Gift~WC:515
A forceful sound brought the tenebrous female from the brooding world of spirits. The fathomless white orbs flickered as if becoming truly awake, sharpened now by a cold aggression that mulled in the depths. The sound was familiar. Black, horn-like auricles swiveled, making as if to rise in a respectful greeting. But her master gestured for her to remain in bed, and the slave grew still, as if the hand of her master had cast a spell upon her. To the Korean, Salvia’s bidding was done without question. The shattered mind was grateful only for the freedom to fight, and so she had fought for Salvia. The slave, white orbs watching the bloodied feet of the hunter, gave a respectful bow of her head. The golden septum ring glinted dully for the movement. Smelling the blood, the slave grew hungry—an instinctual response the scent of food. But, trained as much as a slave as a warrior of taekwondo, the female was still. And as Salvia’s voice sounded, the sinewy woman shifted down to her natural shape. It was a thing she felt to be reasonable when in the presence of her master, for in her natural shape she was smaller and her head lower. That was not to say that the black wolf was any less dangerous.
Another dream? The wolf was still. It had not been a dream..... She believed that sincerely. For her aggression, the Korean was a superstitious creature. “No dream,” the accented alto replied, her voice quiet though not aggressive in anyway. “Korea ghost eat heart.” Her strange and simple reply was left hanging, and no explanation followed. The Korean spoke very little, and she spoke English even less. Her broken English often was very brief and, at times, difficult to understand. Salvia spoke simply with her, and the Korean understood more than she could speak. There was much, still, about Salsola that she did not understand. But the shattered mind did not care to understand. Her life’s end was to simply fight and live. And in Salola, she lived as a slave.
The Taekwondo fighter put her shadowy head upon her paws. In the night, the unperceived scars upon her body itched in a way that almost felt pleasant. Her fur would rise and fall in response to the strange pleasures of the long-past memories of fights. White orbs drifted over the lynx, and to the carcass, and to Salvia. Her master had suffered many wounds from the battle. Briefly the broken mind was able to consider whether Salvia would punish her for inadequacy. TaeKyung did not fear her master, nor the pain of punishment or death. The fighter desired only to be free to fight....The silent question seemed to hang openly in those moments as the frosty orbs traced the healing wounds of her master’s body. Perhaps the Jindo-wolf’s Korean tongue did not grasp the skill to wonder aloud those thoughts. Or perhaps it was something else.... Always stepping too close to the line between tolerable and intolerable behavior, her empty gaze fell upon her master’s green eyes.
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