but aiman feared the teeth which guarded that den, as much as he feared anything else. he devoted himself to the skill of the peltwork, noting that he was the one to carry these on their marches. therefore, it did not benefit him to make many, and he sabotaged some skins here and there, rendering them unworthy of being among those few bundled from place to place.
this was done carefully and surreptitiously, and aiman was so focused upon it that he jumped when the darkfang's voice rang out.
she was with child, and he had kept even more distance than usual, but she commanded him within reach of her jaws now.
tailtip wagging underbelly, eyes slitted to appease, the slave licked his lips and crept forward with a whine. he did not speak. these wolves did not use words without reason. she would tell him at once what she wanted and he would do it.