WC: 557
The dark female had been given some freedom. She understood well what was expected from her. She was a slave. She did as Salvia bid her, and that was all. But she was only a slave, and not a true member of the pack. The Korean was to uphold a submissive posture. She was to avert her eyes, and to make no eye contact. The fighter could only accept this to a certain extent. She was a wolf, and she, too, had her experiences and emotions. She could not simply let them fall from her shoulders and become something else. The golden ring at her septum denoted that she had become a slave. But her soul was not a slave’s soul—she was a warrior.
Much of her strength had returned, and the broken rib from her final fight as a free wolf had slowly begun to heal. It was perceived only as a soreness in her side, and she felt it with each step she took. Her position as a slave was still new, and everything still reminded her of it. She took her enslavement as a sign of weakness, and it devoured her soul, leaving behind a volatile wound. He laughed in the darkness, his mirthless, mocking, laughter. When she was alone, before sleep took her, He would arise from the shadows. Dark tendrils would find their way into her soft, dense fur, burrowing their way through her skin and muscle. The shadow would find her bones and marrow, chilling her blood with a dark certainty. His breath seemed to cool her neck, and the young wolf felt something strange stirring within her, like a dormant she-demon. Somehow, she had known that this darkness ran in her blood. How His shade had reclaimed her, she did not know. It was both frightening and exciting. And it was His company that reminded her what she was—not an enslaved creature of a creature of Emptiness and War.
Four legs carried her through the fields. She was near the other slaves—she could still hear them. The black wolf required supervision still, and the other, more subservient slaves kept an eye on her. The white orbs turned back, picking out their forms with a dangerous hunger. They were only slaves, after all. Could she not use on herself? But no, she had no privileges here. She was at Salvia’s mercy.
The tenebrous she-wolf lowered her maw to the earth, finding a decent place. Finding marginal satisfaction, the warrior-slave leaned her rump in the air, stretching her torso before lowering it to the earth. Practically hidden by the grasses, the Korean felt she had a small amount of privacy. Rolling onto her back, the wolf relieved herself of itches, using the stiff, dead plants to claw through her thickening pelt. White orbs found the twilight sky, and she shifted from the wolf shape to a shape that was less natural. But that less natural shape allowed her to practice that art that so impassioned her. Within a few minutes, the transformation was complete, and the young wolf’s lean, well muscled form was emphasized in the contrasting light. The lunar orbs watched the clear, unchanging heavens. Perhaps she would gain permission from Salvia to train once again. That hope was the only thing keeping the volatile female in submission.
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