Whatever doubts she'd had about being pregnant had been laid to rest. Her abdomen grew, her body began to fill with milk, and she had felt the pups twitch a few nights ago. It brought a rare smile to her face, though not for the reasons it should have. She was pleased because they would make such a good gift for the Khal. Twilight was upon them again, and Tomahawk curled her body into a little (albeit somewhat bulbous) ball. She was not yet ready to sleep the night away, but it was nice to be off of her feet.
Several days passed and Lavakho had yet to speak to his brother about his brood. The coyote showed the tell-tale signs of pregnancy now and there was no denying what nature had in store. They would be his. A mark of his mistake, but his, and while he was stalling the inevitable conversation with his brother, he held the intent to protect what was his at all costs. In the days following Lavakho's initial conformation from the coyote, he kept a close eye on her and brought scraps from the caches. She would be healthy, and in turn, so would his children.
Night had fallen and Lavakho dragged the quartered ribcage of a bison from cache across the plains as he followed to coyote's scent in secret. He spotted her laying form across the flatlands and dragged the meat to her side. "Eat," he said pushing the meat closer to her with his muzzle.
"Eat," he commanded, and Tomahawk did as she was told, ripping into the bison's flesh with reckless abandon. Any nourishment she consumed from this food would go to her gifts and—unfortunately—Lavakho's children. She did not know why he wished to keep them. They would be no use as slaves, and they would not be Dotharan. Tomahawk had lived a life between two worlds, and it had only caused her pain. She wondered if he wished this upon his own children, but she did not speak of it.
Tomahawk flashed Lavakho a glance when she had filled herself with the food, unsure of what he wished of her next. It caused a stirring in her belly that was not from the movement of children as memories of their one night together replayed in her mind.
The slave ate her fill as Lavakho watched in silence. The meat would give her strength, and in turn strengthen his offspring. They could be Dotharan, at least in Lavakho's eyes. Swaying his brother would be another story, but it was a risk Lavakho was willing to take. For the sake of his children. When she had finished, Lavakho discarded the bones to side with a push from his muzzle and wordlessly slinked to her side and dropped to the ground with a dry thud.
He nestled in close to the slave, his side brushing against hers before gently resting his head on the back of her neck to listen to her breathe. The night was as quiet as Lavakho, and the only sound to be heard through the plain was the soft breathing of the coyote below him.
She felt him brush against her. Another tingle. He rested his head upon her neck, and Tomahawk flinched. She did not know what to make of it. Rakharo had strictly forbidden her from pleasing anybody in the way she had Lavakho, but she was a weak creature. A Zafra. She went back and forth on bolting and staying, but settled on the latter. Lavakho had not told her to leave, so she did not. Instead, she allowed her muscles to relax before pressing herself closer to him. She held her breath, unsure how he would react.
The breaths came, in and out. Consistent, and then, suddenly stopped. Lavakho pulled his head away from the slave's neck and shot her a confused glance, however he did not speak. Instead he placed his head back on her neck and waited for the breathing to resume. It wasn't like she could hold out forever. Bodily functions tended to be important.
He scooted in closer beside her and looked up toward the sky. "Look up," he whispered, motioning to the sky with his muzzle. The stars shined bright over the plains and Lavakho was struck with the beauty of the night and it's ethereal quality. He had yet to dig himself a den like the others. Instead, he preferred to sleep under the open sky and hoped to share that with the slave and his unborn. "It's beautiful."
She let out her held breath, in some way glad that he had not withdrawn from her. Tomahawk did as she was told, though she found no beauty in the night sky above. The first stars of the evening had appeared some time ago, and now the blanket above them was littered with pin pricks of light. The coyote looked at them, but only saw what was there: stars and darkness.
Eventually, she let her eyes come back down, surprised to find that they rested on Lavakho's cheek and ear. Her face felt warm, and she quickly looked away. She was not meant to gaze upon her masters. They were her superiors, and to do so was disrespectful.
The two gazed at the stars together in silence while Lavakho grinned skyward like an idiot. However, despite how captivated Lavakho was with the night sky, the slave didn't seem to give a rat's ass. She humored him, but that was it. There was no awe or wonder flickering in her eyes. Perhaps she didn't see it in the proper context.
Her gaze slipped from the stars and to Lavakho's face. He, in turn, shifted his vision from the sky to turn back to coyote as he flashed her a warm and amiable smile. But she quickly turned away and Lavakho went back to stargazing. He broke the silence with a sigh. "When I was young back in Rhaesh Dahaan, I used to watch these same stars with Vitihi," he began, almost whispering as he fondly reminisced in his youth. "She knew so much more about them than I did... still does. Once, she told me that all of them have names— she tried teaching me some, but I don't remember a thing. Still beautiful though. I suppose all beautiful things should have names.
Lavakho dipped his face away from the sky and turned back to the coyote hoping to catch her eyes with his. "You wouldn't mind if I gave you a name, right?" he asked. "A Dotharan name."
He spoke of Vitihi, Rakharo's chosen, and Tomahawk listened calmly, though she burned with a strange envy. Vitihi had what Tomahawk could never dream of. A strong, suitable mate for herself. Rule over the Dotharan. So intense was the emotion, that she missed the second half (or really, the last ninety percent) of what Lavakho said. He asked if he could give her a name, and she remembered
the one Azzaro had given her.
"Azzaro called me by Davri, but it was not fitting," she replied, completely missing the allusion to her being a "beautiful" thing.
To the coyote, she had called herself
Zafra, but that was a false name, one given to placate him.
"You may call me what you wish," she added, wanting to make it clear that she was not rejecting his notion. It was his right to call her what he pleased, and do with her as he pleased.
Davri? No, it didn't fit. Sure, to Lavakho she was both good and useful, but the name itself hearkened back to her lowly status. A Zafra... and that would not do. Lavakho wished to give her more. He shook his head lightly in disapproval of Azzaro's chosen moniker before stating simply, "I don't like it." However apathetic the slave seemed to the whole thing, Lavakho saw a name as something to be proud of. Something that carried meaning. "You're more than just useful," he whispered after a ponderous pause.
Lavakho pulled away and rose to his feet to look upon the slave's prone form in the hopes a more fitting name would come to mind. But after a moment, the metaphorical lighbulb shined bright and an idea struck Lavakho like a well placed slap. "Layaffi," he named confidently with a warm grin. "It means to be happy... but, you already know that. I'm happy when I'm with you, so the name fits."
Tomahawk had not thought the name fitting, but only because she did not believe herself to be "good" as Azzaro did. Tomahawk was useful, she thought, but Rakharo had made it known that she was not good. Lavakho insisted that she was more than useful, to which she tilted her head. He rose, and Tomahawk's breath caught in her throat for a moment, expecting him to leave. Instead, he bestowed on her another name. Layaffi. It was fitting, not only for the reason Lavakho had given, but because Tomahawk was happy here, when she had not been in any other place. Hoshor Plains felt more like home than anywhere else in the world.
"What makes you happiest about my presence?" she asked, unmoving from her spot on the ground. Like any question that she asked, Tomahawk was hoping to discern how she could please her master.
The name stuck and the coyote did not protest, instead she only asked a question. But the question was not one Lavakho knew how to answer. What exactly made him happy in the slave's presence was unknown. Perhaps it was because she listened to the few words he had to say, or maybe it was just because she was another warm body to hold. Either way, it didn't matter as long as she stayed. He remained silent but the smile remained; he made his way back to her side, plopped down, and lazily draped his head across her stomach and his brood.
"I don't know," he mused after some thought. "What makes the stars shine?" It was all the same. The way he felt toward Layaffi was far out of his control, just like the stars that pricked the black above. They shined for no reason, and in the same way, Lavakho loved.
She did not understand his question, nor did she attempt to. Tomahawk was not an entirely stupid creature, and she caught on that he had no particular reason to be happy in her presence. Or he simply did not comprehend the reason. Whatever the case was, Tomahawk felt no need to inquire further. He draped his head across her abdomen, and she spoke again. "They will be here before the moon completes another cycle." It would be less than a month before her gifts were ready for the Khal. She still believed that Rakharo intended to kill the hybrids (and actually, all of them, as far as he knew). "Does the Khal still wish to end the life of your children?" she asked. It was of little concern to her, but it seemed to be important to Lavakho, who had invested time and energy into keeping her well-fed.