In the past week or so, Samandriel had gotten used to the gentle almost reverent way Mitchell handled him like his Master was well aware that he was human and fragile and wanted to keep him in one piece as long as possible. This man seemed to care not at all. Samandriel desperately wanted to point out that he wasn't this stranger's property, but that might only be countered by the point that property could be replaced.
Fear. This had to be what fear felt like. He would've been rooted to the spot, but it seemed like his limbs were only going to go where this man put them. "My name is Samandriel," he said, responding in kind though it was a bit of a challenge to get his name to conform to Greek with the slight tremor in his voice. "And who are you who handles me so roughly, Spartan?"