The bugbear felt a sudden bit of whimsy and pulled out a small pinch of powder from his storage satchel. He sprinkled this over her and it turned to a glittering dust as it touched her skin, making his pet almost luminous in the starlight. He smiled as she twirled, suddenly overcome by joy. He loved how easy it was to watch her moods shift.

The seventy year old, petite and happily youthful elf darted forward and climbed a tree just in front of her handler, reaching down to lift a small sack from his shoulder.

The soft races would call him armed to the teeth. The hard races would call him adequately adorned.

The distinction between meal, pet and slave was difficult to explain to resisting ears, but it was certainly there. She was a pet. She did not do menial labor, she was beloved, she was expected to have surly days and she was expected to be playful and fun to interact with. She had minimal rights as they would normally be expressed but she also had a great deal of power in certain situations. If she wanted to flirt with a sod, she certainly could. If she didn’t want to flirt the big bad bugbear would come to defend her. The den was home, its inhabitants family. It was not someplace to which she was tied but a place of warmth to remember and love when she was away.