The call of a raven wakes Martius from his uneasy slumber, the bitter taste in his mouth dying away as his sense return to him. He grumbles, placing an arm over his snout without opening his eyes. Wait. What? A snout?

With a start, he stands, eyes wide. Four legs beneath him as he turns in a circle, trying in vain to get a good look at himself. He could see enough to know that something had happened to him. A dog perhaps, no, he could feel the power in his own body. A wolf more like. He shut his blue eyes and shook his great head, hoping that upon opening them again he would awake from this odd dream. Alas, that was not the case.

Well. In that case he may as well get his bearings if he could not do anything about his new form.

He sat, regarding the tangle of trees about him with growing dread. He had some navigational skills, but this was quite the mess.

A few ravens taking off suddenly, making a cacophony as they went, alerted him that someone else might be near. His ears swiveled to try and pick up any other sounds indicating an approach.

"Is someone there?" perhaps they would be able to help him.

Thus far, no one had taken notice of the runaway slave. Be they wolf or man, or man-turned-wolf, few in these strange, twisting woodlands recognized the large russet wolf for what he truly was. None had identified the crude inscription that marked him as property of the Twelth. Though the Gaul no longer carried his head tall and proud, he moved now with greater confidence among gnarled roots and soft leaf litter. It comforted him to know that there were yet some places beyond the legions’ grasp.

Little did Samo know, he was about to receive a harsh reminder of his former life.

He had grown accustomed to the wingbeats of ravens, but the voice made him freeze. Someone was here, and too close to flee. So far, none in this land had given him reason to balk. Yet this wolf’s voice had an eerie familiarity to it, as impossible at it seemed.

I do not mean harm, Samo called back, head tilting to the side. An unconscious gesture of submission, and an attempt to hide his scars in the shady grove.

As the other wolf approaches, Martius stands. A lingering fear of beasts like this blares softly in the back of his mind, over ridden by a feeling of mere caution, like that one might feel when approached by a stranger. He wondered, vaguely, if he would become more accustomed to his new form over time or if it would always be so jarring.

"Neither do I." there was a hint of good natured laughter in his voice. He had expected a hello, or perhaps some other form of identification. Still, given the odd circumstances, such reassurance was not unappreciated.

"Do you know where we are?" Martius looked about as he asked, scanning the tangle of trees above for any indication of where he might be, or where he should go next.

For now, Samo had successfully hidden his identifying scars from the once roman citizen.

Some of the tension eased from Samo’s shoulders, even if that familiarity haunted him. Neither of them wanted to fight; a promising start. He tried not to think of the growing dread in his chest, and let the stranger’s friendly manner put him at ease. The blue-gray wolf had seen battle once; that was all he could guess from the scar that stretched across his face.

I have heard this place called Raven’s Grove, Samo offered. No one owns this forest.

The branches shifted in a light breeze, and light fell upon Samo’s face, despite his best efforts. The russet wolf froze at the feeling of sunlight on his scars.

"Raven's Grove?" Martius gave the trees around him another look, regarding them with a surprising degree of skepticism. Did he not believe that was what the place was called? His eyes settled on a raven up high in the tangled branches and he stared the bird down as he spoke.

"I suppose it is an apt name but... it's a little..." what was the word he was looking for. Savage? Uncultured? Stupid? "On the nose. Don't you think?" he glanced back at Samo as the light illuminated the other wolf's face and nearly did a double take. The scars on his face looked very like the sort of brand you might find upon a slave. If he was right, this was very convenient, at least for him. Perhaps they could travel together. Samo seemed strong and capable, surely whoever he belonged to had taken good enough care of him, or at least made good use of him. But first, he would need to test his hypothesis.

"Are you too here from Rome, boy?" there was, to Martius's credit, only a slight change in his attitude towards Samo at the revelation he was likely not a citizen. Still, he was being friendly enough. If Samo could ignore being called a boy by a man his equal in age, that is.

To that, Samo could only shrug. Who was he to judge the name of a place? If the people who lived there wished to call it so, that was their choice. Unless someone came and made a different choice for them. And as Samo soon discovered, that was precisely what was about to happen.

The words were not harshly spoken, yet they struck Samo all the same. Rome. Of course. The tall, confident stance of the wolf before him, the familiarity of his voice--he had to be a Roman citizen, even cloaked in these blue-gray furs. Not only that but a legionary, in all likelihood, and in a moment all of Samo's calm dissipated. He lowered his body in lupine submission, head bowed and tail tucked, even as it filled him with disgust. Disgust for Rome, for the legions, for--

Disgust for himself, most of all. Boy.

Yes, Dominus, Samo answered, fighting to get the words out of his suddenly too-narrow throat.

He could still flee. But he would still be a runaway, he realized. Samo was not free. He would never be free.

Martius's confusion increased, but so too did his relief. If there was another here from Rome, then it was possible there were more. But how to explain the transformation into wolves? A light frown crossed his face as he mulled it over, ignoring Samo. Considering what had happened, and what options lay before him, Martius began to pace across the length of the path they were on. Had he been the man, he would have had his hands clasped behind his back as he did so.

At last he looked at the slave again. If he had been a run away, he had clearly since come to his senses. That was good. He seemed more comfortable in his body, so perhaps he had been here for longer? That was also good. That made him particularly useful. Out in the wilderness like this, even in the form of wolves, it would be better for them to go together. Martius, though loath to admit it, probably needed him.

"Good, good." at last he replied.

"You'll come with me then, won't you?" Martius phrased what was really a command like a question. It was part test, and part olive branch. Though the display of submission inspired confidence, Martius was not stupid enough to think himself above harm from this stranger. No. A friendly relationship would inspire greater loyalty in such a strange situation.

Heart pounding, Samo tried to think. It seemed his answer had, at least, pacified the Roman. Then he asked the question he dreaded—

I will, Samo replied. For now, was the silent addendum his mind offered. This was a lone legionary—a lone wolf, literally, not the entire force of the legion bearing down his back. As a boy, a single soldier had been enough to pin him down. But he was not a boy anymore. He was a grown man. A gladiator.

Legionary against gladiator. Now that would be a match to draw people's eyes, Samo thought, and bitterness boiled in his throat. Elk Charm leapt into his mind: she was not far, he knew, and to her he would return. First, he needed to determine if the legionary was truly alone. If he was, that would make his escape far easier. Somehow, he had already decided he would escape. Still, he remained quiet and submissive; he knew all too well the price of a failed escape.

The stigmata on his face burned.

There is water nearby if you wish to drink, Dominus, Samo added. He intended to lead the man to the river. There, he would contemplate his next move.

Martius breathed a soft sigh of relief. Clearly the boy had learned his lesson from his last escape attempt. He could let his guard down, at least just a little.

"Good, yes." he wanted to get out from under the choking canopy of trees. To see the sky and figure out where to go next.The river would afford not only water to drink, but also potentially a wide gap in the trees.

"Lead the way, I could use some water." he was a little parched, and that lingering bitter taste in his mouth had yet to completely vanish.

Though, regardless of where they went, it would be safer to travel with... he had not yet asked his name.

"What's your name?" it would be annoying for both of them to have to keep calling him boy

Samo, he answered after a moment’s pause. He would not be called Rufus again. In Rome, they had taken his name from him. But this was not Rome, and Samo was not Roman.

(Whether or not he was still Gaulish was a question he preferred not to answer.)

He did not ask the Roman for a name in turn. To a slave, a master was always dominus.

He heard the burbling of the waters before he saw them again. The river snaked a path through the woodland, though the twining branches that reached overhead barely allowed more than dapples of light to shine on the dark, glassy water. Riffles of white betrayed the deceptive calm.

He stopped by the riverbank and waited in silence.