She had captured his attention. For what reason he had yet to figure. From afar he would watch, but the plains did not offer much for vantage points, and the wolves followed the bison, and she followed the wolves. The combination did not make for easy stalking, and he abandoned the tactic. He sought a place where he had encountered her before.

Here, he caught a mouse. The soft squeaks that lead him to it became shrill squeals as his teeth closed on it. He hesitated not to swallow it whole. A second mouse met the same fate, and then the edge had been taken off his hunger. He leaped upon a decently tall rock, flat and smooth across its top. Laid out like a sphinx, he waited.

Perhaps she would walk this way.

Tomahawk never strayed too terribly far from Hoshor Plains. She was, after all, supposed to be within calling distance at all times. Unless Rakharo specifically asked her to run off and check something out, she remained never more than a few miles away from the plain's border. Presently, Tomahawk was seeking water. Her throat was dry, her eyes felt as if they had sand in them, and she wanted nothing more than to dunk her whole body into the water. Or, at the very least, get her feet wet.

Off to the gorge she went, sun high in the sky, until she came to the edge of the water. Tomahawk wasted no time wading into the water once she arrived. She failed to notice the coyote laid out sphinx-like on the rock above her.

He was silent. His eyes narrowed upon his target. She seemed not to notice him. He watched as she padded near, stepping into the water beneath the rock where he laid. He waited, expecting that at any moment she would realize he was there. But she was oblivious to his presence and he rolled his eyes. If the roles were reversed, he would have spotted her long ago if he had not smelled her first. His ears twisted as he pondered his move. His muscles twitched, he almost sprang at her, but then his paw flicked a small twig that had fallen on the rock, sending it on its way to smack her in the rump.

The cool, clear water felt so damn good. The coyote let out a sigh of relief, and then she began to drink, the water soothing her throat almost immediately. (I actually had to get up and get some ice water because this thread was making me thirsty!) Her contentment was cut short by a startling ping on her bum, to which she whirled around and snapped at the empty air, water spraying in every direction. It took her longer than it should have to spot the offender, who sat on a rock above.

He had followed her, and she did what she always did when he found her: Tomahawk bared her teeth.

There they were. Her teeth. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he quirked a brow at her. As usual, he was completely unconcerned by her display of aggression. "You have such a beautiful smile," he commented dryly with a flick of his ear. He sat up and peered at her, his eyes roaming her ribs and flanks. It was too early for her to show but he had to look. Curiosity was not just for the cats. "Any little slaves in there for your master?" He nose wrinkled in the slightest, as though the words themselves tasted foul.

She made no comment to his first opinion. To his second, she tilted her head, her teeth receding behind her lips once more. "Wouldn’t you like to know," she replied. Of course, her masters had picked up on it. She'd been more lethargic than usual, and her stomach had been all kinds of wonky. She was nauseous more than not, and she knew the signs only pointed one way. The thing was, she couldn't be sure if they were the coyote's children or Lavakho's. There was no way to pinpoint the father, considering they'd both taken her in the same week. Only when they were born would Tomahawk know if she'd have any gifts for Rakaharo. Or any children than would be slaughtered.

He regarded with her stony eyes for a moment. "I'll find out, eventually." he said. She did not have to tell him. Her body would do that for him. He did not know, however, that she had laid with one of the wolves though he would not be surprised to hear she had. That too, he could find out. Hybrids were not hard to discern. They looked different. They smelled different. They were fit to be killed and nothing more. The thought of them made his stomach burn. "So, how've you been?" She wouldn't answer, hence his tone was quite insincere. But she could answer him, and that would be dandy.

Tomahawk didn't change her stance, nor did she reply to his comment about when he would find out. And actually, she had no plans on responding to his question about how she was. Like he gave a flying rat's ass. Instead, Tomahawk rolled her eyes at him (so far she was worried they might not fall back into place). She resumed lapping up the water, and eventually let herself sink into it completely, laying her belly into the cool liquid to cool off. These hot summer days were the worst in the heat of the afternoon.

"This is the most riveting conversation I've had in ages," he commented as he stretched out his forelegs and arched his back into a long stretch. His attention span was limited, and boredom was fast overtaking him. But he was not about to give her what she wanted, which was his absence. Without the least bit of foretelling, he sprang from his rock, landing in the water beside her. He was so quick to follow up with a nip to her muzzle that the splash of water had not even settled when his teeth so lightly clipped her, and he was even quicker to leap backward out of reach of any knee-jerk retaliation. If she wanted to get him back, she'd have to take a couple paces first.

Tomahawk ignored him, fanning an ear back (and away from him) instead. Looking away, she didn't notice him jump, but she sure as hell noticed the splash and the wave of water that crashed into her. Not a second later, there was a nip on her muzzle, and she snapped (unsuccessfully) back at him. The sly little devil (no, she didn't know that was his name) jumped back, and all she caught was the air (and a bit of water). "Just—" she cut off, unable to come up with anything of real use, "Just fuck off!" Yeah, Tomahawk, real good comeback.

She snapped at him, but missed because he had foreseen such a move on her part and had taken action to be out of the way of it. He was poised to move out of reach of her teeth again but she did not come toward him, instead she barked at him to fuck off. Well, at least he had gotten a reaction out of her. Things were growing a bit stale sitting on that rock watching her drink. "Make you a deal," he offered. "I'll leave if you tell me your name." Names didn't mean shit, but he knew she would not want to give it to him and that made it interesting.

Tomahawk growled lowly at his demand, if it could even be called that. "And if I don’t?" she asked. The slave wanted to know what his bargaining chip was. If there was a carrot at the end of the stick, where were the spurs? What was he going to do to her (or not do to her) if she refused to tell her name? He couldn't stay here forever, and she could easily go back to Hoshor Plains. If she went back there, and he followed, he would be caught. Rakharo and her other masters would enslave him.

She was a defiant creature. He rolled his shoulders, and at length was quiet. There was little he could do, for he knew as well as she that she need only return to her fool place with the wolves and he would be kept at bay. Not that he would end up a slave. Such a thing would never be tolerated. They'd have to kill him or be content with his impending escape. "You are no fun at all," came his reply, followed by a slight shake of his head and the sound of tch tch tch.

"Zafra," she replied after a moment. It was not her real name, not the one she'd been given by her wolf mother, but it was a name casually given to her by the Dotharan. And wasn't it fitting? Perhaps he had lingered around her long enough to know what the word meant, but perhaps not. "Now kindly fuck off so I can get back to enjoying my afternoon," she huffed. That had been the deal, hadn't it? She'd given him a name, and now he would leave her in peace. Though now that she'd run into him a third time, she did not think it would be the last.

What do you know, a name. Might be her real name, might not be. It didn't matter. She was once again oh so polite as she bid him to leave, but... while he had made her a deal, he did not specify when he would be leaving. She assumed right away, of course, which he knew she would. So, he could stay, or he could leave and come right back, and technically he would still have upheld his deal (not that it mattered to him). Fortunately for her, he was growing bored and hungry. His earlier mice had been not but a tease. Without a word he left.

But he would be back.