[Five masters. He cannot imagine what it was like, being forever chained to only one, and a cruel one, at that. But he tries — and cannot decide if it’s better or worse, to call more than one person in one’s life “master” in the first place. At least, not in a centuries-long situation like hers, he supposes.

He slows as they approach a corner, making the turn slowly for her sake.]

Some you didn’t care for? That’s a harsh assessment, coming from you.

[She hardly seems the type to speak ill of anyone, even if they deserve it. Just how bad were these masters of hers? As bad as Cazador?

Her question prompts a twitch in the muscles of his jaw, and he doesn’t glance at her, but he also doesn’t hesitate to reply.]

That’s right. Very much eternal, much more powerful than myself, so there was little I could do but remain crushed under his boot heel when he so deigned it necessary. Not much dignity to being a spawn, I’m sorry to say. It sounds like you got to keep yours.

[Dignity, he means.]

Not that it's a competition, of course.