Word Count → 352 :: I hit my head against a door and now my vision is all funny. I BLAME THE DOOR IF I MAKE A GLARING ERROR
Working with a slave was not an experience she was used to. Her mother's slave had done things for her, sure, but she'd never had to do things with a slave - well. There was the time she had dragged the Boss's slave into planting Thistle with her, but even that was an attempt to make her uncomfortable by forcing her to touch the thorny stems. Cooperation was different. Ataxia did not like working on the slave level as a slave, much less taking orders from one - which she would have to do since she didn't know how to make a travois.
Thus, when the sticks had been gathered, she left the job to Gjalda to actually build the frame and helped only when it seemed something was beyond his strength. She could use the excuse of having to watch the injured man as an explanation, but slaves didn't need an excuse for inaction like Family did. It was their place to serve.
She was relieved when Draugr returned, though her eyes still remained on the wounded hybrid. While the pair attached the pelt to the frame, she stood over him and murmured reassurances to him in case he should wake up; talk of how a healer would be there soon, how he'd be safe inside packlands - it was easier when she thought of him as like a skittish horse, rather than a luperci. Although the girl lacked empathy for others of her species, she was capable of bonding with animals, as they were not a threat to her rank like another canine was.
Ataxia nodded when Draugr explained how they were going to pick him up. "Don't move," she said to him, "We're taking you to some place safe." She said as if that would help, before grasping him by the wrists and pulling him up at the same time as the others did. The hybrid grimaced as her arms strained to hold him up. "Oh Momoztli, he is heavy." She mumbled, and hoped they would be able to drag him to the travois before her arms fell off.
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