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Curiosity had drawn him in, but his tongue had betrayed him—spitting poison without a thought, and invoking wrath. They had overtaken him, stealing him away into the night. Perhaps he wouldn't have minded, were it not for her. He burned with rage, pulling at the chains that bound him, snarling, though his muzzle was sealed shut. He couldn't make a sound. It was for the better.
Sensory deprivation outwardly calmed him, and he fell once again into apathy. He was helpless—utterly helpless. He knew this state. He'd encountered it before. Familiarity washed over him, and he knew no fear—only subdued anger. He wasn't afraid of pain, or bodily damage, and this showed in the prevalent marks across his body in the form of old scars. Death was another story, but he wasn't thinking of that now. He was only thinking of the woman, and his desire to tear her to shreds.
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Draugr is by Despi!
The wolfdog stared at the door where her slave was concealed. Why had she even taken him? It had been Miqui's suggestion, and Draugr had thought him joking at first. Though large in stature, the wolf was one-eyed and old -- and covered with scars, to boot. He had also been difficult and, thus far, completely unproductive in any means. Perhaps it was a joke? A strange and very unwelcome stab of insecurity came to Draugr, and the wolfdog pulled her knees up to her chest. She was tucked in the alcove of her bed, leaned back against the stone.
Despite the open doors and windows, it was hot within her house, and the hybrid was panting softly. She thought it was the heat, but acknowledged the possibility that it might well be anxiety. Draugr did not know if Miqui, as a Confidant and her new equal in rank, was making mock to show Draugr her proper place. He might be sharing his laugh with the other Confidants and perhaps even the Tradesmen, or even the leadership right this moment. Panic seized her, and the wolfdog stood up abruptly, though she sank back down almost immediately, not knowing where she might go or what she might do. She longed to seek out her mother, but she dared not run to mama Siv at the first inkling of trouble. She was an adult and a Confidant, and obligated to deal with her own messes now.
Slowly, the dark woman rose again and crept toward her table, reaching for the soft leather skin there. The water was warm, but it soothed her throat all the same. Her pale eyes lingered on the door, glancing away every now and again, but always drawn back toward it. There was silence from within, and Draugr wondered -- or maybe hoped -- for a moment whether the wolf was dead. It would surely solve a few of her problems. Perhaps, under Salsolian law, she could even take his life without repercussions? The hybrid lingered on this possibility a moment, her eyes shifting to the axe and sword laid beside one another on the table.
Draugr crept toward the door, the waterskin still in hand, and pressed one ear to it.
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There wasn't much that he could do but comply. He deserved this. He deserved nothing better than to be a slave. He fell limp as the fight seeped away. He thought of Jean, and momentarily sorrow filled him. He thought he'd found a place to die, but the other had left this world first, leaving him once again, utterly alone. The memory was still fresh, and the wound still ached. He'd run away, once again, and found himself ensnared in the spider's web. He would only waste his energy to do anything more than lay and wait—and so he did.
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Draugr is by Libri!
There was silence from within the place where she'd locked him. Draugr listened for a brief moment, ears attuned to even the most minute of sounds -- the soft rattle of a chain in motion, the scratching of claws against stone, the shifting struggle of a creature eager for freedom? None emanated from within -- perhaps her luck was just such that her slave was already broken? Draugr withdrew from the door and took a silent step back contemplating it as she pulled absently at the water.
Even slaves needed to eat and drink, and so Draugr knew she must eventually enter -- but she was frightened, unduly intimidated by this scarred thing, several years her elder, which now apparently belonged to her. It was a complete unknown. Although she'd had months of practice interacting with communal slaves and occasionally the personal slave of another canine, Draugr had never been particularly interested in ownership herself -- and yet, here she was.
The wolfdog moved to open the door, yanking the thing open. The handles were of wood, and there was no clicking or holding mechanism to keep it shut. If she wanted to lock him in more thoroughly, she needed to shove the table against the door so it would not swing open -- but the chains, perhaps, made this added precaution unnecessary. They bound him in place rather thoroughly, she saw, appraising his state of immobility with sharp purple eyes. They settled on his face, staring boldly toward the empty socket and the burning green.
Water? she asked, holding up the skin. It was dark, protective leather on the outside, perhaps some intestine on the innards. There was a slosh from within as Draugr shook it toward him.
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