WC: 501
Her master spoke again, and bid her to be at her side. The Jindo-wolf hybrid rose from her place of rest, a place that was heavily marked by her own scent. She did not mark it deliberately, for that was beyond her scope of power as slave. But having slept in that place every night, her scent lingered there. Perhaps the ghost was drawn to that heavily scented place. As she rose, the sinew beneath her short, dense coat rippled with the strength she had gained from training. The Korean wolf was still lean, but since her enslavement, her weight had only improved marginally. The Jindo-wolf ate often, especially since Salvia had granted her hunting privileges, but she ate only enough to sustain the energy requirements of her body. She did not eat for pleasure or delight, but for survival. The lighter and stronger she could be, the quicker and powerful she could be, and, ultimately, the better fighter she could be. And the strength beneath that coat carried her easily from her place of rest to her master. Black claws clicked upon the wooden surface of the cabin, adding to the sounds of the carcass being worked upon by her master.
As the heart was extracted, the she-wolf lifted herself onto her hind paws, placing her front paws upon the edge of the table. The Korean fighter was without timidity, and did not think to wait for permission to place her slave paws upon the table upon which her master worked. The shattered mind did not think to consider whether the simple action would be considered rude. And upon the table, she could smell strongly the flesh and blood. Instinctually, she began to salivate, but swallowed her hunger. “TaeKyung no remember.” Vaguely she could recall from her past the images of her father, the Crow Wolf, who, unknowing to her, had caused much trouble for a woad-painted she-wolf. But for the cracks in her mind, the memories had begun to escape, and the distinct past became forgotten. The white orbs turned up to her master before the muzzle was averted to her left shoulder, indicating to the branded 無, or ‘emptiness’. “We make.” The only thing that the black female recalled was that the hauntings were connected to the moment she had found the brand in Halifax, when she had first arrived to these lands.
The black plume waved once behind her, carving a slow and sinuous path as if playing with the black, shadowy tendrils of the night. The shadow behind her did nothing, but she could feel him still. Instead she looked to the carcass, and to her master. She wondered why, after so long, that her master was suddenly interested in such things. She wondered why Salvia was interested in her at all. The fighter was accustomed to solitude and silence, and she was content with her solitude and silence. She obeyed, and Salvia commanded. Was there more required in the relationship of a slave and master?
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