Sleipnir
The Eight-Legged Norse Horse
Three people - two men and a younger women - were escorting a young man down the hall. He seemed unusually well-guarded in comparison to his narrow frame and young appearance, no more than 17. His black hair hung down in his bright green eyes and he stared at the floor. He seemed not to be a problem. He looked over at the creatures as he passed, and something startlingly cold and harsh was there in comparison to his demeanor. Before long, he was thrown into a cell himself. He stumbled, didn't fall, and then turned toward the door, walking to it. It slammed on him. The young women hesitated a few moments longer than left. He scoffed. "You own me," he repeated to himself. "Shouldn't have told her that."