Two, now, had taken her. Lavakho and the coyote, who had not introduced himself. Tomahawk had relished in the first, and winced through the second (with a hefty dose of zoning out and pretending it was Lavakho mounting her again). Now that he'd taken her, she yearned for more. Zorotto had seemed less than keen on the idea of a master coupling with their slave, but Lavakho had done what he'd pleased with her. Tomahawk wanted more, and so she slunk into the heart of the packlands, eyes flitting about for signs of her masters.

Perhaps Lavakho would find her again. She doubted Rakharo would take her, but that would have been a dream come true. He was, after all, the master of masters. She had somehow managed to avoid her women masters. She was not sure how they would react, or if they would react at all. Surely they could not be pleased if their potential (or current) husbands were getting their pleasure elsewhere. And that, of course, only made the act more tantalizing to the slave. Tomahawk's scent drifted lazily through the hot summer afternoon, sure to attract somebody.

The scent of the coyote was strong in every corner of the Plains. It both called and bothered the proud Khal of the Hoshor grass. Tomahawk was a slave, and for loyal as she could be she still help the lowest position in the hierarchy of the pack and didn't have any rights to take a male, specially if it was a wolf.

The golden Khal had been following her from a distance for days, watching her and following her moves to prevent further interaction with his wolves, it was disgusting, but he had decided not to confront her directly until the moment he felt she was too close to the rest of the pack. He walked closer, holding a high posture against her with high tail and tall head until he reached her side and started sniffing her all over around, expecting her to allow without opposition. He sniffed her face, her sides, her hips, and eventually got to her rear where he sniffed intensely between her thighs.

She froze when he approached her, slinking closer to the ground and licking her lips in appeasement. The signals she had been given from the various wolves of Hoshor Plains had been, well, rather befuddling. How was she to please them all if they wanted different things? She had not seen nor heard from Rakharo since she had awoken that night, avoiding (and not avoiding) the Dotharan wolves.

The master began to sniff her, and she remained frozen, resisting the urge to press herself closer to him, to let herself drink his scent. When he crossed to her rear, she trembled ever-so-slightly, a whine escaping her maw. She did not know what he intended to do, nor what she was supposed to do for him.

As it was just to be expected the Coyote submitted immediately when Rakharo started sniffing her around. The Khal inspected her from close up, getting every piece of information his nose could give him about the female's heat. And he got even more than he expected.

A whine escaped the female's maw, and instantly Rakharo jumped to a side and bit her flank in order to submit her. "Svabol tir wux siofme wux re tirir?" he growled both disgusted and mad, he would never think of mating with a coyote, ever. Coyotes were a weak species, servants, slaves, they had no right to feel the power of a Dotharan inside them.

Instead of taking her as Lavakho had, the Khal quickly dismantled any hope of that happening. He bit her flank, and she crumpled to the floor, gritting her teeth as she did so. And yet... any form of contact from him was welcomed. Tomahawk had come to care deeply for Rakharo and his kin. She wanted nothing more than to please them. She had pleased Lavakho, had she not? And she would please her Khal by gifting him with more slaves.

"Another, he… I pleased him this way, Khal," she explained frantically, "I only mean to please my masters." She had done exactly as Lavakho had asked, succumbing to his desires. Nobody had told her not to do it, not really. She wanted to give her Khal more slaves to do his bidding, that was all. Tomahawk was not as well-versed in their culture, but she would not have objected any advances if she had been. She was theirs to do with as they pleased.

As Rakharo forced her to submit, the slave burst into a frenetic state in which she tried to explain her behavior. "I only mean to please my masters" she'd said with fearful voice, but not even like that she would get the forgiveness she'd need when Rakharo made clear what was going on.

"Wux re ti ekess petranas dout plisoic persvek nomeno idol. Wux re vi Jano, vi banpri Zafrak!" he roared as he positioned himself on top of the female in a dominating stance. "Svaust jahus coi batobot claxon wux nomeno idol? Jahus coi batobot juanth wiekiix, Rhanno?" he asked from up close. Rakharo knew that old Rhanno had a liking for small females, Zoratto had told him so and it seemed possible that he had other twisted preferences like coyotes.

He stood over her, and Tomahawk had flashbacks to her interlude with Lavakho. Her heart beat faster, a mixture of fear and yearning flushing through her blood. She wanted to protest further, to say that it was he who had approached her, but she knew nothing would appease him. Now she wondered how he would react to the children given to her by the coyote. Tomahawk pushed the thought far from her mind, melting beneath the Khal.

"Lavakho," she blurted, knowing that no matter what the Khal asked of her, she must obey. He reigned supreme, and she was to follow his orders above all others. "I'm sorry, master. I'm so sorry I did not know. Lavakho, he wanted this from me, and so I obeyed." It would be a lie to say she had not liked it. Tomahawk had reveled in his touch, her own whimpers of pleasure had been so loud Lavakho had feared she would wake the Khal. "What must I do? Can you ever forgive me?" she whimpered, still trembling beneath him. Had she known that bed slaves were frowned upon, she would have taken herself elsewhere. Lavakho had led her to believe that he wanted this. Her plan had been to escape them before they had found her scent, but they had been too quick, and she had been too late.

The Khal's face when he heard who had taken her would have made even Lavakho himself pee in his pants if he saw it. His eyes, wido open and full of rage looked directly into Tomahawk's eyes, and his lips curled up in rage as a deep growl made saliva drip right on the slave's face. He was furious, befuddled, and disappointed, all of it at the same time and in different moments, growing more tense with every new thought about it.

It was disgusting.

Even Rakharo would have kept himself from mating with a coyote even if the scent was irresistible. It was a coyote. And Lavakho had been so stupid as to mix his blood with hers.

"Anha vazhak yeraan thirat..." the Khal said after a moment of deliberation. It wasn't Tomahawk who had done wrong, yet still she would get a punishment. He would decide on that later when he had a time to speak to Laqikki. And Lavakho... Well, he would have to speak seriously with the guy. Very seriously.

"Wux zklaen vucot batobot sjek sia isthasy zulf wux mrith vrak astahii geou probably qe zulf zara ihk wer djodaic ekess sone. Thric Jano iejir geou waph shafaer persvek sia svihelen."

She would live, but Lavakho's children would not. Of the coyote's children, she did not know, nor did she ask. Perhaps they would be a surprise gift for her Khal. Penance for her sins. Surely he would love a gift of slaves to do his bidding, whatever that may be. Or perhaps they would become a sacrifice to bring prosperity to the herd and the wolves who followed them. Tomahawk did not know, and she kept the joyous surprise safely tucked in the back of her mind.

"I will make it so," she replied, licking her Khal's chin in a submissive gesture. "It was my fault, Khal. I should have resisted him; I did not know. Please do not punish him for my mistakes. I should have come to you first," she pleaded with him. Lavakho could not be at fault. He was a true wolf, unlike herself.

Rakharo got what he wanted from the slave, to submit, but the further talking was unnecessary in his quick tempered opinion. Her voice -stutters to be precise- had always been the one thing that Rakharo didn't like about her. That and the fact that she was as blind in the Dotharan ways as everyone else in that place.

"Pok ukrisir." the Khal said obfuscated as he got his weight away from her small body. It was impressive to think how such a small and weak body had been able to take Lavakho "the beast" himself. Further into the perverted shade of this whole deal. Disgusting.

"Nakta mojka de davofi halkvri wer morne ui svern." he finally instructed before turning around and start walking away from Tomahawk. He would keep a close eye on the coyote, she still had too much to learn to be safe to keep.

Tomahawk's jaw snapped shut at his command. She would need to be better about speaking. Use fewer words. Lessen his anger with her. The coyote nodded eagerly at his second command, not knowing of Lavakho would try and find her again. She would have to evade him, keep away from him at all costs. It would be difficult, but she would do as the Khal directed. Rakharo retreated, and she fled the scene, not wishing to upset him further.