Hoshor Plains don't need nobody

Rakharo had become her shadow, even after she no longer smelled thickly of pheromones. Tomahawk had much to learn of her master's culture, and she wanted to do so as gracefully as possible. Already she had caused unrest with her Khal and Lavakho, and she was even more careful of what she did now. Every time Lavakho came near her, Tomahawk avoided him. She did not know if he could help himself, and she knew that he could easily overpower her if he wished to. Perhaps the whole thing had been a ploy to put her in her place. His concern for her near the end had merely been a facade for his plotting.

She managed to keep pace with the herd, with the pack. Her stomach rumbled often, either upset or wanting for food. Her appetite had been all over the place over the past week or two, and she knew what the symptoms meant. Lavakho's children would be slaughtered, that much was certain, but she prayed each night that her gifts would be permitted to survive. They would bring more service to the Dotharan.

Because I'm impatient :P. It's late and crap post is crap, but I wanted to get this on the thread-log!

She slipped away before the sunrise and Lavakho hadn't seen her since. The coyote made herself elusive and Rakharo watched her like a hawk. It was impossible to get a word in edgewise, but still, Lavakho followed her. Her heat had passed and along with it, so had Lavakho's feelings of lust. He followed her not for pleasure, but to talk. To talk about what had happened. He had sullied his bloodline and brought shame to his family. However, curiously enough, he felt no remorse for his actions with the coyote. She was simply there, and so was he.

Several times he tried to approach the coyote, and several times she evaded his grip. He zigged and she would zag. Their game of cat and mouse was wearing thin. He stayed downwind as she traveled along with the herd and watched for a good long while before he made his approach from behind, hopefully catching her before she could run. He crept as silently as a wolf of his stature could until he was behind her. "Please," he whispered. "Can we talk?" Hopefully, this time, she wouldn't run.

His voice trickled into her ears, and she splayed them backward. Lavakho had finally managed to catch her. "The Khal will not like this," she thought, matter-of-factly, glancing around to see if he was near. Rakharo was never very far away, and he would be displeased if they were near one another. That said, her heat was over and done with, and the Khal had only said she should stay away from the males while it persisted. Tomahawk could not imagine he wanted them to continue seeing one another in any capacity, though both Lavakho and Tomahawk ran with the same pack, so contact was inevitable.

She made no move to avoid him, and instead took her usual submissive stance and licked his chin. Tomahawk held no affection for the Dotharan wolf, not in the way that she might a true lover. He was her superior, her master, and their tryst had only occurred because they had met in the right place at the right time.

The slave turned and assumed a submissive position, opting to stay instead of fleeing from his company like before.  Her choice to stay had come as a surprise to Lavakho, who had half-expected her to take off as soon as her eyes locked with his.  Finally, the two could speak alone.  Lavakho opened his mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut.  Delicate situations we're certainly not his forte, and finding the words to express his concern for the coyote had proven harder than initially thought.  Expression, why so hard?

"Why do you run from me?"  He managed to ask after a pregnant pause.  The warmth and concern in his voice was genuine, albeit awkward sounding, since he wasn't really the most expressive sort.  "Did I hurt you in some way?"  Her actions must have been warranted in some way, and Lavakho was bound and determined to get to the bottom it.  

He did not know. Had Rakharo not told him? This confused Tomahawk. She had been told to stay away from not only Lavakho, but all the males, until she was no longer a temptation to them. The Khal was not pleased that she had followed Lavakho's commands before, and she feared that he would not be pleased if she followed them now. "The Khal commanded it," she replied, yellow eyes downcast and away from him. "You did not hurt me." Even if he had, it was not Tomahawk's place to tell him how to treat her. That was the Khal's business.

Sorry for the wait. I was trying to see how the thread with Rakharo would go before I continued so things would make sense.

Lavakho sighed in relief when she said that he had not hurt her. While Rakharo had told him he was disappointed in his actions, he did not privy Lavakho to the fact that the slave was to avoid him. All he made clear was that the bloodline would remain pure before changing the subject and giving him, of all things, a promotion. Judging that it wasn't wise to push the subject of the slave at the time Lavakho left it at that.

"He didn't tell me," he responded, secretly happy that it hadn't been her choice to avoid him. "But he did tell me; if I have any bastards with you, they'll die." His gaze shifted down to the dirt in shame. "Please tell me you aren't pregnant," he added desperately. Although he had never been the fatherly type, loosing his own blood would come with a heavy cost. One that Lavakho didn't know if he could truly bear.

I figured as much. ;)

Why Rakharo had told her, and not Lavakho, was something she did not understand. It was as if the Khal wanted to test the both of them. Perhaps it was only a test for her, and she hoped that she had passed. When he forbid her from telling him she was pregnant, she remained tight-lipped. Tomahawk, while young, was not stupid. She had seen her own "mother" go through these same trials with her younger "siblings." The slave girl simply sat, silent.

She did not intend to tell anybody of her brief tryst with the coyote. That, of course, was a surprise for her Khal. A gift, and one she hoped would be well-received. If not, he would likely cut her down, slash her throat, and be done with her forever.

The slave remained silent and that caused Lavakho's stomach to twist in awkward discomfort.  No answer was almost as good as any in this situation. If she hadn't been pregnant, she would have more than likely said something.  However, Lavakho wasn't keen on the ambiguous and wanted to be absolutely sure. "If you don't tell me, there's nothing I can do," he said, frustration becoming more apparent.  Now wasn't the time for her little games; not when Lavakho's possible offspring was on the line.

Hybrid or not, he wouldn't let that happen.  Although his brother seemed steadfast in his position on the matter, Lavakho would pester him until the end of time (like all good little brothers do), until he got what he wanted.  He could show him how much like Drojharko he had become, and though the slave was no Zhalia, there was still a clear parallel.  

"If I do tell you," Tomahawk replied without emotion, "there is still nothing you can do." Rakharo was the Khal. He was their leader, not to mention her master, and he could and would do with her as he pleased. Tomahawk would do anything to please her masters, no matter what it was that they asked of her. She was content to be a pawn in their game and do their bidding until the end of her days.

"He will kill your children," she said, making that part clear. He will not, however, kill his gifts. At least, she did not think he would. Tomahawk could hunt for his gifts, raise them to be obedient to their masters, and Rakharo would be pleased. It was meant to be a surprise, though, which was why potentially carrying Lavakho's children in tandem was so convenient. Nobody except the coyote knew of her doings outside of Hoshor Plains.

Little power-play and such! Tell me if you want me to change it!

The lack of emotion in the slave's delivery disturbed Lavakho. Did she not care for her unborn? They would be just as much hers as his.  Hybrids or not, the lack of fight for her brood came as a shock to Lavakho who responded in anger... but most notably, confusion. Teeth reached out for the scruff of her neck to force her to the ground. "Don't you dare speak for my brother," he spat, voice dripping with venom. Now was not the time for the coyote's games.

"You don't know him like I do," he growled.   Although Rakharo could be radical, Lavakho still felt there was hope for his brood.  Rakharo was fair, and there was no doubt he would listen.  If anyone could sway the Khal's stance on the subject, it was Lavakho. 

I'm good with it! :)

She crumpled under his weight, making no move to struggle against him. Tomahawk knew as well as he that she could do nothing to fight back. "I do not speak for him," she replied, confusion in her voice, "He is the one who tells me this." It was Rakharo who had promised to kill their children. She had not thought he would do such a thing. Tomahawk had not even known that her tryst with Lavakho was wrong. She was still naive in the ways of the Dotharan, and she often felt that she was told one thing by Lavakho and another by Rakharo. Which was correct, she did not know.

Tomahawk remained on the ground, limp and unmoving, save for the rise and fall of her chest.

I think I'm gonna fade it out here! You can post again if you want and then I'll archive. We totally need a new thread!

She crumpled into the dirt like a discarded newspaper, and with that the games ended.  It seemed his brother had told her the exact same thing.  He wasn't just punishing Lavakho for his transgressions. No, it was real. However, even if the news was disheartening, hope still remained.  "I won't let it happen," he rumbled, drawing close to her ear. "I'll go talk to him." He pulled away and turned toward the great grass sea to search for his brother.

He turned his head back to the slave.  "I'll bring you food," said Lavakho with concern.  "Stay healthy."  He nodded curtly in her direction and walked away into the heart of the plains.

She did not think Rakharo's decision could be swayed, but she said nothing on the matter. Tomahawk did not understand his concern. With the way Rakharo had spoken, it seemed that mixed-blood children were not only frowned upon, but outright unheard of. Had Tomahawk known this, she would not have allowed Lavakho to take her the way he had. But what was done was done, and she remained in the dirt until Lavakho had disappeared from her sight. Then, she rose, shook her coat free of the dust and debris, and vanished from that point. She did not deserve whatever food he brought her, and she planned to continue avoiding him if possible.