it was these moments, without their master, that moribund was allowed to roam the fortress. it's cooling shade provided shelter from the blistering, vitriolic heat.

the twin's hooves clicked against the cool stone, only pausing with instant alarm, snapping to attention at the arrival of the dweller. they did not know of valkyr-- pausing to take in the sight of the predator, canine in tow.

the slave watched, resisting the urge to curl in on themself in learned subservience; a defense mechanism. but grovelling would do them no good here. they wanted strong slaves. useful slaves. moribund could be useful.

the sheep's left head bit the inside of their cheek in awkward apprehension, only wishing that they had been graced with powers of invisibility or teleportation; if anything, to disappear from that moment.

it was not about the fact of the capture. in this callous, sheer world, they had grown familiar to the captures. the tortures-- familiarized themselves with it long before until it was normalized and expected. it did not make them falter, nor did it make them flinch. but impulses don't change, and old habits die hard. they wanted to be alone; caught up within their old world, and the sight of the predator that sent every fiber in their veins yelping at the prospect of danger certainly did not help much. but they were to be strong; they had gone through much before. they steeled themselves.

the right head's gaze snapped more to focused attention onto the two, crimson blessed gaze flickering with something fiendish and intrigued, while the left swallows for brief silence. tests words on their tongue.

"congratulations on your catch,"they will be nothing but polite. all their life, they have been under one impression. anything too much, and it was bad. curiosity overrides their stiff greeting soon after. "ah, what do you plan to do with him?"

"I-I don't know. I didn't even mean...."

one head cocked to the side in utter confusion. what did they mean? the capture had been an accident? had it not been customary to be joyful of such an endeavor? moribund's two heads did not know of valkyr's internal conflict, but they could see the disturbance flickering across their face. and oh, did they notice. such an odd thing. when they had been expecting of pride and accomplishment, the child in place, could only find troubledness.

valkyr's response unsettled them more than anything. interactions were always so complex-- left them drained and puzzled more than before. all moribund had thought they had known and learned on sociality was fragile; fit to be torn down at the slightest unexpected reaction.

axle’s revival from the abyss of consciousness was unexpected. moribund had thought the capture to be soundly subdued. but they weren't-- spotted the flickering eyes far too late, the building growl in the canine's throat until suddenly, the sheep dog was leaping upward in a clumsy frenzy.
a wild, unbidden snarl as loud as the crackle of thunder to the sheep’s ears. sent a lancing, burning spear that sank through their body, shredding down to the spine. the left side visibly shuddered, feeling the sheer unsteadiness settle into their limbs. quivering in tandem to their heart.

though the right bared their own teeth in turn. a brave mask. an uncanny and unseeming ferality in a wild, frenzied gaze. one meant to protect and defend themselves. they were always the guardian.
moribund could not ignore the innate calling biological response to a meat eater's wrath.

axle was a predator. they needed to get away. don't touch us.

they could hear their shared hearts, thudding a symphony in their heated ears. the child’s chest was aching. they were surprised their skull had not shattered yet, nor had their fragile little ribs which the heart was thundering against with each beat. adrenaline spiked. panic fluttered against their ribcage, cloying senses.
axle’s sudden movements helped none either-- it reminded them far too much of looming bodies, teeth bared into pearly, malignant grins that weren’t really grins at all. wedged into far too small corners, back against the wall. cowering and waiting for the blows. touches that hurt. waiting for pain.

mori’s left head tasted bile. they wanted to wretch.

moribund startled. the youth’s gangly limbs skittered backwards, finding the nearest warm body, seeking comfort-- even after their bitter, forced self dependency, they still sought solace in another. it was herd sentimentality, and it was pathetic.

but it worked anyways, and quill's presence aided in calming the juvenile down. after realizing their shameful act, they tore themselves abruptly from the direhound's side, too shocked to speak.