Azzaro had been circling the herd of Bison for sometime now, not that he was hungry, he simply wished to protect them from any possible intruders, wolves who did not belong to the Khalas that wanted to hunt the Dotharan's rightful prey. Keen ivory eyes scanned his surroundings as he trotted at a leisurely pace, a good distance away from the herd. No one was nearby at the moment, and usually the stoic Dotharan would be fine with that, but today, he yearned for a bit of companionship.
Casting one last glance at the Bison, Azzaro began running, to where? Even he did not know. He would not go too far from the herd, but perhaps he would see a fellow pack member soon. Pausing for a moment, he lifted his crown, black leathery nostrils inhaling for the scent of a pack member.
Feel free to chase her off! Or use her to your advantage. Whatever works for ya. ;)
Because of her mistake with Lavakho, Tomahawk had been trying harder to please her masters. She went out of her way to keep a watchful eye on the bison, alerting the Khal and his wolves whenever they moved. She kept pace with the wolves, too, despite her weakened condition. Tomahawk wanted to right her wrongs, and hopefully the slaves that would come from her union with the coyote would help some of that. It would be two turns of the moon before she could present her gifts to the Khal, but the time would be worth it. He would be pleased, she was certain of it.
One of the younger males broke off from the bison that Tomahawk had been keeping an eye on, and she watched as he scampered away. Now that her heat was over, there was no worry of sinning again. Not only that, but she knew that it was a sin to be embraced by a wolf as she had been. She would not allow it to happen again, much as she enjoyed it. She took off after him, expecting him to have a use for her.
The wind changed direction, instead of blowing at him, it blew from behind him, bringing the fresh scent of the slave coyote towards him. He would've preferred a real Dotharan wolf but she would suffice for now, Rhoa knew where the hell his packmates were right now. Probably off escaping guard duty and exploring their surrounding lands, hopefully they would remember not to cross these native wolf's borders, they were hella protective of their land, almost as protective as the Dotharan were of their Bison.
Azzaro turned swiftly around, ivory eyes landing on the golden coyote. Concealed curiousity lingered within his gaze as he analyzed her, silently, stoically. "You are the slave my brother defended in the pack hunt," he said calmly with a birdlike tilt of his head. "Why did he do that?" Perhaps the two of them had things in common and became friends, friends with his idiot brother. Withholding a scoff at the idea, the agouti Dotharan shot her another question. "What is your name?"
"I do not know," she answered truthfully. What went on in the minds of wolves was not something she could know. "My name is Tomahawk," she said, answering his second question. He had not immediately chased her off, and for that she was glad. It meant that he likely had some purpose for her. Oddly enough, a lot of the Dotharan wolves seemed to just like having somebody to talk to. When Tomahawk had been captured, she had thought it would be much different and much more demanding.
"May I be of service to you in some way?" she asked, never shy to request such things. Without the Dotharan, she had no direction. With them, she was told what to do and when to do it. No longer did she let thoughts of her filthy species plague her mind. Instead, she let the Dotharan think for her.
Apparently, the coyote did not know why his dear brother had defended her against the Khalakka, Zhavvi. Well, it couldn't be helped, he would ask his brother the next time he saw the aspiring blonde healer. The thing was, Raezho wasn't around so often nowadays, typical of him, he always had an adventurous spirit under all that cockiness. But Azzaro couldn't blame him. All true Dotharan wolves were adventurous, they were nomadic wolves after all.
"Tomahawk," Azzaro said, testing her name before offering the coyote a smile. "My name is Azzaro," She probably would not find any use with his name, but nevertheless, he decided that if she was going to do work for him, she could at least know his name. "Yes," the aspiring warrior said thoughtfully. "Tell me about the natives."
The natives. Tomahawk searched her memory banks, trying to remember what she could from when she had been here. The wolves that lived in the Teekon Wilds were much different from the Dotharan, that much was true. In fact, the Dotharan were the only wolves she had ever met that had a culture like they did. The natives, as he called them, were a dime a dozen, and few were very unique from one another. Still, she would do her best to describe them and their customs... or whatever it was he wished to know about them.
"There are many of them," she began, wondering if that was old news to him, "They do not follow the herds as the Dotharan do. They stick to one main place. And they speak using a different tongue." It was the language that Tomahawk had grown up speaking. The total immersion in Dotharan culture had forced her to learn their language quickly. It was her main job to make sure that Rakharo's words could be understood by the natives.
Tomahawk began with telling him than there were many natives around here, as if he didn't already know. Azzaro did not chastise her for repeating information that he, and the rest of the Khalas all knew, but listened silently and attentively to what the coyote slave had to say. He was gentle to those who served the Khalas with loyalty, for he believed that even though they were the lowest of the low, they still had courage to keep serving them with unconditional loyalty, they endured their cruel punishments without objecting and would never leave their side. Which, sadly, could not be said for the Dotharan wolves who would abandon their Khal when believed to be 'weak'.
"I've learnt it on my travels when my idiot brother was off wandering on some idiot adventure," Azzaro said in the common tongue of these lands, the language which Tomahawk was most familiar with. Pausing in his steps, the agouti Dotharan sniffed the air, found the familiar scent of rabbit and began chasing the small creature. He was used to hunting in the plains, so he caught the rabbit easily, grabbed it by it scruff and trotted back to the slave where he allowed the piece of prey to fall by Tomahawk's paws.
"Sone, Davri." Azzaro liked giving slaves nicknames, names that he would call them by, it was a way for him to show some kind of gratitude or 'affection' for serving the Khalas so loyally. "Tir wux ricin sjek si relgr wux Davri? Coita vi Dotharan ominak. Coi means bensvelk vur klael, si siofmea coi janik suit wux shar sjek wux tir ti hefoc coi, si geou ti relgr wux batobot." Azzaro said unabashedly, staring at the coyote with curious ivory eyes, it was a question, not a command. The yearling would not mind if she hated the name, he would find another soon enough.
If Azzaro could speak the common tongue, what use did Tomahawk have? She peered at him, curious. Perhaps she was less threatening. Perhaps Azzaro had better uses than being a translator. Perhaps he simply did not want to spend all of his time converting words from one language to another. She did not know, and he did not explain, so she did not ask.
He broke off suddenly, and the coyote was confused for a moment, wondering if she had somehow offended him. It did not seem so. Azzaro leapt at a rabbit, and Tomahawk watched with wonder as his muscular form moved to capture and kill the rabbit. He broke the creature in one fell swoop, and Tomahawk was staring, jaw-hinged, before she caught herself and clicked her teeth shut. The kindness he showed her was unexpected as he dropped the kill at her feet. Wasn't she supposed to be serving them, not the other way around?
When he explained the name he had given her, Tomahawk furrowed her brow and shook her head. "I am not good," she replied. Rakharo had made sure she had known that. He had commanded her to eat, and so she did, tearing limb from limb the rabbit that Azzaro had dropped at her feet.
Azzaro was a Dotharan not some simple translator. Translating was left to coyotes, that was their job. He was a warrior, a tracker, a hunter, a raider. He was much more than a translator, his skill with the common tongue was something he used when he was off exploring these lands. He could easily pretend to be another native among them and communicate with them. He had better use of his time than becoming the translator of the Khal, he was much more than that.
A grin played at the yearling's lips when his sharp ivory eyes caught Tomahawk's look when he finished the rabbit with one swift blow. She quickly caught herself though and shut her mouth, though it didn't stay shut for long as she quickly devoured the rabbit he offered her. Azzaro was not a kind wolf, in fact, he was probably anything but that. He simply thought the coyote deserved something for her loyalty to the Khalas, a rabbit was nothing. He felt as if he should be giving her more, but if he did so, Rakharo might kick him out and he wasn't about to be kicked out so quickly after he joined.
"Yes you are," he replied, "but as you don't like it, do you mind me calling you Hawk instead? It'll save me some time."
Even though he insisted that she was, Tomahawk could not shake the feeling that he was wrong. She knew better than to argue, though, so she said nothing. He spoke again, referring to her as "Hawk," a moniker she had known many times before. Tomahawk did not understand how cutting out two syllables of her name would "save time," but again, she did not question. "You may call me whatever you please," she clarified. The coyote would answer to any name that was given her, whether or not she thought it was the best fit for her. If he wished to call her "shit head," she would have taken the name with grace.