was big on food and set meal times for the whole place, a large communal kitchen sat on one side of the manor where everyone could gather and eat a carefully well cooked meal, his kitchen staff were well worked and always busy cooking. The smell of lamb and mutton would greet them as they entered the gate, grilled to a deep brown and charred slightly, served with potatoes and vegetables- carrots, squash, Carjen never spared the expense when it came to food. Despite this, he didn’t usually eat with the peasants, he had a kitchen in his castle that was similarly well stocked. He preferred to make his own meals, or to have them delivered to his study so as not to interrupt his work flow. He was solitary and aloof by nature.