straight shot no chaser

The larger female settled herself on the other side of the pelt, though he wasn't sure why. What was the point of it, if not her comfort? For a moment, he considered himself and the skin equals. They both existed for the benefit of stronger, superior creatures. Verdant gaze locked upon the tattered edges of the hide, existentialism drawn to the forefront of his mind. Would his ancestors, whomever they might be, find themselves pleased that he was no more than a tool to be used by others?

“No.” She said with a breathy sigh. It took a moment for that familiar fear to settle itself around his heart, stealing the space in his lungs and gripping his ventricles in an icy claw. Oh no, he'd said something wrong again. He always did this. Grim always said how he said everything that shouldn't be brought up, and Hemlock had always snapped at him for mentioning things. He hadn't learned that part from Widow, even when she'd tried to beat the sense into him. “I have no yet been kind enough. Not until I have removed the threat to your life, given you the time and resources to return to health and confidence. Then, maybe then, will my kindness be almost enough.”

This was unfamiliar to him, and he struggled to school his features into neutrality. Revealing his confusion might upset her. There was always a threat to his life- he'd done his best to ignore it, never to let it bother him too much. No point in losing sleep over the cards the universe had dealt to you. He did, however, allow his gaze to drift from the hide and to her paws. Specs of dirt clung to the fine hairs of her toes, and her claws were worn down from activity. She was a busy woman, a strong woman. A fine master, she would make. A kind one, who would only kick or bite when he truly deserved it. He hoped she would claim him, before a crueler wolf did.

“Th-this is for you.” she said suddenly, voice just a touch louder than before. He didn't notice the shift in volume, being wrapped up as he was in the presentation of his gift. He'd never been given one before, save for his name. What would he do with it? Was he supposed to wear it? It looked like it would be perfect as a shawl, since his coat was scraggly at best and patchy at worst. “It’ll get chilly otherwise, and you haven’t picked out a den yet-”

The world seemed to slide sideways, wide eyes flicking upwards to finally fix upon the large female's features. It was a long way up, and he had to crane his head to make it work. Pick.. a den? He'd always been assigned somewhere to sleep, since he was weaned. Would he be sharing a den with his new master? Was she his new master, and she was giving him a separate den to sleep in? Either way, this was better treatment than he had ever received elsewhere.

“Your here to rest and recover, not to be put to work.” she insisted, and he looked away again. Dropped his gaze to her paws. He had said the wrong thing. He should not have questioned her presence here. He nodded mutely, auds tipping back shamefully. Stupid boy, this is why you do not speak. It was Widow's voice shouting in his mind, not his own. His shame burned in his chest, remembering his lessons as a child. “You are no longer a slave, Epith. Your free." she said emphatically, though her voice was no louder than his own had been.

Hm. Well, that didn't sound right. Brows furrowed together, trying to repeat the words in his mind, and turn them over a few times. A few furtive glances upward reached no further than the fur of Shaye's chest, seeking to glimpse her features for cruelty or derisiveness. Perhaps this was a joke? The more he fought the urge to look her in the eye, the stronger it fought back. Eventually, he met her gaze. He still frowned as he stared blankly at her, unable to school his expression as his brain worked the problem over. "What.." he hesitated, voice catching in his throat as the dry walls of his esophagus rubbed together unpleasantly. He swallowed roughly. "should I do?"

What is the nature of a slave, if not to demand orders from a higher power?