Thorfinn hadn't been kept in irons long, just long enough to make sure he would not harm the new king once more. Once he was at the auction, it was ropes. His spirit had been broken, he didn't try to run, but there were scars from the ropes where he had rubbed his wrists raw with the ropes. Around both wrists, lighter than the rest of his other scars but on te patchwork quilt of scars that was his skin, they didn't stand out.

Maybe that was half of why they got on so well, two old world souls that knew the pain of fighting for freedom.

"Carving to big." He reached down to his boot and pulled the knife he always carried free, twisting it so he could hold it by the blade so she could take the handle. The edge sharpened to a fine point tip. It was a once simple era appropriate dinner knife he had had sharpened and sanded down into a fine hunting blade. Thorfinn was very crafty when he needed to be. "Like this, small much sharp."