Just as the world shifted and those in it began to change, for better or for worse, what he had found was that kindness and warmth was slowly becoming something of a rarity. It was not so common anymore to find in the eyes and hearts of others, and a part of him could understand this. It was hard to keep kindness in the harbor of ones's soul when life had its tendencies to be cruel if not unrelenting in its ways to test the strength and resilience of those that walked this world, journeyed through this existence. Roman would be among the first to admit that the wickedness lurking in the shadows had taken a toll on his willingness to trust those whom he knew little to nothing of, especially considering that - like many of his kind were undoubtedly familiar with - he and his family were hunted like the animals that the humans would not hesitate to see them as. And while he did not entirely fault the dark hunters that drove himself and his family into a lifestyle of constantly having to wander, moving from place to place and never staying for too long, they hadn't broken any laws the councils so seemed to set for the rest of the supernatural world: no hunting or killing humans. Roman and his family had never committed such a heinous act. If anything, the lions understood the balance between their world and that of the human race, only ever giving that delicate scale the respect that it so demanded of them. There had hardly been an instance where they would ever find some sort of primitive or primal desire to hunt them when it was the wildlife that they preferred in a much higher regard. However, and much to his dismay, there were weres that took pleasure in hunting humans, and it was for their sins and poor decisions that most all other walks of life looked towards his own kind with uncertainty or suspicion - if they were able to sense what he truly was. While he could understand in some ways the reasoning behind their learned cautions and reservations held towards one of were blood, he hardly thought it fair or just to base one's sole opinion of an entire race all for the poor choices, the unfortunate but clear wrong-doings of those who did not heed the delicate circle of life. It was this sense of judgment towards weres that was still something he was learning to come to terms with even after all this time. It was in these moments that he was only ever thankful that humans were not as keen on detecting a were in human form as easily as dark hunters or the other supernatural races once thought to have been nothing but folklore. While Roman had never felt entirely at peace among them, they were more comfortable to be around than most of his own kind as some might stereotypically believe. Weres were often territorial, that pack mentality so fiercely engrained into them that it did not always make the life of a wandering rogue an easy and carefree one. It was a matter of "join us or get out", and it was when the lion encountered these packs that he was more than content to take his leave and move on to the next place.

While he does not miss the tension in the she-wolf as he approached her, it does not give him pause to help her. Why would it? Why should it have mattered that she did not so easily trust? The lion hardly blamed the unusual canine for her wariness, especially when she'd only just been attacked by the hunters that laid upon the sodden earth cold and lifeless, robbed of the very thing they had seemed more than happy to try and take from her. Their blood has slowed in its flow, seeping into the earth and staining it a deep crimson. In the end, she did not know him and he did not know her. They were two complete strangers in this fleeting moment, but he remembers a time when one did not need to know someone in order to be kind or helpful. Perhaps he was... old-fashioned, or maybe his views of the world were somewhat outdated, but it was how he saw things regardless of how popular - or unpopular - this consideration might be. This world needed more kindness and love in it. At least, he believes that it did. They were powerful weapons to wield against the glittering and hungry eyes of the cruelties all too easily imposed on others. And yet, while such things were the only true light in darkened times, two of the few things that were capable of restoring the faith and strength of others when it seemed to be lost and just out of one's reach, they were not unlike the sword they could be made into. Like any weapon meant to challenge the shadows, they were things that needed to be shaped and strengthened with care and compassion. It would start with a spark, but it was this spark that needed to be cared for so that it could become the flames to make the sword. It would take time and compassion, loyalty and understanding for the hammer to give this sword its shape, to take what had been uncertainty and doubt and do away with the imperfections and weaknesses of the blade so that it was nearly unbreakable against the shields upon which it was bound to be met by just as it was the wicked weapons of all that sought to do unjust harm. What good would a brittle sword be against such an enemy as fear, hate, and pain? Nothing great was ever forged in but a single moment nor was it made strong if not formidable through such effortless and easy means, but that had never stopped Roman from holding fast to his belief that it was better to give than it was to receive. Too many did not take the time to put aside their differences or their strife with the world to give that spark the chance to light the smoldering coals of what could one day be the roots for a fire that could make all the difference in the world to at least one shaken and wary soul. There were few and far in between who would dare to offer a single small act kindness to someone that did not know, and thusly did not trust. This is why Roman does what he can where he can, even when he was not without his own carefully constructed walls. Despite his own subtle hesitancies to entirely lower those guards to his past which could ultimately lead back to his family, he believes that one did not have to trust another endlessly to offer but a simple kindness.

For Roman, helping Raven was just that; a simple and effortless act of kindness. He did not know of the demons that might haunt her past, nor does not knowing play a part in his decision to intervene. Very seldom did the were step into what was surely not meant for him, being among the last to intrude on personal or even purely business matters of others, and yet there had been no way he could have turned a blind eye to the terror that had fallen from the she-wolf in waves only moments ago. They sit there and regard one another then before before she responds to his query with a shake of her head, going on to say that she had been doing something last night, her uncertainty rising in the lion a mild look or concern for her. She could not remember what she had been doing? How she'd ended up in the custody of those dark hunters no longer living? He wonders if perhaps her forgetfulness is derived from the shock of her ordeal, if it might be the workings of the magic that one of the men might have wielded, or maybe if there was much more to her being unable to recall clear details of last night than he could understand in this moment. Her answer in genuine enough that he is contented with her words before suggesting that they depart from the scene ledt they find themselves with more trouble than either of them wanted or needed. Ad he moves away, his large frame pushing easily through the undergrowth of the forest, thick muscle rippling beneath his golden pelt marked with scars from a past of sparring with his siblings and the rare moments where he'd needed to defend himself or others, he can easily hear her padding quickly after him before the she-wolf is matching his pace while maintaining a small distance between them. However, it is not long before she is moving ahead of him and he hardly minds this, hazel gaze lingering curiously upon her, ears flicking amidst his thick mane as she tells him more than he had expected. The lion is surprised when she adds that she wanted him to come with her to where she and her pack resided, Roman hardly having anticipated that she would want to try and return his gesture. How she was truly beginning to remind him of his young sister, Dea."I have no objections to following you home, though I cannot help but ask if you are sure they won't mind my presence? I usually make it a point to stay away from marked borders. Most packs seem unwelcoming of rogues like myself", he replies honestly to Raven then as he is now following her westward. The last pack he'd ever been around was his pride. Ever since he'd left them, the lion had been nothing more than a rogue, a phantom that was always moving from one town to the next as his nomadic nature beckoned him to, having brought him here to Sacrosanct, though for how long he is unsure of.