Scraps

Laying the chain over his back had been in an attempt to stabilize it some. He knew he hadn’t succeeded very well by the painful sounds of her breathing. He felt... regret as he looked at this willowed, wasted creature. This wasn’t how a wolf was supposed to treat their slaves. This wasn’t what their life should be. He wasn’t a revolutionary, he wouldn’t pledge his life to some silly cause like fighting for freedom of slaves. All he would do was claim those he decided were his and ensure they had the enrichment he believed right for them.

He shook his head again, and then approached her. She looked wasted away, her eyes barely able to focus. Luckily, she was a small thing. He ducked his head down, sweeping it under her as he heaved her onto his back. Then he would begin the journey. Longer for the weight he carried.

Once he arrived in the Armada, he took her directly to the den he had set aside for Deathbelle. It lay empty and vacant for now. A reminder of what was missing in his heart. He placed the girl down on one of the soft bedding and dug into the small supply catche he had left for Deathbelle. “Eat, drink.” he commanded “Do you know anything of healing?’ he had started to stock this den (with advice from healers) with supplies for Deathbelle, who had always had a natural inclination for the arts.


"Sirius Fatalis"