Initia || Adxmant
nasxir:
Feet moved silently over the dry earth as they stalked their prey–a boar had been spotted ambling further ahead, full-tusked and fat enough to feed all that remained harbored in the villa. Nasir was not an enthusiastic hunter, and neither was he particularly skilled at the venture, though he knew it only fair to play his part. He had learned to devise traps for rabbits and smaller fare, but had yet to divine the task of killing a creature that weighed four times his size.
Gripping the sword he held more tightly in his hand, the Syrian cast a shuttered glance toward the gladiator who walked just ahead of him. It is only because his very height shuts out bright light of sun, or so Nasir quietly told himself, though his gaze lingered long and favorably. At the very least, he had not heard wild little dog fall recently from lips, and perhaps that alone mellowed thoughts.
In truth, Nasir could not but take notice that the brush of biding gaze had replaced insults of late. Shared cups of wine and curious questions meant to break words of conversation grew more frequent between them. Nasir did not think himself a fool, however his thoughts toward Spartacus’s intentions initially stood; though he knew not toward what purpose Agron’s attentions drew. The Gaul still stood suspicious of him; perhaps the same could be said of them all. Were intentions merely to break truth? Or some other intent?
Nasir’s mouth drew into a tight line at the direction of his own thoughts. I will prove worth, and see debt to Spartacus for lifted veil well paid. And if, perchance, the brief moments with the gladiator were to continue, Nasir knew he would not find himself overly aggrieved.
Though task at hand was clear, Agron’s thoughts, as was usual since the Syrian had joined them, proved far less so. He had no place for such distraction, his duties in Spartacus’ growing army leaving him little leisure and even less intent to invite a heart’s wound awaiting infliction.
And yet. When work was assigned, he said nothing against Nasir’s presence at his side, now or when at rest. Instead he sought the man out on flimsy pretense, finding interest in any shred of past or nature he cared offer. Agron almost resented himself, how obvious his intentions, but caution had fled with Nasir’s Roman name, with easy smile, with collar recently discarded, and he could only follow and pray to his father’s gods that he would survive the war he suspected he had already lost.
Concerns for another time, for the future he dared not name. First they must survive this hunt. They sought only beasts this day, but complacency would serve them ill, and he would not look the fool to the Syrian’s eyes.
“You have never hunted boar.” Spoken low to carry between them, it was no question, and Agron kept eyes to path as he slowed to allow Nasir’s approach. He hefted the light spear he carried, judging its balance on his palm. “They are no easy prey. Fast, and deadly... allowed free movement, they will gut you where you stand.”
