Post by hildegard on May 16, 2015 21:04:20 GMT -5
››act speak think
Her mother once said it was a pity that Hildegard had been born a slave. That, given different circumstances, she could have been so much more. Eunoia had a wistful streak in her, one given over easily to optimism, and hopefulness. An even stronger current of pragmatism ran through her, however, and she had the sense not to press false hope onto the hearts of her children. The circumstances were what they were, and nothing was likely to change.
Recollecting the words of her mother would have usually fortified Hilde’s heart, but now they only served to pain it. When would she even hear her mother’s voice again? The question was stamped away from her mind at once for its foolishness. She would almost certainly never see her mother ever again, that was simply fact. Pining and self-pity wouldn’t change it. Mental images like bursts of lightning in the dark illuminated her mother’s face nonetheless: Clench-jawed and mournful as her daughter was led away to the Auktion Rock.
And of course, her mother had been here years ago. She had nearly forgotten that fact. It gave a sense of history to this awful place, one confirmed by the eroded footpaths that marked the passage of generations of slaves and masters. The ground itself was soaked in the stench of fear, and she suspected that not even a week-long deluge could wash all traces of it away. The guards had dragged in the carcass of a doe, and a desperate hoard had descended upon it, the terrifying commotion rebounding off the canyon walls, amplifying the sound. Hildegard’s stomach growled, but she knew better than to approach. There wouldn’t be a scrap of it left to her when they were done, but she’d rather keep what scraps of her own body remained. She stood to the side, the stone wall to her left, angled so that her right eye could cover as much of her surroundings as possible. Her left eye, sightless and hidden behind a web of scars, was useless to her, and worse- a weakness that others could spot. Not that her disfigurement wasn’t intimidating to some, but they weren’t typically the kind of wolves she was worried about.
She didn’t shrink from the presence of others here, but held herself inconspicuously, as if willing herself to become transparent. She was good at this, at not drawing attention to herself. It was many hours before a stocky Indian wolf approached her and snapped his jaws in a perfunctory manner, ordering her toward the center of the canyon. He sounded bored. Her legs protested from having stood still for so long, but she ushered them into motion, striding dutifully onto the rock dais. Her throat tightened as she caught sight of a handful of Dominors with their eyes on the platform, and felt a rising tide of panic inside her. She focused on slowing her breathing, her mother’s voice floating to the surface of her mind along with a fresh, sickening pang of loss: ‘they may control you from the outside, but you control what’s inside yourself.’ She thought of her mother’s tiny den, and imagined that space inside her. Between her ribs was the earthy, familiar scent, the slanting sunlight, the cool, dark nook. The sounds around her became quieter, muffled by dirt. Her exterior began to reflect this inner stillness in her closed expression, her steady, unconcerned gait.
Five other slaves stood loosely gathered here, prompted by the clipped tones of the guards to move about, to display themselves. As she arrived Hilde chose to circle the stage, her more presentable side facing the judging crowd, placing her fellow Sklavin in her blindspot. The ruined remainder of her left ear followed the sounds of what she couldn’t see as her right eye stared straight ahead, meeting no one’s gaze. There was no going back, and the only way out was to make a favorable impression.
There was a scuffle on the platform, a yelp turning quickly into a snarl and suddenly the side of another was crashing into her own. She craned her head enough to see a large grey male, a withered, malnourished look about him and a wild brightness in his eyes. He struck reflexively at Hildegard’s neck, while in her mind’s eye a different set of jaws descended on her, about to rend her to pieces. She was swift to respond in a moment of terror, ducking and lunging out of reach before the guards subdued him. The other Sklavin either cowered or flashed fearful snarls of their own as the guards returned them to order. Hilde’s body, at first tensed and ready after the confused attack, just as quickly regained her composure, appearing unfazed and apathetic to the whole ordeal. She began once more to pace the platform, her head slightly ducked, her tail passively limp at her heels. She didn’t know what untold hells waited for her beyond, but she knew she had to get out of here.
note: I haven't written anything an ages, sorry that it's long and dumb
hildegɑrd