+400!Volunteering to help with the mundane work was one of the few ways Liliya could ensure that she could see her mother on a regular basis, so here she was now helping her mother shuck some sort of vegetable from its natural casing. The work was mediocre and without much prestige, but Liliya didn’t care. She just sat cross-legged on the ground next to her mother, her eyes occasionally flicking from her work to the coyote woman, who sat there with a smile, humming tunelessly while she worked. She seemed so happy, it was strange… like she didn’t know she was a slave. Liliya’s grey eyes flicked to the golden ring in her mother’s nose, one of the most stand-out flags that told everyone who came to Salsoa I AM A SLAVE. Even though they had been clear to Verusha, even though they had forced the ring through her septum, Liliya wasn’t sure the woman actually understood her place in the pack.
“Pass me another, this bushel is finished,” she spoke to her mother in Russian. She would abandon English any moment she got, so she always talked with her mother longer than many others. Her mother did so, and Liliya continued tending the food.
Capturing Verusha had been easy for Eris, Liliya knew now. At one time she might have thought that the dark Auxiliary had dragged the Russian matriarch kicking and screaming, but now as she looked at the old woman she realized she wasn’t all quite there anymore. Well, she knew that for some time. Was it better to be mad and not know that you were a slave? Verusha thought she was a servant at most, and was happy to obey the pack that had so kindly taken her and Liliya in. Liliya feared the day that Verusha would kindly refuse a task, thinking she could like any maid… the chestnut woman shuddered at the thought. She had to do something for her mother before that day came.
Something caught her attention, breaking her of her reverie. She stopped her work and looked up in time to see an ashy brown… was that a woman or a man? A boy, maybe? … pass nearby. He drew her curiosity so she watched when a slave approached him. He seemed kind enough… until his foot landed on a sleeping slave’s throat.
“Wait here, mother,” she demanded in Russian as she stood up and jogged toward Bastion.
“Hey,” she called, switching to English and trying to keep her outrage out of her voice. She’d never met Bastion, and if experience told her anything, just about everyone in Salsoa outranked her. “Vhat are you doink to him? I have been here all afternoon, this slave was sleepink. I did not see him doing anything wrong.”
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