Swiftcurrent Creek nightshade

for a long moment did muskrat study akavir. he was unreadable in the way of most men, or was it simply that after many seasons of war, she saw both herself and men as much the same? he was not unreadable, no; he was studious and missed nothing, though his lack of pomp might be misread by another as weakness.

"to be slave is end of life." she watched him for a shadowed moment. "a swamp panther who is taken does not come back." a muscle leapt in her jaw. "you die fighting or you live as slave." the yellow eyes found for akavir, held him. "but you did not make me slave. so already i have repaid. all meat i swallowed i have hunted back. i wait only until," and jere muskrat gestured to her leg.

akavir had taken a future from the warrior, ironically enough; she had been prepared to fight him for the dignity of mind and body, but he did not crave to take this from her. she felt unmoored, tolerated, but without even a slave's purpose. muskrat loathed the feeling.