Blow me away

Tomahawk's condition became more and more apparent with the passing days. Her belly was rounder, her feet more sore, and she had begun to feel the slightest movement the night before. She had not felt it since, but they were there. They were alive. Each night, she said a prayer to whatever gods would listen to her, asking for their father to be the coyote and not Lavakho. Perhaps there would be some of each, which would also be acceptable. Rakharo could punish her then, and Lavakho, for their indecency. Their children would be slaughtered, but his gifts would live. More slaves for the master.

A wolf approached, though it was not one that Tomahawk knew. She bristled, hoping that her masters were not far off. She wanted to protect her gifts to the master. They were precious to her. He did not seem as though he was coming inward, though, and so the coyote settled somewhat, golden eyes boring into his retreating form.