Washed away

He spat out his witch water and walked out. Just… walked out. If she was able to move, she might have been tempted to follow him just to see what he was doing. Was he getting a diagram from the wolves next door? She waited. And waited. She got bored staring at the ceiling and dipped a paw in the bowl he had left for her. She swirled the leaves around and then leaned forward, blowing into the water. She wasn't sure what she expected to happen, but the leaves rushed to the other side, and after a while settled again. He still hadn't come back. Maybe he was having his first fuck now that he apparently knew it was a thing.


When he returned at last, he was as pale as a ghost. Which was funny in his white fur. She hadn't even realised he could go more white. Maybe after a few weeks with her his white would turn grey.

He sat across from her, and the expression he gave her made her want to punch something. Probably him. Just because she was a victim didn't mean she was a victim. Damn. She wished that made more sense.

“That's oddly Nobel. How did you get into the Slaver business? You seem sort of new. Where I come from, you buy slaves to fuck them. Boy or girl, and to beat up when you're bored. In fact, slave on slave fights is all the rave.” She told him dryly, but his stupid big eyes were wearing on her. Damn it all to hell. “Look. I'm sorry… I could have had a little more tact. I'm sarcastic, I can't help it. The more they beat me the more that sarcasm just pops out, and the more they beat me. It's a cycle.” She nodded her nose towards her back as if to say 'you get the point…" she probably should have stopped there. A nice little peace offering. Everyone was happy. Right? "So, I take it you're a virgin?"