[m] [p] the screaming in the calle
#1
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

(308) Dated sometime after the camp sacking on 1 May. 3-4 May?



Eris is by Alaine!

She found Molcaxitl.

The slave dog had apparently spent the past weeks cowering in one of the ramshackle cottages in the new northlands of Salsola, having concealed her scent by means Eris did not know. Perhaps the dark woman had simply waited too long to seek Molca -- the spring rains were upon them, and she had been busy. When the sable Auxiliary discovered her slave, cowering in a reeking mess of a dilapidated shack, the world had seemed to explode into a fiery red rage.

Now, Eris stomped back toward the ruins, dragging the slim coydog along by her hair. Though she had learned quickly not to resist, the tawny slave had lost a few chunks of her mane, and she was screaming as the sable coyote yanked her into the center of Salsolian society, the crumbling remnants of the ruins. Unintelligble words, utter nonsense to the shadow-furred woman. The only word that made any sense of it was "baby" -- over and over, "baby" and rapid-fire Spanish the dark hybrid could not begin to understand.

Screaming her own frustration, the sable hybrid yanked the tawny hybrid around and flung her to the earth, still clutching a piece of the woman's hair. Though Eris was not very strong, Molcaxitl was a slim canine and not at all muscular -- better, she thought it just fine that she was on the ground now. The coydog curled her body around herself, knees to chest, even as Eris kicked at her savagely, claws slicing raw red into the slave's flesh.

Shut up about fucking baby! she yowled, kicking again. Shut up! Shut her up! The bellow was directed at no one and everyone, anyone within earshot. Molcaxitl babbled on, murmuring into the hands wrapped about her head, heedless of the kicking and the wordless shouting Eris was now doing.

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#2
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The deep wound in her heart had not healed.

Her skin had knit, of course, and it had formed a savage looking scar across her heart, but the deeper and more terrible ache would not leave. She had busied herself as soon as able; while not fully healed, Salvia was capable once more. The horses kept her busy. Nacht was serving her well for travel in the territory, and Tiger was still young enough to do little more than amuse her. He would grow strong, of course. He would likely be faster than her older stallion, who took after Horse in size.

She had come to the village to finish collecting her father’s things. A high yowl rose from nearby, however, and the desperation of the tone drew her from her task. On horseback she moved quickly, expecting the worst—but what she found was her mother and Molca, bloodied and screaming.

My baby, the slave yowled. It was an endless drone, overwhelmed by the blows of her mother. Salvia slid from the black horse’s back. She rushed forward and both hands shot out, palms up, to shove at her dark hued mother.Enough! She bellowed, and spread her legs over the cowering slave. Shoulders hunched and hands half-curled into fists at her side she showed her teeth. “Stop it, mother.”

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#3
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Eris is by Kiri!

The little coydog slave did not even attempt to deflect Eris's blows. It was as if they were having no effect -- while Eris was no fighter, she was kicking as hard as she could, her claws jabbing little red lines into the tawny fur of the slave. The slave's apparent indifference to these strikes was all the more fuel for Eris's rage, and her wordless scream was one of impotent fury. Her lips were drawn back, writhing against gums and pale pearly teeth. A line of saliva flew from the hybrid's mouth as she licked her nose, slinging upward to land as a wet streak on the side of her muzzle.

And then -- she was flying, shoved hard and on the ground sprawled before she quite knew what had happened. The dark hybrid leaped to her feet quickly, whirling around and spitting fire toward the blonde canine. She's mine! Her life belongs to me! I will do what I like with her, the coyote hissed. She staggered toward Salvia in blind red rage, heedless of the very real danger her tiger-daughter presented. Her clawed foot lashed out once again, but at Molca -- not her daughter.

Still, the slave yammered, the intensity of her cries having increased with the presence of Salvia, one who might protect her and understand her. A shaking hand reached up and clutched at one of the Arbiter's calves, accompanied by piteous whining Eris could not begin to comprehend.

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#4
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Nacht snorted and pranced behind her, his dark eyes rolling. The scent of blood was still unfamiliar to him and his instinct was to flee, but his stronger training was to stay close to the predator he knew as protector. A compromised was reached in his retreat from the trio, closer to the edge of the village where he could flee. The horse was of no concern to Salvia now—he would not flee Salsola, having never gone outside of it. Her attention was solely on the woman under her body and the shape coming towards her.

There was instinct in her too. Traitor hands reacted before she could stop herself, striking out and grappling with her mother’s thin wrists. She did not see if she stopped the blow to the slave. A part of her did not care. Green eyes glazed over with battle fury, but there was a pressing and terrible intelligence in them as well. “Not anymore,” Salvia hissed. She took a bold step forward, putting herself between the Auxiliary and the slave. Her stance remained solid, loose. The last time she had fought she had nearly died, and she felt no fear. She could not, now that she had looked upon her own mortality.

“Take another,” the Arbiter went on. “She’s mine now.”

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#5
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Eris is by Kiri!

Salvia's hands were on her wrists, the green fire in her eyes burning more brightly than Eris had ever seen before. The strength of Salvia's grip was all the sable-hued hybrid need experience to know she would lose this fight every time. The realization, however much of a grand reveal it might be, still did not fully dawn upon Eris, however, and the voice of reason was just a small nattering in her ear, some long-lost whisper of a conscience and self-protecting instincts.

The dark-furred Auxiliary did not, of course, realize she was the cause of all Axi's sorrow and therefore even her own anger -- and even if she had, it was doubtful she would have cared much. Molca had gotten all she deserved and more for that first transgression of possibly being prettier than Eris; this new disobedience, unprecedented as it was, must not go unpunished. She didn't want to kill the slave, after all -- her tongue and a foot, the same price Darijus had paid, was recompense enough.

No. The word was defiantly petulant. No, no, no, no, no, no, the hybrid insisted, still trying to shove her way past Salvia and toward Molca. She battered a shoulder against her daughters and found an immovable wall. When she did it again, her own momentum propelled her backwards, and she fell before Salvia, still snarling and now seeking to reach through the tawny woman's legs at Molca. She swiped and felt wet warmth on her fingers, the shudder and cry of the slave enough to tell Eris her claws hit home.

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#6
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+3


There was something breaking between them. It had been started eons ago, when the mad King of Salsola first came to the Tiger and spoke to her of the truth of the world. Her mother did not need her. In all likelihood, her mother no longer loved her. To Salvia this severance had proved only that her faith could linger with Sirius alone. He had reinforced this; she had fallen into line and grown into a monster kept in line by a fettered leash and chain. In some way, some part of her felt the need to defend the slave because of this—in some way she herself was a slave, if only to a silken bond and less savage law.

Once before, Salvia had broken a woman. The Slave of the Flame was a crowning point for her, a gift for the brother she loved more than all others. Molca was different—she was not a weapon, not a tool. She had helped to raise her. It would not do to have her crippled and rendered useless like Darijus. Salvia knew the talent of the woman and saw her as the only viable link to a childhood lost.

Her mother rushed forward but it was like water striking a stone. Salvia bristled. The dark coyote fell in a heap and clawed between her legs. Fury overtook the Tiger and she let out a snarl of indignation.

Both hands shot down and twisted into the thick mass of black hair. She yanked hard, twisting her body, forcing distance between the women. A command was barked at Molca in Spanish. Salvia brought one knee down hard onto Eris’ spine, and one hand released in anticipation for the claws that would seek her. A guttural growl rippled through her body. “She’s mine!”

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#7
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(--)



Eris is by Kiri, a gift from Sylvey!

The scent of blood, fresh and hot and streaming onto the ground from a dozen small wounds over the coydog's body, was what finally brought the dark-furred hybrid back into reality and dredged her out of red-hot anger, not the weight of Salvia over her, not the pain of her hair being yanked and twisted. Molcaxitl's cries had become less, and now she shrank back and away from the pair of canines, dragging herself along the ground with her hands rather than walk. Eris sneered toward the coydog, panting her breath out as wild chartreuse eyes stared toward Salvia. She began to comprehend the situation more fully, and horror slowly dawned -- not, of course, at the writhing slave, mangled and bleeding, but at what her daughter had done -- was doing.

Eris suddenly became aware of a terrible pain in her head and on her back, the pressure of her daughter -- larger than Eris herself, large and muscular like Larkspur -- leaning over her. She realized, quite suddenly -- and such a strange realization it was -- that she was thrashing, flailing arms and legs wildly toward her own flesh and blood, seeking to tear and rend and hurt and whatever else could be done. She stopped struggling abruptly, but a shiver ran through her all the same, and she bared her teeth toward the green-eyed monster, all of them, as many teeth as her face could show.

Get off of me, the coyote growled, thrashing against the hold in a more concerted effort. The pain of her hair soon stopped this, however, and she could only bare her teeth at Salvia some more. Let go of me!

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#8
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This was not the first time such a thing had happened. Salvia had dared to challenge Sirius—he had broken her through force of will. Her mother could not. She knew this now and knew, deep in her heart, that she had crossed a line in doing this thing. By usurping the Auxiliary she had shown her weakness. They were lucky none had come to the cries of their leader, or this shame would have been certainly met with punishment. Salvia was a force within the pack—she answered to two people alone and had the strength to hold her ground against nearly all who might oppose her.

The stillness unnerved her, but she did not trust it. This proved correct as the sable coyote sturck out again, and satisfied that her mother would not be so foolish as to attack her bodily, Salvia did release her grip. She moved with a pace neither rushed nor slow; she walked as one might walk around a snake. Her eyes never left the dark form, though her voice rose high and demanding. Orders were given and responded to. Behind her, Molca finally stilled. A sharper, doggish bark summoned the black horse from the edge of the forest.

Prancing and snorting uneasily, Nacht stilled only at Salvia’s touch. Only then did she turn from her mother and hoist Molca bodily onto the big stallion, swinging up behind her. One hand grasped the woman’s waist while the other took hold of the leather straps she used to guide the horse. No words were offered to her mother, but a singular and pointed look was cast in her direction.

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#9
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Eris is by Alaine!

The dark woman took several long steps back and away from Salvia and Molca both, glaring at them with deadly malice. She moved away more with the approach of the horse, crossing her arms over her chest, uncrossing them and sticking her hands on her hips, letting her arms drop to her sides, and repeating the whole process over again. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, halfway between charging forward and attacking again, and turning tail and fleeing. This latter was dismissed after a time, and eventually, so was the former -- the dark hybrid simply stared, lips still frozen into an ugly snarl.

Fine, she spat, when she saw Molca being lifted onto the horse. Take the stupid cunt. What use do I have for a slave that does not obey, that will not listen? Good luck with her, the coyote said, flinging a hand into the air with her frustration and disgust. May she serve you well, she said, her voice twisted with sarcasm. With that, she turned and stormed away from the rider and the slave, stomping her feet as she went.

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