I left her location ambiguous, since I’m not sure where he would enter, but she’s far enough from the sea to not hear it; she may smell it faintly and see it in the distance. Hope it’s okay!
WC: 652
The clouds overhead were thick and brooding, rumbling deeply above the distant seas. The warm, humid air was likewise thick—almost suffocating. But the dark shadow that lingered in only briefly in one place before continuing on, flickering along like a black fire, was accustom to the heat now. Vigorous training had allowed the sinewy, feminine body to acclimatize to the heat. The slave was an athletic creature, her body naturally created, it seemed, to create the powers of taekwondo through the movement of her limbs and sinew. Her high level of training had created a body that was efficient at cooling, so that the body did not overheat when active; the Jindo wolf panted even as she simply trotted, her cooling efficiency such that panting onset was earlier and at a higher rate, just as the act of sweating. In her natural shape, she did not sweat as much as in her humanesque shape—a simple matter of unique body mechanics, it seemed.
The smooth gait slowed to a stop. Golden loop within her septum glinted in the dull afternoon light, as did the fathomless lunar orbs. Without the presence of the ranked ones, her posture was not submissive, but relaxed and neutral. Likewise, without the presence of slaves, her posture had no reason to posture dominance. Her black, damp nose twitched. The air had grown cool, a breeze from the sea cutting through the thick humidity—a premonition of a storm, perhaps. But it was not the cool breeze that caught her attention.
A colt. He lay there in the tall grasses, a newly born. He was wet still from the birthing, and it was that scent of utter vulnerability that had caught the black fae’s attention. The mother stood defensively beside her newborn, but the wolf ignored her. The scent of the colt was one she had smelled before—when Salvia had worked in the stables the season before. But this mare and her colt were not a part of the Salsolan stables. The white orbs glinted. The Korean disliked the creature—prey creatures as they were, and useless. Indeed, many wolves now rode them. But could they not use their own paws and strength to carry them across the distance? The feral creature smelled vulnerability now within the colt, and without the mark of the pack, she cared not for its life. Instinct was allowed to prevail, and within the shattered mind, instinct ruled supreme.
The Korean Jindo-wolf’s hackles rose. White teeth bared as she snarled, a terrible, cold sound. Black, horn-like auricles pressed forth and the black plume lifted in aggression. The mare whinnied, the whites of her eyes showing in fear. The horse’s instinct was to protect its young, and yet stronger still was the instinct of survival. The Slave of the Flame rushed the mare, snapping at the legs. She was swift, avoiding the danger of the hooves. Meanwhile, the colt lay in the grasses, unable to flee. The mare stood her ground, but as the wolf’s strong teeth tore through her flank, the instinct of survival prevailed. The mare fled, abandoning her young. The feral one did not pursue, for that was not her goal. The wolf turned on colt, watching the fear spread through its youthful gaze. The stink of it filled the air, filled her lungs. A thrill rushed through her, and snarl erupted from her throat. Hungry, sanguine jaws snapped about the dorsal neck, a cry of the newborn’s fear and pain echoing in the silence. Virility was nothing without its mother, it seemed. And the slave had taken it, killing it as if it were nothing. The young body thrashed weakly under her jaws, but the black wolf jerked her head, forcing its soft bones in positions within which they did not wish to be placed. The neck snapped and there was silence.
There was lifelessness.
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