[Alphyn]

They jostled her along, snapping to bunch the others around her.  She did not react, and merely turned her head to stare when one barked an order.  Once, a few months ago, she would have cowered from him. She was lost again, but now she held a golden truth, and it kept the darkness of her life from consuming her.  Was she still afraid?  Yes, terrified, in fact.  But she had learned that to show weakness was to draw the Red Dragon, like a shark to blood. So she steeled herself, and swallowed the fear. It sat at the base of her spine, spreading ice through her limbs, crystallizing around her heart.  As the hours turned to days, turned to weeks, Alphyn was losing energy.  If she thawed, she would break.  Her Master had vanished, her God gone silent.  Something had called him away, somewhere she could not follow.  She must be patient until his return.

The band had wound through trails until she lost her sense of direction.  It didn't take long.  She'd always been horrid at knowing where she was going.  Sometimes they stopped in camps, mostly they slept out in the open.  Slaves came and went, were bought and sold.  Most of the time she was considered too young to be interesting.  Packs looked for breeding females, or working males.  A few cults might have interest in youngsters, but she was more in her adolescence, and her doctrine was embedded deep. Slaving parties swapped stock when they were heading in more appropriate directions, and she had been traded more than once.  She didn't run, didn't see the point to it.  Her internal compass would only lead her astray.  So she waited, and she prayed.

Now they traveled through a muted forest, the light barely filtering through the overgrown canopy.  As usual, the slaves plodded along, with their handlers driving them like sheep.  As they walked through a breach of sunlight, Ally shook herself, and dust flew from her coat, revealing it to be golden in the light. But she was tarnished, caked with mud and grime from the road.

Ahead in the path was a stream, and the handlers let them stop to drink. She moved with the others, more herd than pack, but did not pause at the bank. She waded in up to her chest, and submerged herself by laying down.  It was deep enough that she sank in even over her head. The water was cold, and it shocked her system.  She opened her garnet eyes and for a moment she saw only the light, but then the murk cleared and she stared at the opposite bank of the stream.  She murmured a prayer in her mind, opened her mouth and released the last breath from her lungs, and arose. It had been just a moment, one instant of peace and tranquility.  She stood, dripping in the stream.  The handlers had come after her, and the one closest pulled back his lips in warning.

"Get back on the bank, Arume." he growled.

She looked at him for a moment and then shook herself.  Droplets of water and stray mud splattered all over the male, covering him in her discarded muck.  There were always these silent bouts when they used that name with her. He snarled, and made a lunge for her.  He was full grown, and she a bare mess of spindly legs.  Yet she dodged him with a grace and ease the bespoke of something not yet awakened within her.  She moved around him and stepped towards the bank.  The enraged handler came after her again, but one of his pack stepped in between them.

"Cool it, Groll.  No point damaging the merchandise."

Ally stepped back onto solid ground, droplets clinging to her guard hairs. As she passed again into the dappled sunlight, they glinted like diamonds set in her gold and ebony fur. She had matured out of her puppy coat, and the thick velvet of black had fractured into golden veins.  She had grown into her mask, and it now framed her face with a curling catseye.  She was blossoming from ugly duckling into a swan.  Her coat hadn't been anything fancy when she was a child, it had been unremarkable, even garrish.  But now she was becoming what the traders were calling "an exotic beauty".  She had declined to give them her name, so she had been given the nomenclature "Arume".  The golden one.  This pack's plan was to take her to a harem pack, where she would certainly catch the eye of one of the noble males. "A prize for any collection" the leader had said when he had acquired her.

There was no fight in her that presented for her captors.  As far as they knew, as the pack before them had told them, and so on, she had always been a meek, timid thing.  She rarely caused trouble, and while she had moments of insolence, she was never outright hostile.  Most of the handler pack regarded her little outbursts as teenage hormones, and disregarded them.  Groll, however, eyed her in a way that made her mentally shiver.  He was more than a trader, more than a handler.  He had the look of someone who enjoyed inflicting pain.  It was probably not her smartest move.  She closed her eyes for a moment, and recalled the vision of the stream bed under water.  She listened to the phantom current that sang through her ears, and she prepared to lose herself in her meditation that would keep her frozen, that would allow her to endure the next hour, the next day, the next trail.  She had to endure until she was shown her deliverance.  It would come.

[Manticore]

The Leviathan shone in his mind’s eye. Mortals should know not divinity like this. He felt the touch of the veil. The cut of bitter, desperate thorns. His mouth still bled, yet he smiled. All things turned to ash in the end. What a vile, nihilistic thought. He has tasted nothing as sweet as the iron in his mouth—not since his honeyed baptism. How long ago that was. Did Oukoku-Kai still stand, or did it topple as the Leviathan? Would it put up even that much of a fight? Oh, he was curious. He thought he would like to know the answer, very much.

Because now he knew gods could die. A selfishly guarded secret. Oh, yes, he is smiling with every single one of his teeth.

It is on his meandering path to enlightenment and its subsequent destruction that he encounters a taste of home. Something familiar in a distant way—another life. How funny, that he should think of home. How funny that a little piece of it would come to find him—it hits him as he inspects a recently abandoned camp. The Child, foolish, stupid, heathen Child. Abandoned by the one he’d ordered to take charge of her, he found her bumbling to him instead. Oh, of course he had been a good son of the divine, sheltering the weak and the dull. Hadn’t Father so loved shining up broken things?

What would he think now? Oh, you know what he thinks.

He can’t even recall her name, merely the way she tripped through life in the valley—and the title he bestowed to her. He was curious, of course, of what had befallen the Child. Had she, too, run from the Dragon’s flames? Was it from fear or the same sickening inquisitive nature that drove him now? He follows the trail with more than the faintest interest in what had become of his broken thing—because even after all this time, there was no question about where her loyalties must lie.

The Child had and would always belong to him.

He exacted not every care he ought to observe at first, blood fresh still on his tongue and steps careless and jaunty. He should feel exhaustion but instead he felt a near-manic elation, eyes bright as he surveyed the forest. An imprint from a paw here, a tuft of fur wafting in the breeze there—everywhere there were signs of life. The closer he came, the more cautious he felt. The scent was stronger, and it became clear that the Child was accompanied by more than a few. He slips from the worn trails and into the creeping shadows of the forest, following the path less traveled to his destination.

A stream. Crowded around it were the many. More than he had seen in one place since he had left the valley. It left a similar feeling in his mouth. Sticky, foul. Tar. Rot. He watches from the woods, sinking low to the ground. Cattle, yes, to be slaughtered or worse. Had they been any better, throwing their heathens into the pits? Oh, he knew the answer. He always knew the answers.

Except for when he didn’t. Maddening. There were problems one had to sink their teeth into. There were others that craved a gentler touch. He watches, even after he spots her, tarnished and in disrepair. What a horrible thing to have happened to something of his. It was disrespectful. A slight. A lesser man might charge in and demand justice. The lesser men died. He had seen it before. This, too, he would watch. He would learn which were the cattle, which the butchers.

Manticore had always been so willing to learn. He watches and waits.

@EhwazAzi 10 years later with starbucks......

[Alphyn]

Patience was a virtue, and what was God but virtuous?  So The Child in Tarnished Gold was patient, and it was in the moment that she looked heavenward.  Up past the the arching ground, into the depths, straight at bi-colored eyes, up above the treeline and--- !!! Garnet eyes snapped back to the darkness of the forest.  Yes. There they were.  She looked away, the entire motion looking like she was following a gliding bird from branch to branch.  But the connection had been made, and the chain pulled taunt.  Inside, Alphyn's heart pounded inside the cage of her ribs, slamming against the bars in an attempt to escape.  It was so loud in her ears that she was sure the whole camp must be able to hear it.  She turned as the keepers began rounding their beasts once more.  But as they began to walk, Alphyn's wet coat dripped, droplets dampening the shaded path. Every now and again the golden girl flicked her tail, carelessly, so carefully, shedding the water.  The drips would leave behind the tiny hairs, the flecks of oil and skin.  The echo of her as clear as a firm cord.

With so many, their pace was slow.  The Handlers preferred a steady march rather than a sprint.  No point in putting fast wear on the condition of your goods.  It would be a few more days yet before they would come to the next pack.  They found a spot to make camp in a small meadow beside an even smaller stream.  No big inlet for a dip, this was a trickle among the worn stones.  A mere ghost lying in it's own footprint.  But the water still ran clear, and it was cool when they were given another chance to drink.  Alphyn made no rush for the water, and many crowded where they could, pushing and shoving.  The handlers began breaking them into groups for the night.  Easier to keep watch over the smaller numbers.  Alphyn stepped forward for her drink, taking longer than the others.  She did not know how far she would have to run, and she needed the fluid.

Another handler came to round her up, intending to add her meek nature to his collection of shy youngsters.  He was young, new to this band, jumpy and unsure.  Pleased, she offered no resistance, he would do nicely for her plan.  But then a heavy shadow blocked her path and she found herself barred by Groll's ugly scent.

"No.  This one stays with me."

He growled to the youth, staking claim like a snorting bull.  Outranked and out-tempered, the boy retreated.  Alphyn glanced up at him, intending to catch his mood.  He was watching for it, waiting for it.  A paw flashed out, slapping across the side of her face. Alphyn's gaze was smacked down, forcing her to look back at the ground.

"Eyes down!" He commanded.

She kept her stare down until he walked off, knowing full well she'd been taught to follow.  He missed the burning look she shot him.  But follow she did, on wooden legs that did not show the grace she had displayed that morning.  He led her through the camp to the far side, his sleeping area partially hidden from the group by a large boulder.  His charges were curled together between him and the rest of camp.  The two other handlers nearby slept in a loose perimeter, and the ring extended all around the camp.  An efficient setup from those who knew their trade.  But something about Groll's place was a little more shady than the others.

Alphyn laid down to bide her time, knowing that it would not be until deep into the night before her time came.  She new which way she had to go, it was simply "back".  She could follow her own scent.  He would find her.  To occupy her mind while she feigned sleep, the golden girl worked hard at recalling where they had walked from that day.  But the sound of paws on the ground beside her interrupted those thoughts.  Teeth suddenly came down upon her neck, right at the base of her skull.  She could tell by the hot breath exhaled towards her face it was Groll who had her.

"Make a sound, and I'll break your neck."  He growled in a menacing whisper. "Get up."

She stood, awkwardly held in his jaws as he half-led, half-dragged her away from the others.  Away, around the side of the boulder and into the darkness of the brush behind it.  If his fellow Handlers noticed, they but secured the line, expecting it to be a nightly leak, rather than anything suspicious.  They weren't counting, and certainly didn't notice the absence of a golden coat among his flock.  As he led her away from watchful eyes, a new scent mingled in with Groll's pungent stink. Alphyn's plans were going to have to take a drastic turn.  If she intended to get away, she was now going to have to contend with Groll.

He stopped dragging her, and instead forced her head down and her face into the dirt. She made a soft grunt as her muzzle impacted and her neck was kinked.

"I'm going to teach you some manners." Came Groll's growl in her ear, her head pressed down by his paw on her head. "You're young. you'll heal.  Your new master won't even notice. Hell, you might even like it."

He hooked his other foreleg around one of her slim hips. The other held her head down. She tensed, as though bracing against the inevitable. He rumbled a low chuckle, leaning down to whisper in he ear again.  "By the time I'm done, you'll think I'm a God."

A growl rumbled up from somewhere deep inside her.  It held a strength and fierceness they had never seen her express. A vicious, savage sound.  Taken aback, Groll's eye widened as her head snapped around and one bright garnet eyes burned.

"This vessel is already claimed. I will submit to no false idol." She spat.

Groll laughed at her, for he did not believe in God.