Hoshor Plains far horizons

Lately, he had stayed out of the usual pack affairs, preferring simply to keep to himself. There had been some sort of trouble brewing with another pack and one of members of the Plains, along with tensions within the Khalas itself. Rhanno did not care for such matters. He was not a political man, and usually sorted problems out with violence and force. It wouldn't surprise him if such troubles were worked out the same way by Rakharo — and so he would leave him to it.

It felt strangely freeing, having the pressure of being Khal lifted from his shoulders. Not that he wouldn't disregard the position should the opportunity to obtain it ever arise again but, for now, the elder was happy to revel in his rather relaxing position way at the bottom of the pack's hierarchy. A Silak, for all intents and purposes.

Early morning mist settled around the plains of their home, the long, frosted blades of grass highlighted by the sun as it began to peak over the mountains that guarded the lands. The herd of bison were beginning to stir, and Rhanno watched them idly as he lay upon the hill overlooking the field, gaze half-lidded and relaxed, wondering if he would have the pleasure of relaxing right here for the rest of the day.

The coyote wanted to redeem herself in some manner. One plan had been in the works since before Rakharo had known what had happened. The other plan was to seek out each of her masters and ask them how she could help. And so, this is what she did now. If Rhanno wished to chase her off, that was his prerogative. But if he had other ideas, perhaps she could make herself useful. Because he was lying down, Tomahawk kept herself as close to the ground as possible, crawling the last few feet and licking his chin in a submissive gesture.

"May I make myself useful to you?" She knew now that pleasing him the way she had Lavakho was wrong, but surely there were other duties she could attend to that would not cause upset for the Khal.

The approach of the coyote slave was barely registered by Rhanno, not until he heard soft footfalls and a meek question. His lip lifted and he uttered a barely audible growl as she licked the underside of his chin, though he nonetheless accepted the display. Coyotes — slaves, no less — were below them, and they were to show the proper respect to even the lowest ranking wolf. Rhanno was glad this girl already knew that.

"Do you belong to Rakharo, girl?" he asked, turning to idly regard the slave. Her legs were sticks, her body small and fur short and coarse. Ugh, coyotes were pathetic. Of course, he knew the Khal that led the pack essentially owned and commanded all the slaves, though he was curious if she had been assigned to Rakharo as a personal slave, back when he lived within Rhaesh Dahaan. Perhaps he could glean some useful information from her.

He did not answer her question right away, but Tomahawk did not fret. If he wanted to ask her questions all day (or do anything, really), she would gladly obey and cooperate. "I do," she replied plainly. In a sense, she belonged to the whole of the pack. Whoever had need of her could tell her to do what she wished. If it was meant to be otherwise, nobody had made it known to her. There was still much to be learned of their culture, and Tomahawk was bound and determined to get all the traditions memorized. Already, she had learned so much.

She remained on the ground, lower than Rhanno and certainly looking more meager.