Derek snatched his hand back abruptly as the man flinched away fiercely from his hand brushing against his shoulder. He held his palms out placatingly, trying to indicate that he didn't mean any harm, even as the man threw himself against the pole and shook his head furiously. Derek wasn't shocked that the man didn't want to be touched, people who had been captured as slaves were often sensitive to the touch of others for some time, but he just wanted to try and help.
Derek watched as the young man lifted long fingers to his neck, feeling for something that was no longer there. He took a second to take in the man's features; an upturned nose, a sprinkling of moles along his left cheek amongst the mudstains, and wide honey brown eyes. He blinked back to the present moment as the figure staggered to his feet and towards a tent to the side and went to follow, trailing a couple of paces behind to not upset him further but wanting to ensure he was alright.
"I'm sorry about your...person. I will find you a place to stay until you are able to establish yourself once more."
Of course some would not have homes to return to, their villages desecrated by the slavers, but many had family elsewhere they could turn to. Not this man it would seem. But Derek was determined to take care of these people. His people. It wasn't their fault that they had been snatched from their homes and loved ones at the whim of people wanting to sell them for money.
Derek glanced around the tent, looking for anything of obvious value. The slavers always took any personal possessions their captives had on their person for keep as trophies or to sell, that was no surprise, but he wasn't sure what this man was looking for in particular. He saw a small heap of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings on the corner of a desk and scooped them up in his palm to see if they belonged to any of the other captives.
"I'm Derek, by the way. And you are...?"
Stiles entered the tattered remains of the tent, not doubt the material having seen some of the action of the battle he'd more heard than seen.
He crouched with achy muscles and sifted through all the abandoned belongings, searching desperately for the tattered leather strap he'd fastened his one remaining feather to--but the lantern wasn't bright enough to make it an easy task, and try as he might--he just couldn't find it. Was it even in there?
"Why the charity? You released these people--isn't that all you owe them?" Stiles asked seriously, as he sifted through the pile for a second time, long fingers raking through the items but to no avail. "People aren't kind for the sake of being kind." He'd learned that the hard way, and he suffered for it day after day of this new and abysmal existence.
When he stood, he was more tense--distress clear in his honey coloured eyes, as he finally turned to the person who had freed him. Reluctantly, he offered the name Claudia had given him "Stiles. She called me Stiles."
@boundforhale
