Hoshor Plains a feeling that consumes

Tomahawk is on the edge of claimed land, so anybody is welcome! HP wolves are welcome to notice that she's been scarce the past few days.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Vague references to coyote bangin'.

She had kept to the outskirts of the plains ever since she had realized what was happening. A part of her yearned for their company, but she was not sure how her condition would be taken. Would she be chased off? She longed for their embrace, but it was not something she was sure they would want. The last thing she needed was to make them angry with her. Tomahawk was here to serve, not to give into her own weaknesses—no matter how much they pulled at her.

The coyote had not strayed far from the small area she had been roaming for the past few days. Hopefully, this would all be over in a matter of another ten or so days. She prayed that it would, but she was not even sure to whom she should be praying. Tomahawk had never had any gods, and she was not sure if she was permitted to seek solace in her masters' gods. The bison were glorious creatures, and much to regal for simpletons like herself.

Tomahawk's lanky legs kept her moving, for that seemed to be the only thing that would keep her from seeking out a male.

He was the ghost in the grass, the eyes between the pale blades. He had been watching them now for several days, the band of wolves and the coyote who spoke with them, was a part of them. It was a curious and insulting thing. But she had separated from them recently, and he had followed undetected, keenly aware of the reason she broke from the company of the wolves.

Experience had put him in solid command of his instincts. They were an instrument to his purposes; he was not a puppet hung from their strings. No, he was driven to follow her for much more obscure reasons, and it was not until now did he choose to reveal himself. He had been slinking, the line of his back sunk below the jagged tips of the grass, but now he stood, and stepped in front of her. His face was unreadable, but his voice was velvet.

"Are they too much for you to take?"

Not sure what's happening in the other thread, so yay for being vague.

Constantly torn between wanting to go to them and fearing their rejection, Tomahawk nearly jumped right out of her socks when a coyote suddenly appeared before her. Instantly, her hackles raised and she growled lowly in her throat, even as he questioned her. "I take nothing from them," she seethed through bared teeth. "They may take whatever they want from me." Somehow, in her twisted little head, that was more agreeable than being an outcast as she had been for so long.

"What do you want?" she spat, eyes glaring at him. Unlike the female wolf that she had encountered, this coyote was an equal opponent. If it came down to it, Tomahawk was certain that she had a decent chance at defending herself. Her current condition was forgotten for the time being, hate cursing through her veins in place of the lust she had felt for her masters.

His sudden appearance startled her, angered her. But his expression, or lack thereof, did not change as she spoke. He was even so bold as to seat himself, his forepaws together and his plush tail curled neatly about them. "Why do you assume I want something?" he questioned, silky voice unwavering. One slender ear was twisted toward her, attentive, the other fanned back, listening around him. Nothing would go unnoticed, not even the hum of a cicada.  

"Everybody wants something," she replied curtly. Even she wanted things. Flashes of her masters danced in her mind. Tomahawk licked her lips, impatient with this one. Unlike he, who fell to his rump and pretended(?) to relax, she stood still, solid, unwavering. "So what do you want?" she asked again, unwilling to take "no" for an answer. Did he take her for a fool?

She licked her lips. He licked his in a deliberate mimic as pale gold eyes held on to hers. He could answer her. He could tell her he wanted a set of rabbit ears pierced on a stick, served on the same rabbit's tail, or some other nonsensical throw away answer. But she wanted an answer, and so he offered her a question. The same question, no less. "What do you want?" She did say everybody wanted something, did she not?

She could have lied. She, too, could have given him a throwaway answer, but she knew he would see through it. Somehow, she knew. There was only one thing that Tomahawk coveted more than anything in the world. "To be wolf," she replied. "If anybody in the world can do that, I’d lay myself at their feet and do their bidding until the end of time." The Dotharan had not made her a wolf, but she had been able to live among them not as an outcast, but as a certain member in their society. She was no wolf—Tomahawk was not stupid—but she could live amongst them and follow their orders. Even with the Swiftcurrent wolves she had not felt that way. She had been more of an outsider there than she had been here.

She answered, and confirmed his suspicion. There were few excuses for a coyote to run with a species that so commonly disdained them. Even she, who lived among them, did not do so as an equal. She was a fool to think she ever could. "Why?" he pressed. "What does it mean to be a wolf?" He had his own ideas. She would not agree them, of this he was certain.

"No," she stopped him, "You answer my question. I answered yours. What do you want?" Tomahawk was fine with answering, but she wouldn't let this be a one-sided conversation. Especially when she was talking with his kind. If it had been a wolf, Tomahawk would have answered the questions with ease, expecting nothing in return. Unfortunately for him, he was nothing more than a mangy coyote.

She was persistent. Stubborn. But she was not comfortable in her own skin, with who she was was. It was a shame. For several moments he was quiet, unblinking as he stared at her. "I want you to answer me," he said. The smallest of smiles flitted on his lips. The tip of his tail twitched. "I want to know why." He paused. "That is what I want."

Perhaps, if she had been raised as a coyote, she would have seen his answer coming. As it were, she thought more like a wolf than a sly 'yote. Tomahawk narrowed her eyes at him, gritting her teeth. But he had answered her question, and now it was her turn. "I was raised as one. My mother died, wolves took me in. When I learned what I was… it was too late. No wolf would have me as I wanted him, and I was repulsed by the sight of your—our kind." That part had not changed. "Satisfied?"

"No," he replied. He was not satisfied. She disdained her own species, their species, and there were many more questions her answer raised. "But it will suffice for now," he said. Ever the thinker and instigator, his gears shifted. "Perhaps they would like you more," he hummed, "if you gave them more of what they like." It was a somber truth, that in many relationships you were only as valuable as what you could provide.

Tomahawk narrowed her eyes at him. (Or had she ever ceased to do so since he'd first spoken?) "And how would you know what they like?" she retorted. They had wanted her as a translator, and so she had translated. If they wanted to use her for other purposes, she would do as they pleased. All they needed to do was ask it of her. Of course, she knew the game that the coyote was playing, and it was not one she wished to play for much longer (if at all). "You know what? I don't even care. Go away." Toma growled lowly, tail twitching with annoyance.

He smiled again, however slight. He did not move, not even stir, though she demanded with a growl that he leave. "I've been watching," he said silkily. "I look out for my own, even those who would rather be another species," he said, his eyes focused on hers, hardly blinking. "The wolves are sure to appreciate a gift, a gift only you could give them. The gift of more coyotes to raise among them, to serve them." Slaves, though the very thought made him want to wretch. "Hybrid's would not suffice."

Devil is such a devil!

What he said next disgusted and intrigued her all at once. What if she could give Rakharo and his followers more of her kind? If they grew up in the culture, understanding everything about the way the Khal worked, perhaps they could be of some use. It was true that hybrids were looked down upon (and likely chased out) by the Dotharan. She imagined they would not obey as quickly.

But what if... what if the intended slaves turned out like the male standing in front of her? It went against everything she had ever known about herself, but what in this life didn't? "And what would I owe you?" she asked, knowing that nothing in life was free. Least of all the gift of life.

Not at all intended! ;)

"Nothing," he assured with another smile. "Like I said, I look out for my own." He stood and took a pace toward her. His tail lightly swayed behind him. "I've had my fun while I was young, I've done what I wanted to do." He paused, and canted his head. "Now I prefer to assist my brothers and sisters, in whatever capacity they require." He sat again, once more his tail curling about his forepaws. He was here to assist her after all, not force her.

We can either a) continue here b) start a new thread or c) assume things happen behind the scenes. I'm fine with any of those choices. ^__^

Not a single fiber of her being believed him. But it didn't matter. The temptation to find new ways to please her masters overwhelmed whatever cost it might come to her. The thought of him on top of her brought bile to her throat, but she knew that all slaves must suffer to serve their masters. If that meant going through this hell, Tomahawk would do it. "Then assist," she replied, swallowing hard and trying not to think too much about what would happen next. "Not here, though." It was too out in the open, and the last thing she needed was for one of the Khal's followers to come down upon with fangs bared while they were in the middle of their deed.

Tomahawk was loathe to leave Hoshor Plains, but she had a feeling the male coyote would rather die than become a slave. And he was of no use to her dead. Not until he had given her more slaves. "This way," she said, beckoning him to Phantom Hollow. It would take, at most, an hour to go there, get it done, and be back. The Dotharan would hardly notice her absence.

Might as well finish up here :) But I'd love another thread in the future! ;)

It mattered not if she believed him. His aim was not to convince her of anything. His aim was not even to breed her. Seduction was a simpler game than the one he had been playing. Without a word, he followed as she beckoned, to the nearby privacy of a secluded forest tucked in the crook of a river. Here in the shadow of trees they stopped, and he awaited her move.

I am not sure if you meant a) or c), haha. Assuming a)!

They made their way to the hollow in silence, Tomahawk leading the way. It was still possible—but hopefully less likely—that her masters would and could find her here. The two coyotes stopped, and the other made no move. "Well?" she asked, frustrated, "Let's get this over with." There would be no romance here. No whispering in one another's ears. No gentle embraces. Tomahawk stood, tail hinged to the side, and looked back at the coyote.

Wow I was pretty vague wasn't I? LOL SORRY. But you guessed correct, I did mean a) lmao.

He expected no less than what he got for her 'move', but nonetheless he had wanted her to make it. With that out of the way, and also her tail - which she so conveniently shifted to the side for him - he took his turn. He linked his forelegs about her hips and assisted her. It was a fast and purposeful affair, and when he had finished he dismounted. Her pleasure, if she took any at all, was a mere side effect.

Fin? Unless Devil follows her, of course.

She tried so very hard to imagine that it was not him. Instead, she gritted her teeth and attempted to visualize not a filthy coyote creature, but one of the Dotharan atop her. That, at least, helped a little bit, even if the thick stench of him was anything but wolf. She grunted when he finally removed himself, and then she immediately began to clean every inch of herself. The smell of him would linger, she had no doubt, and she would have to make haste to the river to wash the worst of the stink away.

Knowing that she only had so much time, Tomahawk stood, shook her coat, glanced briefly to her sperm donor, and then left. No "goodbye," no "thanks," and certainly no "see you around." Tomahawk wanted this to be the last she ever saw him.

Fin! Until next time! ;)

He sat for a moment, watched as she bathed herself with her tongue. When she glanced to him and then left, he stood and departed himself, in almost the complete opposite direction, but only because it meant he could travel with the wind blowing toward him. Despite her wants, it was unlikely it would be the last she saw of him. She was a coyote who hated her own and lived among their enemies.

He was not done with her.