Hoshor Plains crimson blood

Tomahawk began with telling him than there were many natives around here, as if he didn't already know. Azzaro did not chastise her for repeating information that he, and the rest of the Khalas all knew, but listened silently and attentively to what the coyote slave had to say. He was gentle to those who served the Khalas with loyalty, for he believed that even though they were the lowest of the low, they still had courage to keep serving them with unconditional loyalty, they endured their cruel punishments without objecting and would never leave their side. Which, sadly, could not be said for the Dotharan wolves who would abandon their Khal when believed to be 'weak'.

"I've learnt it on my travels when my idiot brother was off wandering on some idiot adventure," Azzaro said in the common tongue of these lands, the language which Tomahawk was most familiar with. Pausing in his steps, the agouti Dotharan sniffed the air, found the familiar scent of rabbit and began chasing the small creature. He was used to hunting in the plains, so he caught the rabbit easily, grabbed it by it scruff and trotted back to the slave where he allowed the piece of prey to fall by Tomahawk's paws.

"Sone, Davri." Azzaro liked giving slaves nicknames, names that he would call them by, it was a way for him to show some kind of gratitude or 'affection' for serving the Khalas so loyally. "Tir wux ricin sjek si relgr wux Davri? Coita vi Dotharan ominak. Coi means bensvelk vur klael, si siofmea coi janik suit wux shar sjek wux tir ti hefoc coi, si geou ti relgr wux batobot." Azzaro said unabashedly, staring at the coyote with curious ivory eyes, it was a question, not a command. The yearling would not mind if she hated the name, he would find another soon enough.