The bottom rung won't be too bad right?

"Speech"

After the warlord had left her to explore the multipurpose pack area, the Little Slave took her first bath in days. She dipped her small frame into one of the hottest pools and relished in the heat scrubbing all the dirt grime and blood out of her white, gold, and rusted fur.

Ignita finally felt like she could process the last few days, oblivious to the recent leadership changes rippling through the pack, all she knew was that Basilisk was a Warlord and she was a Slave of Armada. The muscles finally relaxed after Basilisk had slapped her across the face, leaving a mark. Once he had cowed her enough to make her obey, he stuck her in a small, dead-end cave for a few days. She assumed it was a test. Then after sewing him back up from being slashed at, he led her here. Other than being smacked and scared for her foolish life, so far things weren't too bad! She would have a job to do and probably people to talk to! Right?

She didn't take long to scrub herself clean and knew somewhat that if she missed his summons she'd get a smack or something, so loathe as she was to leave the hot waters, she did and shook herself dry.

She returned to the storage areas, drinking in every nook and cranny as she went. She slowly walked through the food prepping area, wondering if this would be a hub of activity at different times of the day. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of any other slaves yet, do they prepare the food for everyone or does everyone prepare their own food? She continued to wander the little caves of the baths and storage and the large room, not quite sure if she was allowed to wander the rest of the packland or if this was it for now. Maybe she'll run into one of his eyes and ears that have been keeping an eye on her now that she was actually here in Armada proper.