Hoshor Plains [birth] these gifts i bring

As his tight grip pinned the coyote to the ground, Tomahawk claimed that the smaller pups were his, and his own shriek confirmed the statement. Rakharo's eyes narrowed even more with this, and he let go off the mutt to speak a claim of his own.

"They are mine! She is mine!" he growled in a coarse accent, standing right above Devil in a menacing pose and dripping saliva all over him. Tomahawk was a slave, and she should not have gotten pregnant in first place, but the result of it also belonged to Rakharo. He was the owner of this litter whether or not he had sired them.

The male had offered himself as a slave, which wasn't common. And according to both of the coyotes the smaller pups were the result of them and not Lavakho's slip-up. Rakharo didn't even know whether this was possible, but it sure was something beneficial. He would not have to get rid of the whole litter, only those with mixed blood, and both Lavakho and Tomahawk would be relieved from shame. And maybe even taking this coyote too, would be an advantage. He could care for Tomahawk. He could feed her and aid her during the tough first months of motherhood. And if the results were good, he would have three slaves born inside the culture which would enrich the Khalas' future in the Teekon Wilds.

Maybe.

Rakharo was undecisive, but if this male had offered himself as a servant he would have to prove that he wasn't a threat to the Khalas, at least. The golden Khal peed on the coyote, marking his territory and expressing his dominance. This was not a punishment. It was a welcome.

When he was done, Rakharo walked away from the coyote and took one of the whimpering larger cubs in his jaws. It was a pity, having to get rid of such a strong one. He could feel it. But it was worse that his blood was mixed with that of such a weak and pathetic creature as a coyote.

Rakharo walked away with the cub. He walked for several minutes until he found himself in the middle of the wasteland that was now Hoshor Plains. A black patch. And there he dropped the cub, which cried for its mother. Rakharo's heart broke a little. This was Lavakho's blood. But it was also Slave blood. No wolf of his own lineage would live to be a servant.