09-07-2011, 04:59 PM
Dated: August 11
#317
Dawali shook a little as his four paws carried him up the path. The Guardian who led him looked down at him every now and then from atop the equine, eyes like daggers. While perfectly obedient, Dawali was not surprised that he hd not yet been promoted to Itse, at least. He had redeemed himself in his support of Maska, had he not? But lately he had begun to doubt if Maska intended for him to ever rise from the Itawamba rank - perhaps it was just more practical to have him lurking around on four legs. Still, this was an opportunity. The councilman had called him the night before and ordered him to inspect the prisoners. If he did this right, perhaps he would be allowed the Itse rank; hands. He longed so much to have hands. And for this evening, he would be allowed them, if only temporarily.
He was led inside the hut, and the Guardiand positioned himself outside the door. The former Kalona was effectively shut in. Hesitantly at first, Dawali merely glanced at the two prisoners there before he began to shift, the process being so slow that he could barely keep focused; the anticipation was too great. When he finally stood on two legs again, all of him shook for a moment. He was weakened by months of little food, and the shift had taken much of his energy. Still, he now stepped fowards towards the prisoners. While one face was sadly familiar, another was not, but he knew her scent. He had seen her; he know who she was. "Maska sends me to tend to your ills." He mumbled it, ashamed. He knew his function, his place. If she died, she would be worthless. It was up to Dawali to prolong her suffering, even if he did not like it. The world had a sour taste to it.
#317
Dawali shook a little as his four paws carried him up the path. The Guardian who led him looked down at him every now and then from atop the equine, eyes like daggers. While perfectly obedient, Dawali was not surprised that he hd not yet been promoted to Itse, at least. He had redeemed himself in his support of Maska, had he not? But lately he had begun to doubt if Maska intended for him to ever rise from the Itawamba rank - perhaps it was just more practical to have him lurking around on four legs. Still, this was an opportunity. The councilman had called him the night before and ordered him to inspect the prisoners. If he did this right, perhaps he would be allowed the Itse rank; hands. He longed so much to have hands. And for this evening, he would be allowed them, if only temporarily.
He was led inside the hut, and the Guardiand positioned himself outside the door. The former Kalona was effectively shut in. Hesitantly at first, Dawali merely glanced at the two prisoners there before he began to shift, the process being so slow that he could barely keep focused; the anticipation was too great. When he finally stood on two legs again, all of him shook for a moment. He was weakened by months of little food, and the shift had taken much of his energy. Still, he now stepped fowards towards the prisoners. While one face was sadly familiar, another was not, but he knew her scent. He had seen her; he know who she was. "Maska sends me to tend to your ills." He mumbled it, ashamed. He knew his function, his place. If she died, she would be worthless. It was up to Dawali to prolong her suffering, even if he did not like it. The world had a sour taste to it.