Iktome Plains white rabbit

They moved slowly, albeit consistently — and still Kitsch did not question her doyen. The woman ushered her to some unknown deliverance, and the girl trusted in the fact that West wouldn’t steer her towards trouble. So far, the shewolf had upheld her word and assured her . It was nice. Kitsch had to trust West, to put her faith in something and understand that everything would be okay despite the instability of their travels and companions….

…mostly because she was becoming increasingly worried that West would come to the realization that Kitsch was more of a burden then she was valuable. He had made sure she internalized her worthlessness and understood it deeply. These gnawing insecurities led her to do things the girl normally wouldn’t — namely proffer no complaints and keep up a pace unnatural for her haggard form. Kitsch even attempted to hunt, but her spoiled were limited to mice and dauntless squirrels. Often times, but Kitsch would pull away to sate her hunger on berries, tender leaves and other springtime in order to feign her bellyfull. It was the wastrel’s wish that everything West caught go to hunter herself, and Kitsch would take no more than necessary to keep her watchet eyes bright and energy up. Was it strange for the princess to give another such reverence and forsake her desire to take, take, take everything that was given to her? Of course, but the girl was concerned only with her own survival — and that solely lay in West’s seemingly hands.

And now West wanted to stop, so she would stop.

”It’s so open…” she commented softly, letting her aria taper off and drift away as inkstand brows knitted together. Her head swung from side to side, taking in the flatness and exposedness of the area. Plains were not safe. He had found her in a field. In fact, this place reminded her of that place, as hazy as the memories were. Then, faint footsteps in the distance. Suddenly, her heart seized and she looked at West beseechingly. Don’t let him touch me.