A faint shuffling sound broke Aurem out of his deep sleep. He groaned, rolled to his side, and then scratched his stomach and let out a heavy sigh. He really didn’t want to wake up. Everything felt heavy, and he was so warm. “Go away,” he groaned softly under his breath. And then a deep chuckle caused his eyes to snap open. He gasped, and then pushed himself up, feeling a heavy something slide from his frame. He blinked once, and then twice, amber eyes shifting around the room. His cheeks burned for a moment, when he spotted Turuk sitting nearby, that hateful, amused grin on his face.

He scoffed, and then managed a half intimidating glare at Turuk, which infuriatingly made his grin broaden. Those sharp canines flashed again, but as the scent of food hit his nose, Aurem’s anger dropped as quickly as it had ridden. He shifted slightly, realizing his hands hadn’t been bound in his sleep or anything, and then cast a suspicious glance at the food in front of the Undari. It looked like some sort of porridge. With a layer of something brown, and…oozy? Aurem’s freshly woken brain couldn’t come up with the proper word. He snorted, but then lifted his gaze back to Turuk.

Still smiling, Turuk slid the bowl towards him, and after a moment’s hesitated, Aurem grabbed the bowl, and lifted it close. As he brought the bowl near, he caught a sweet scent coming from the brown substance. His stomach growled, and Aurem glared at his traitorous body part, lips pursing as he could practically feel Turuk’s suppressed laughter. Why the man even bothered to hide it, Aurem didn’t know. He could just as easily gloat, since Aurem had no power here.

Aurem frowned, though, and simply looked back to Turuk. He didn’t seem to have any eating wear. Did the Undari eat with just their hands? It seemed to fit them, as barbaric as it was. He hesitated, and then dipped his fingers in the porridge, catching a glint of satisfaction and approval in Turuk’s red eyes. Which of course made him scowl again. He didn’t need the approval of an ass like him. Aurem grunted, and then shoved the first mouthful in, and then tensed, surprised at how delicious it was. The sweet substance had seeped into the porridge, making it sweet as a whole. He barely contained a groan of pleasure, as he took another bite, and then another.

Within a minute, he had cleaned to entire bowl, and sat their licking the sweet, sticky substance from his fingers. Totally entranced in the taste, and getting the remnants from his skin, Aurem didn’t notice Turuk watching him until their eyes met. He saw something predatory flash in that gaze for a moment, and stiffened, his eyes widening, shoving the bowl back at Turuk.

The Undari snorted, and then took it back, lip twitching in a restrained smile. “Good,” he grunted, motioning to the clean bowl. Aurem frowned, willing his heart to stops stuttering in his chest. He’d heard things about what Undari people did to their prisoners, and he didn’t want to wind up like that. As attractive as this man was…

Aurem cursed himself, and then closed his eyes. There was absolutely no way he had just thought this…enemy, was attractive. Aurem forced his eyes open, and studied the man’s face for a moment. Despite being natural enemies, even Aurem couldn’t deny that he was handsome. Upon closer inspection, Aurem noticed a scar running from the bottom up Turuk’s chin, and to his cheek. It looked to have been made from a blade- so perhaps it was during one of his many battles with Delfin. If Siira was his wolf, then he was sure to have a great deal of experience. Far more than Aurem had.

Turuk’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, thankfully, before anything more disturbing could crop up. “Mage asleep?”

Aurem blinked, and then remembered the mage that he had healed the night before. A glance over his shoulder told him that the mage was, indeed, still asleep. Aurem grunted. “It looks like it,” he said quietly, wondering why he was having such a civil conversation with his captor. Scowling, Aurem glanced back to the man. Exactly why was he being so…accommodating? Generous, even. He spied another bowl of the same porridge he’d just eaten, probably meant for the unconscious mage.

Turuk grunted, and then shifted, and started to stand. “Make other mage eat. Too puny,” Turuk said, baring his teeth in a grin, as he motioned to both Aurem, and the mage. He made the motion with his index finger and thumb, that Aurem had shown him the day before.

Aurem felt his cheeks flush again, and then growled low. “We don’t all have to be muscular idiots,” he grumbled, fixing Turuk with a baleful glare. He simply rolled his eyes, and finally nodded, when Turuk gave him a blank stare. In some way, he was glad Turuk hadn’t heard him. He doubted the man would appreciate being called stupid. Something Aurem knew wasn’t true. That was evident in the attack on the Delfin camp. From a strategic standpoint, the Undari had operated well. Using surprise and the elements to completely devastate the enemy army.

The Undari gave a parting smile, and then left without another word. Aurem frowned at the silence, and then sighed, pushing a hand through his silver blond locks. He scowled faintly, feeling dried blood in his hair. But he could only sigh, and hope he got the chance to clean up at some point. It was bad enough his hair was going to suffer, let alone the rest of him. Turuk hadn’t seemed too dirty, and certainly wasn’t covered in bloodstains like he himself was. So, there was perhaps some hope for a bath, even if it wouldn’t be like the ones he was used to. Back in the tower, most mages had their own bathroom, with a large tub. With water heated by magic, and the plentiful springs beneath the ground, it was a simple thing to bathe nightly.

It was one of his least favorite things about coming out to a battlefield. It always meant a week or more of being unable to clean himself properly. Soldiers didn’t seem to concern themselves too greatly with being clean. Though they cleaned their armor to prevent it from rusting, the same could not be said of their actual bodies, and clothes. Aurem shook his head at the thought, glancing down to the bowl of food Turuk provided for the other mage. There was no telling when the man would wake, and while it was slightly tempting to down the second bowl of food, Aurem would never. He might consider it for a moment, drawn by a lingering hunger, but never seriously. It was a fleeting thought, chased away by a resigned sigh.

It seemed Turuk would not starve them, at least. He hardly needed to do much to keep them under control, beyond the silencers. He had been surprised that the man allowed him even the tiniest bit of his magic. Still, the mage looked a sight better than he had the night before. Even with some color returned, the mage still had a creamish coloring, speaking to years of probably being inside, and pampered. His own ochre skin was far more hereditary than the result of any weather, or time outside. Even in his youth, spent on the streets, he didn’t get much darker than he was now.

The dark brows of the mage seemed to tilt upwards, though, perhaps a sign of his consciousness returning. “Come on, wake up, before it gets cold,” he grunted lightly, nudging a hand into the mage’s arm. He didn’t feel so bad, if he was already in the process of waking up.

And after a few moments, the mage’s eyes opened, revealing a pair of confused green eyes staring up at him. “There we go,” he murmured quietly, snorting as the poor man groaned, and immediately closed his eyes, a hand lifting to the collar at his neck. Of course the first thing he would realize was that he was collared. “Easy, mage,” he murmured quietly, pushing at the others’ chest, as he tried to rise. “You had a fever up until last night, your body still needs rest.” Somehow, he sounded much more confident than he felt.

“W-what…” the mage rasped out, and then whined, eyes slowly opening once again. Shock, and then resignation flickered across his features, as Aurem saw his gaze slide over the collar on his own neck. Aurem grunted, and then shrugged.

“Seems Delfin lost the battle, and we were taken as prisoners,” he said, watching as the other mage visibly blanched at his words. “It could be worse- at least like this we have a chance of making it. Too many others died.” Though it wasn’t much better, being silenced and under the thumb of the enemy, he had to keep repeating his words silently to himself. If he thought it enough, he might start to believe it.

“Being prisoners might be worse, if rumors are true,” the mage managed weakly, resting his head back against the furs with a sigh. There was a short silence, and then Aurem found himself meeting the emerald gaze. “You’re Aurem…?”

Aurem blinked, unable to hide his surprise. “Yes?” The mage managed a weak smile, one that seemed almost shy. “I wasn’t aware my reputation was that…prominent. I’m sorry, I have no idea what your name is.” It came out a bit harsher than he meant, but Aurem restrained his wince, keeping it inward.

“Soren,” the reply came, the mage shifting slightly, eyes finally falling on the bowl of food nearby. His eyes seemed to brighten, and then slide into a slight cautious glance back to Aurem.

“As far as I can tell, it’s not poisoned,” Aurem offered, not sure how to treat Soren yet. He was clearly some sort of noble, by the by he spoke. But he was young enough that he didn’t seem to have that air of disdain for all those around him that most noble mages did. Or nobles in general. “Eat. Here,” here offered, and then grabbed his arm gingerly, and helped the other sit up. He supported Soren’s weight for a moment, until he seemed to do fine on his own, where he finally receded his touch. “No spoons unfortunately,” he said, earning a grimace from Soren. “You’ll have to use your hands.”

“Oh,” the mage murmured, with clear distaste in his eyes. Aurem snorted, and then spied a jug of water nearby, his throat feeling torturously dry. He didn’t see any cups, but shrugged, and grabbed the jug regardless, taking a few mouthfuls, eyes closing in delight at the cold liquid pouring into his mouth. It was amazing how good water tasted at times like this. More satisfying than any mead or wine.

“You’ll survive,” he said, in between gulps. He had never had such crisp, clean water. Probably only made so by the lack of it the past day, but he savored it nonetheless. “Just eat, Soren. Our captor doesn’t seem cruel, but I don’t want to bet anything on it.”

He watched Soren scowl in doubt, but the other nodded after a moment, and made clean work of the porridge, seeming as surprised as Aurem had been at how delicious it was. Unlike Aurem, Soren couldn’t seem to contain a groan of pleasure, which caused a smile to flicker across his own lips. Perhaps for the first time in days.