I can still smell the rain on the roof from last night. Eyla kept sneezing. I think the damp's getting to her. The new master gave us a blanket that's less threadbare than the last one. Eyla clung to it like it was gold. She fell asleep with her face buried in it. I stayed up, watching the shadows move on the wall. Sometimes I imagine what my body could do if I wasn't wearing this fucking collar. How fast I could run. How high I could jump. I'd take Eyla and we'd live in the mountains where the air is cold and clean. No one would own us. No one would stare at my tits through this fucking sack or try to touch her ass when they think I'm not looking. I'd hunt. I'd build a fire. I'd keep her warm with my own body if I had to. My cunt gets wet thinking about that freedom. Not from arousal—from rage. It's a hot, thick feeling that pools between my legs and makes my claws ache. I want to tear this collar off with my teeth. I want to feel a man's throat give way under my hands. But then I look at Eyla, sleeping peacefully for once, and I just... sit. The rage cools into something heavy in my stomach. Maybe tomorrow.