all this love I've got to keep to myself

Well, it was official. He was very notably on the shit list for all of the higher ranked members of the pack. Things had not been going well for the last year, though they had never been even "good" to begin with. Rather than continue to linger on the fringes of the pack, skirting patrols and avoiding the attention of his packmates, the onyx slave slipped away. It had been many years since he'd last needed to make use of his skills as a spy, a traitorous wretch who could evade the best guards in Nippon. However, he was going to have to shake the rust off as he went. As a patrol moved out of sight, the waif slunk through the lengthening shadows of twilight- the distorted forms of boulders and crags extending beyond the borders of the Armada. His companion kept an eye out, the primate was able to roam more freely than his master, ironically.

There was a stream that ran through the fringes of the redwood forest, glacial runoff headed for the coast. Though it cut like a blade into the pads of his paws and the skin of his ankles, the wraith crept through the thin rivulet of frigid water. Deeper and deeper into the forest, until he had to abandon its course to continue into the dark embrace of the trees. He was hunting for the man who had come to beg his freedom. It baffled him that anyone would put their lives at risk for him, all for some frivolous and doomed flirtations.  

By the time the sun had sunk below the horizon, the chill in the air was unbearable. He adjusted the sheath of his blade against his skin, the cold metal still tangible through the soft leather. Maybe he would just run away. Never go back there. He'd run from worse regimes, fled entire nations just to try and escape the endless cycle of indentured service. It nagged at the back of his mind. It had been years that he'd languished in the meek role of a slave for the Armada, and not once had he considered escape. Until now. Was Mojito so important?

Leaning his meagre weight against the cool, rough bark of a towering redwood, he heaved a few quiet breaths through his dark nostrils. Traces of the pale man's scent lingered all around, but they were old already. He'd likely moved on again, perhaps abandoning the whole endeavour. An aging whore was hardly a prize worth challenging the Warlord for twice, after all.

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