Hoshor Plains don't need nobody

Rakharo had become her shadow, even after she no longer smelled thickly of pheromones. Tomahawk had much to learn of her master's culture, and she wanted to do so as gracefully as possible. Already she had caused unrest with her Khal and Lavakho, and she was even more careful of what she did now. Every time Lavakho came near her, Tomahawk avoided him. She did not know if he could help himself, and she knew that he could easily overpower her if he wished to. Perhaps the whole thing had been a ploy to put her in her place. His concern for her near the end had merely been a facade for his plotting.

She managed to keep pace with the herd, with the pack. Her stomach rumbled often, either upset or wanting for food. Her appetite had been all over the place over the past week or two, and she knew what the symptoms meant. Lavakho's children would be slaughtered, that much was certain, but she prayed each night that her gifts would be permitted to survive. They would bring more service to the Dotharan.