Tomahawk awoke in the pre-dawn morning, escaping Rakharo's side to steal away. She crept, silently, to a small creek where she could drink the cool, clear water. This was no escape attempt, for Tomahawk was perfectly content with her place among the Hoshor Plains wolves. They were her keepers. She belonged to them. For once in her life, she belonged, period. And yet...

A muskrat rustled in the bushes, breaking Tomahawk's train of thought. She felt oddly light and spunky right then, and with sunrise just an hour or two away, she decided it would be best to start her day early. There was an odd fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach, and though it took a few minutes, she finally realized what was happening. It had happened once before, about a year ago. It was what had turned her away from her previous life. Heat her mother had called it.

In the mornings, Zoratto approached the khal to train. He was not yet an Ezok, not officially, but he began his training in earnest, even as they traveled through the unknown Rhaesh Thash land. But now that they had claimed the Plains, the training he was sure was going to be intensified.

He rose from his place close to the Khalakki, no, the Khaleesi, and stretched out his muscles, sore from the day's previous hunt. But he was certain that he would be even sorer after training as a warrior today, and then going to scout out the new territory. As the boy made his way to where Rakharo was sleeping, he saw a slave drinking at a creek. As he grew closer, a thick smell filled his nose. It was familiar, and yet he couldn't place it with anything. "Svabol ui xuut mrith wux?"

Whatever sense the girl had once had was overthrown by her instinct. Her tail flitted this way and that when the other approached, and she turned to face him. "Zoratto," she thought she had heard the Khal call him. She did not know him on a personal level, but then again, did she know any of the wolves on that level? They were her masters, nothing more. She shifted uneasily from right to left once, then answered him as truthfully as she could.

"Nature prepares me for children," she replied quietly, low enough that the other would be require to strain to hear it. Tomahawk's heart thrummed in her chest, and it took all of her strength not to take a step closer to the male who had come upon her. She felt breathless, electric, and warm all at once.

Zoratto was young and ignorant of the world, but he knew what mating was. He had seen it many times in both his birth and slaver's khalas; it was a part of Dotharan culture. But he had never been so close to a female in heat before. The males of the pack would guard their wives jealously when they went into this period, slipping away with them; he would not see them for days before they would come back, the wife most likely pregnant. But this was a coyote. A slave. He had not mounted a woman before, and had no stirrings to do so, despite his sexual maturity. But he would not mount a slave, especially not in heat. Hybrids were not well respected in most lupine cultures, especially so for Dotharan.

He paced around her, eyeing her warily just in case she wanted to move onto him. He saw it, the lust in her eyes. "Re mobi ti coyote davofi zahae ihk wux ekess rumag mirth?"

When the question was asked, her mouth twisted into disgust. "They are filth," she spat, vile thick in her voice. Coyotes were nothing to her. Asking her to be mounted by one was akin to asking her to be mounted by a bear. It was unnatural, and she would have none of it. Tomahawk had been approached by male coyotes in the past, but she had chased them off, unwilling to accept their advances. She would have none of it. Tomahawk had been raised as a wolf, and while she knew her outside said otherwise, she felt a wolf on the inside.

She wanted to ask if the Dotharan males took coyotes as bed slaves, but she made no mention of it. If they wanted her, she would do as they bid. If they banished her until she was back to normal, she would follow their command. Perhaps asking about the latter scenario would be more appropriate. "If it is more proper, I will retreat from the heart of the plains," she said, eyes low to the ground.

The smell of heat hung in a tepid haze over the plains.  Lavakho, being the typical horn-dog he was, could discern her smell from  miles away.  For the first time in weeks, thoughts of Zhavvi were pushed to the back of the shallow filing cabinet that was Lavakho's  mind.  Instead of dwelling on her and the balancing act he had begun to play with his brother, he moved onward toward the scent and toward his new conquest.

Who it was, he had no idea, however that was the sport in it.   Perhaps it was that Kivi girl who had bested him in a spar, or maybe a loner who had wondered into the plains.  Whoever it was, Lavakho was bound and determined to find out, and so he ran across the plains to find it's source.  

The slave.

Whatever, no big deal.  Beggars can't be choosers, am I right?  However, much to Lavakho's disdain, another male had arrived to stake his claim (at least, so he thought).  Lavakho approached the boy with teeth barred, ready to fight for his claim.

"You will do nothing of the sort," he said to the coyote slave, commanding her to stay.  He then turned to the boy and brandished his teeth.  "Leave," he barked, expelling a huff of hot breath on the youngsters muzzle.

He thought it was interesting that a coyote would reject her own kind. She was disgusted, reviled by them. It was a curious notion, at least to him. The young boy opened his mouth to ask why, wondering what the slave would tell him, but his attention was diverted to the large wolf stalking towards them both, his half-lidden eyes sheltering orange eyes that were aflame with lust. Zoratto should have expected it by now that the scent of the slave would drift through the plains, unhindered by trees, hills or mountains.

The Ezok-to-be stood his ground when the male stepped in his face, hot breath teasing his muzzle. To his horror, a shiver went down Zoratto's spine, not in fear, but of something else, something that disgusted him. He pushed back the emotion and focused on the male's aggression and not the look of his body, not the hot breath on his skin...

"Svabol?" He plastered on a cocky smirk. "Re shio wer aesthyri di wer khalas rejecting wux, batobot wux ornla stoop zyak ousch ekess fuck vi silit?"

Somebody else approached, and Tomahawk tensed in anticipation. Unlike Zoratto, Lavakho was older, more brazen, and rougher around the edges. He commanded her to stay, and so she did. Tomahawk shrunk down further (if such a thing was even possible), hoping that her condition would not cause unrest in the middle of the night. The Khal would not be happy with her if he was awakened by their bickering, and yet there was nothing she could do about it. If she disagreed with either of them, it would go against her very nature. They would have to duke this out amongst themselves, and her fate would be in their paws.

The corners of Lavakho's mouth twisted back, exposing his teeth to the young boy after his insult.  If it hadn't been for his brother sleeping peacefully a short distance away, the warrior would have aimed for the throat to bring the pest down.  However, a tussle would have only created more problems, and so Lavakho refrained. "Whatever," he spat, shooting the boy a menacing glare.  If he wouldn't leave, he wouldn't spoil his fun.

Lavakho had never been the type of man to consider consequences. No, he simply took what he wanted when he wanted it, in true Dotharan fashion.  And now, he wanted the slave, and there was little the boy could do to stop him.  Pulling himself away from the boy, he walked over to the coyote's flank.  "If you won't leave, you can watch," he mused, turning his head in Zoratto's direction. Turning back to the slave who had sprawled out on the ground, he took her tail gingerly in his jaws and pulled upward, exposing her hindquarters.  "Lift," he commanded as his voice took on a more gentle quality.

Zoratto sucked his teeth as the male ignored him, going towards the coyote despite his insult, though he saw that his words had a certain effect, but not the one Zoratto had intended. The silver-and-red male watched the wolf with pale eyes as he commanded the coyote to get into position, a mask across his face. Wux ornla beget bastards shafaer jacioniv? He hissed with disdain. It surprised him how much lusts clouded this man's mind.

Tomahawk's eyes flitted nervously about, uncertain what exactly she was getting herself into. She knew, of course, what her condition would bring upon the pack, in some sense, but she had not expected them to bicker with one another on her behalf. The wolf in the coyote suit did as she was bid by the older male. Her heart thrummed in her chest, and she felt her stomach flutter in a way that it never had for the coyotes that pursued her.

She was not so stupid to think that this was love or affection of any sort. But she would be lying if she pretended that she did not want this. It was a perversion, that much was true, and one that she would allow herself to fall victim to. Tomahawk stood, shivering at the male's touch as he moved her tail to the side and spoke a gentler word.

The other wolf spoke, but Tomahawk was in no place to respond. She was merely a pawn in their game.

Lavakho was rough in every sense of the word, intimacy included.  When the coyote presented herself to him, he found himself more enthralled in her scent, which dug him deeper and deeper into a hole that he couldn't crawl out of.  Unfortunatley, Zoratto's warning had fallen upon deaf ears.  She moved into position as commanded and Lavakho wasted no time by claiming his prize. No foreplay, just dominance. He placed himself over the slave and pushed her face into the dirt as he squared his hips with hers. Grasping her by the scruff of her neck, he pulled her in close and began to thrust behind her.  The soft clap of his hips against hers rattled across the plain.

His jaws loosened from her neck as he found his rhythm.  He turned his head to the watching boy, mid coitus, and grunted between thrusts.  "You think I care about bastards?" He breathed in response.  "Like that's stopped me before."  It was likely that half the spring litters back in Rhaesh Dahaan had been Lavakho's bastard children, Dotharan and hybrids alike. Despite his generally gentle tendencies, Lavakho cared nothing for the pups he had more than likely left behind.  It wasn't like he would have been a good father anyway.

But that didn't stop him from taking what he wanted.  The coyote. Turning his head back to the coyote, he whispered behind her ear.  "This week, you're mine,"  he said, staking his claim as he attempted to make her break.

Zoratto's eyes narrowed to mere slits as the male mounted the coyote, but he dare not leave. It was a sign of weakness to him, that he would slink away like a coward after the man challenged him. He kept his resolve, and observed how it happened. He had not seen the act up close before, as the couples would sneak away to somewhere secluded. He had not been to many celebrations either, where men could mount any woman they wanted...granted that they won a fight with their husbands. He was in the back of such celebrations in his home khalas, and was shunned as a captive. He watched, observed. He might need to do this someday...

The male met his eyes as he mated with the slave, pausing in between pants as he thrust into her. Zoratto was enraptured for just a moment, at the lust in the man's eyes. He drew in his breath sharply, but hid it as a sneer at the male. The coyote seemed to be enjoying it, however, though he hoped it was just a product of her heat.

Tomahawk had to work extra hard to steady herself, planting her feet firmly on the ground to balance Lavakho's weight. He was one of the largest wolves she had ever met, and definitely one of the strongest. The wolf took her then, squaring his hips and thrusting against her so quickly and harshly that she struggled to stay upright. But she did, yelping as he did so. The mixture of pleasure and pain was... more than she expected. Up until this point, Tomahawk had not been with a man—wolf or coyote—and she at once found the experience to be all that she had wanted. Even when he pushed her to the ground, dirt finding its way into her mouth, she moaned softly, rocking her hips back into his. The younger male was all but forgotten, though his voice caused her a pulse of heat to ripple through her body.

Her master continued to have his way with her, and Tomahawk found herself lost in the moment, drinking in the experience as one might a fine, aged wine. To be mounted by a wolf had been a fantasy of hers for as long as she could remember, and now that she'd had it, she was certain that she would not be able to keep herself away. She would want more, and she would do anything, anything, to have this again and again.

The boy fell silent apart from a sneer. Good.  It had surprised Lavakho that Zoratto stayed planted to the spot, but perhaps he was enjoying the show.  Nevertheless it didn't matter, as the captive coyote had ensnared Lavakhos complete attention.  The boy and his warning became simply an afterthought, leaving the curvature of the coyote's form and her yelps of pleasure to cloud the forefront of Lavakho's lustful mind.  "Shhhhhh," he hushed over her whines.  "We shouldn't wake brother."  Although it wasn't the first time he had taken a coyote slave, to which his brother already knew, he knew Rakharo would't approve of his perversions.

She writhed and squirmed under his weight.  It was a wonder that she still stood with stable footing.  How her lanky, coyote legs were able to support the monstrous form of Lavakho atop her, he hadn't a clue. But, the most curious thing of all was... she seemed to be liking it.  Her hips rocked back in tandem with Lavakho's as they both worked together toward their one common goal.  His slow, deliberate strokes began to speed up and increase in force as his body began to tense up.  His knees shook under him and his face contorted in pleasure as he finally reached release inside the coyote.

He withdrew with heavy breath and slumped to the ground.  Rolling on to his side, he let out a long and winded yawn.  "Now, clean me," he softly commanded while lifting a leg to expose himself to the coyote.

He was a mix of emotions at this union. He was disgusted that the coyote was enjoying this, for one thing. If she enjoyed being fucked by one of her masters, then wouldn't she go out of her way to get more of what she desired, especially if she was in heat. A coyote should know her place, especially this one. But, he felt something else entirely when it came to the mounting male. When his face contorted in pleasure Zoratto felt something burn in between his legs. Zoratto cursed himself a thousand times for the thoughts that whirled through his brain, but when the wolf rolled over and commanded the coyote to clean him, and he got a look at it. He decided that he had had enough. The boy turned, feeling heat radiating all over his body, and ran towards the nearest water source. As he ran, he began to realize that his disgust for the coyote was derived from another emotion entirely, one that made him sick to his stomach.

It was jealousy.

Tomahawk clamped her teeth shut, only muffled whimpers escaping her after her master's command that she should be quiet. She found herself enveloped in his embrace, happy to appease him in this way. Tomahawk did not know if he would request this same act of her later, but she would obey without question. Eagerly, even. With the way he had spoken about this week, perhaps he meant to take her more than once. It was all over faster than she would have liked, and she found herself wanting for more. But if he was done, then she would do as he said.

"Now, clean me," he spoke, and Tomahawk turned to him, confused for a moment. When he lifted his leg, however, she understood. Obediently, she went to him and began to gently clean him. She paused, only briefly to ask a question. "Did I please my master?" she asked, praying that the answer was affirmative. The boy had left, though Tomahawk paid him no mind. Lavakho had been the one to win their little power battle, that much was clear.

And finally, the boy had left, leaving Lavakho and the coyote to their own devices... alone. It was better this way; with the boy gone, Lavakho no longer needed to assert his dominance. His aggressive charade was dropped as soon as the boy was out of eyeshot.  He shot the coyote a slight smile as she went to work with her tongue and his back leg pedaled in air from pleasure.  The cloud of lust that clogged Lavakho's mind parted, but only briefly: her scent still lingered, and her touch had brought him back from the dead and rearing for round two.  

She paused from her cleaning to pose a question. "Absolutely," he responded in a voice akin to a purr while he leaned in to give the coyote a lick on her cheek.  "But, I'm not done with you just yet." He nudged the coyote off of him and rose back to his feet, and for the second time he mounted her, but without the boy watching, the embrace was far more gentle.  He stood solid over the coyote, giving her ample room to move her hips under him.  He gave her the reigns to set her own pace.  

"You move into me," he whispered from behind her ear.  "I want you to enjoy this as much as I do."

Though a smile did not appear on her face, her tail wagged to indicate that she was glad to have pleased him. That was her main prerogative, after all. He nudged her, moving himself away, and for a heartbeat, she wanted for him. Instead of backing away from her, he wrapped his forelegs around her in that familiar embrace, and she cooed softly beneath him. He asked her to move, and she did as commanded, pushing back against him.

But it was his last statement that gave her (mental) pause. Tomahawk was a mere slave, and yet he seemed concerned with her own enjoyment. Perhaps her pleasure was what gave him enjoyment. That was the only logical explanation she could come up with, and her mind slipped back into her movements, rocking against him to the rhythm nature had plotted out long ago. Soft sounds and heavy breathing came from her, though she kept the volume down in fear of waking the Khal, who still slept not far away.

Her pace picked up, and she worried that her own release might come before his own. "Master," she whimpered. Only with his command would she allow herself to share in their mutual sin.

Lavakho stood firmly planted in the ground while the slave girl rocked back with her hips against him, sating her own desires.  While for the first time 'round he had only been in it for himself, this time he hoped to bring her to he peak. To break. It was the least he could do for the slave as an odd act of thanks.  She whined and whimpered as she took control from under him, increasing her pace, and the whole ordeal was sort of hot for Lavakho. The way she wanted him soothed his lonely soul.

Master, she whimpered, almost pleading for release. "Let go," he whispered, hoping she would relax.  With his jaws, he grasped the scruff of her neck and began to move his hips back in unison with hers.  

"Let go," he commanded, and Tomahawk felt him move against her in unison. A shudder rippled through her body, tugging her in all directions. Her claws dug into the earth as his teeth dug into her scruff, and she clamped her teeth tight, remembering the proximity of the Khal. The shudder subsided, though her movements did not, as he had not asked her to stop. She was obedient to a fault, and would not stop until he ordered her to.

This was what her master had wanted, and so she had obeyed.

Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut and the sleeping Khal would remain unstirred. While his brother knew of his perversions, in this instance, Lavakho was playing with fire. Heat carried consequence. However, in his state of physical bliss, Lavakho didn't care about the eventual consequences, but instead he focused only the immediate situation unfolding under him. Her movement. Her ragged, wispy breath. It was all too much to take.

Lavakho found himself unable to hold back. His eyes snapped shut as he began to push harder and faster. Unable to control himself, he took the pace up to eleven. Softly, he grunted as every muscle in his body went rigid like stone. And with that... it was over. Lavakho slunk off of the coyote's back to lay in the grass. "Stay," he half-commanded, half-asked. "Please." Though the act was over, Lavakho still craved her contact. "Till the sun rises."

His weight was heavy on her, and Tomahawk fought gravity to keep from tumbling to the ground. Lavakho dismounted, and Tomahawk was about to leave, but he commanded that she stay, and so she did. There was a warmth in his voice that she did not understand, nor did she particularly want, but she would take what she could get. Tomahawk lay beside him, lifted his hind leg, and began to clean him as she had before, assuming it was what he had wanted.

She did not know that this act (and those following) would have dire consequences for Lavakho, or she never would have gone through with them. Tomahawk was merely here to please him, the Khal, and all that lived in Hoshor Plains. It was her duty to them, as they had allowed her to stay when they could have done any number of horrible things to her. The worst would have been telling her to get lost, like so many wolves had done. The Dotharan had given her purpose, a new way of seeing them, and a place to feel as though she belonged.

The coyote dropped down beside him, lifted Lavakho's leg, and began to clean like before.  Despite his appreciation for her actions, he gently reached out a paw and lightly touched the back of her head to grab her attention while she licked.  "You don't have to," he murmured with a warm expression.  "Just stay with me."  He pulled away and turned so the two would be shoulder to shoulder so the two could share the moment together, not as slave and master, but something else to which Lavakho was unsure.  Perhaps it was his own loneliness mixed with the fear of being alone for one more sunrise.

He buried his face in the warm fur of her neck and inhaled deeply.  She wouldn't be able to stay long,  Rakharo would rise with the coming morning, and she needed to be long gone by then.  But Lavakho relished in the moment and allowed his half-lidden eyes to close in a deep relaxation.

Confusion spread over her face, and for a fleeting moment, Tomahawk worried that she had displeased him. She settled in beside him, not sure why he would just want her to be there, but also not willing to ask. Tomahawk flinched when he touched her, though she relaxed a heartbeat later. While he daydreamed of them being more than slave and master, Tomahawk thought nothing of the sort. He had asked for things, and she had given them, pure and simple. There was no romance, no love, nothing of that sort in her heart. There was desire, true, but that was a more primal emotion. Along with it was unhindered devotion to her masters.

He slept, thought Tomahawk remained awake throughout the night. And before the sun began to shine over the plains, she slipped away from him, away from the heart of Hoshor Plains.