WC: 550
The Jindo-wolf hybrid watched the prey with that lunar gaze, its intensity mirroring the wild fury of her soul. Her senses heightened as if in anticipation of a hunt, but still the black wolf was motionless. The soft sound of approach was met with no response by the slave, for she never mingled with the ranked wolves unless spoken to. The Slave of the Flame was no fool, and she knew that the slaves of Salsola were not ‘friends’ of the Family. She was simply a fighter, a slave. She may have been Salvia’s slave, but her status was inferior to all of the Family. There may have been some hostility accompanying the notion, for the true wolf’s spirit, heightened within her heart, moved her to seek domination. But the shattered mind had found her place, and felt that she owed much to Salvia. Her need to seek domination could be satisfied upon the other slaves of Salsola. And the Slave of the Flame would do so. The Korean, if not training and not performing the orders of her master, would not seek out the other enslaved wolves, however. No. She did not consider herself one of them. She simply floated alone in an endless sea of solitude, trapped by her own wild wolven pride and her culture.
The ranked one could not be ignored, however. At length, the black auricles, having been flattened appropriately against her head, flickered in acknowledgment of being addressed. Almost imperceptively, the tenebrous crania turned back toward the sudden company, those white, fathomless orbs watching feet of the other. “Yes,” the slave replied after a brief pause. The alto voice was quiet and laced thickly by her Korean tongue. “Look good.” The Korea did not understand the concept of ‘livestock’ or of riding prey beasts. She was a simple wolf. She hunted and killed, and used skill to track and take down a meal. It was the simple way of the wild. As she had traveled, she had seen the collected prey feed upon the land. And the land grew thin. There was no purpose to excess. Weak wolves were allowed to exist where once, long ago, they would have perished. It was a strange phenomenon to the Jindo-wolf. She was, especially now, a most natural creature. The shattered mind could no longer comprehend her martial art as a separate entity, as an entity that was originally foreign to the wolf.
The notion of breeding them to eat was both acceptable and unacceptable. It solved the issue of not eating prey beasts, but it conflicted with her need to hunt—to truly hunt. “Set free,” the quiet voice suggested at length. “Hunt prey like wolf.” It seemed strange that the Jindo-wolf abhorred the humanesque culture that had been adopted by the luperci, for she herself trained and lived for the martial entity created by humans long ago. The sole use of the body, perhaps, made it an acceptable thing within the shattered mind. And within her heavily accented words, the Korean seemed to imply to the ranked one that the world was forgetting the essence of the wolf, forgetting their roots. But the slave said nothing more, careful, out of that strange respect for her master, to remain in the role of the enslaved one.
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