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Having even a semi-intelligent thrall was, on its own, a bit of a novelty for the captain. He understood the possible and worrisome threat that an educated thrall might possess, but he felt no twinge of worry noting occasional wise observations or a glimmer of intelligence. She seemed to possess no desire to overstep her current status, at least not so violently that he had reason to keep an eye on her.

Thus, she had at some point attained quite the level of autonomy in his absence. He did not worry about her, anyway, and he did not often leave detailed or extravagant instruction. She was marvelously self-sufficient.

Not that he often spared time for such thoughts. Upon returning from the current raid, for example, he was mildly surprised to see her at all. He was unaware of the games she played so far as interaction with the reavers that remained, but he would not have cared anyway. As it were, he barely glanced her way as his band came through the borders and into the pride lands. He watched his lions go about their business, organizing thralls and bounty in a way he would see fit, and when he did spare a glance for Ohahira, it was only as he passed her by. The vicinity alone indicated she should follow.

Rå did not share the celebratory mood of his Reavers often, mostly because he was not prone to passionate outbursts of any particular kind – besides violence. Undirected rage and pure unadulterated bloodlust were the most emotional fits he was ever likely to partake in, and that only rarely and far from home. Luckily most of his thralls were spared the show but once in their life: on their initial taking. Ohahira had been spared even that, though he doubted she would have been impressed by it.

In fact, he was fairly sure she would have died and he respected that, which was an entirely new sensation on its own.

He had no idea that she had any question at the ready for him, and so returned to his favorite resting place in a large circle of shade beneath a well place and well grown acacia that welcomed him with wide, thorny branches. Sprawling about on the dirt, he did let his golden eyes swing around to look her over, trailing his gaze down her scarred side and back to her face again expectantly. He was mildly interested in what might have happened in his absence, but not so much to incite a direct inquiry.

Rå had never been what one might consider gabby; as a cub he had been shy rather than silent, easily impressed upon by his brutish father more apt to bat a paw than an eyelash at a child seeking companionship. That was a sob story never told; he had arguably forgotten about it, anyhow – that was so very long ago.

Besides, so far as stories went, Rå was so very rarely interested. Short and succinct answers did just as well, and he gave a brief grunt at her explanation. Firekin; a respectable pride – or so he heard – which was a rare enough thing. He did not know her position there, or the whereabouts of the lion that had left her those scars, but he liked to think the other faired worse – simply because a good fight was a good fight, and Ohahira seemed good for one.

As for unspoken questions, Rå was disinclined to ask what he thought might be on another's mind, a thrall least of all, but he nodded his thick mane once in response. Nothing interesting was enough for him, though he did give her a bit of a glance. Just because he did not ask did not mean he was completely oblivious to the question that seemed to be hanging in the air; she wasn't saying something and that was about as close to permission as she was going to get. His steps slowed out of habit, a physical ramification of his waiting.

He stopped completely at that; she had not voiced a question but made an observation and it was a good one. It was not that he had forgotten to name her but that he had not seen the rush in slapping a name on a possession. She was correct that he did not care, but he liked the idea of her finding her own even less.

His golden eyes narrowed as he turned to look at her. His consideration was brief, but he let his eyes trail over her with each second of thought; when he spoke, it was decisive, "Tyst." He lowered his brows as if he expected argument, and though he knew it would not come by way of verbal response. It would be miniscule, and a louder cat might miss the twitch.

Turning his gaze back in the direction he had been walking, he 'harumphed' low in his throat before continuing his slow trek to his den.

Rå'stryke was content. So be it, his newest thrall had her name and so far as he was concerned that made her as appeased as was necessary. Her lack of complaint pleased him more so, and her lack of response solidified his choice.

Tyst; silent – he could hardly have made a more appropriate choice.

He might have given himself a round of applause or a pat on the back if his mind had not already moved on to more important issues.