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Stevarn had seen death before. He was well aware of Stamenia's grip, who held the strings of every being upon one paw, ready to cut the corporeal entity away from the soul, freeing it to the greater divine. He was no fool to destruction either, having faced it time and time again in the bloody feuds that existed between the wolves and other tribes.

He remembered distinctly as a young cub one particular attack made by the lions of the Barathok; it stuck so well in his mind because it was the first instance in which any tribe, regardless of species, had managed to penetrate so deep into the forest and reach the wolves' home. The screams and heat of that day still haunted him with an invasive coldness that frightened even him. They had come charging, bursting through the line of trees and slaughtered all those who bore arms. The children, thankfully, were herded and locked into cages that had been dragged uphill from the river, left there trapped to watch and wait for whatever it was to come. The men were gone, either off hunting or ready to fight a battle that had never came elsewhere, some clever decoy having worked its charm over them. The tribe had been left undefended, and any man left behind was cut down even as he reached for whatever he could as a weapon. The women were picked off one by one by groups of lions, hogtied and hauled by their fur into tents. Stevarn had not known it at the time, but he knew now that the lions had committed a mass rape upon them all, swathes of men simply cruising from tent to tent, hut to hut, having his fill where and when he liked. It chilled Stevarn to think he had just watched on, oblivious whilst this was all happening mere feet away. It was an attack that had killed the chief's wife, after she had fought valiantly as a last stand in place of her mate. The forest about them burnt and the air filled with demon's smoke, choking almost everything. It was a rancid, gagging stench, something so inescapable and inhuman that it sought out everything living and tried to swallow it whole. Stevarn had nearly died that day, as were it not for the speedy counterattack and recapture of the village by the warriors, he would have asphyxiated in that metal cage alongside all the other cubs. There feeble, cold bodies pressed up against his own as those still conscious howled to be free in pitiful cries that rung in his ears even now. The days following had been brutal, involving a mass relocation of the tribe to higher, safer ground all the while people were recovering from the traumatic ordeal. He remembered even the fact his father had had to carry him on his back for his lungs were still much too weak from inhalation of toxic fumes. Though he could recall each and every sensation, since his memory of that moment was frozen in his mind, nobody was allowed to speak of that day. It was simply scorched from their records; much like the land had been by the hungry flames. If Stevarn were to go back to where the village had once been, all he would find was the empty yawning black fields that smothered once fertile woodland.

It was from that memory he believed his nightmares stemmed and blossomed into what they were today - or at the very least part of his nightmares. They varied, often bleeding together, sometimes quite separate and clear. But in particular there were moments when he felt that he was burning, surrounded by an inferno that killed him before he knew it. To him, it was as though every fibre of his being was being ripped apart and incinerated to the point where he no longer existed, that no physical part of him remained. His flesh would char and melt, his bones would brittle and break into dust, and then when he was nothing more than ash he would drift off into the tiniest of pieces along the wind, with no hope of joining the sky and being at one with Stamenia. He felt no pain however, but he knew of an immense sadness and shock that overwhelmed him to the point where he woke up in tears. It was as though the fire from that fateful day had never been doused from his childhood. Whether it remained now as a lingering trauma, he would not know, but still it refused to abate. Every night, without fail, the nightmares would come.

He looked now across this burning landscape, and all that struck in his mind was how pitiful that attack was in comparison. It was not just a lone field that had burnt, nor was it that a single people had been attacked, but this great fire seemed to want to kill everything that came near it. Blazes were spreading across dry grass where it reached, and plumes of smoke towered high into the sky, clouding the world over in a blanket of grey death. Stevarn might have been afraid as a cub to witness such sights, but as he stood high atop the devastation he felt his very being simply give up. He wished to be home, to be amongst his people, regardless of whether it meant renouncing his sexual needs in favour of forgiveness, even in its harshest forms. He wanted to feel the closeness of another's embrace as he felt quite scared, his world suddenly ravaging itself before his eyes with such ferocity. The fires cannibalised themselves, chewing another blaze up until it melded into a molten liquid of amber, seeping across the forest and back towards the mountains. The wind carried the scorch up towards them, thankfully near to safer rocks where they could no longer spread - a merciful gift from otherwise wrathful gods.

Though he would refuse to admit it, he wept at the sight of nature being so casually slaughtered, watching incontinently as he was helpless to stop the flames from eviscerating the life that had taken so long to grow, with such great effort from their gods. The blackened smoke, whilst wispy where he was, matted his fur and made him feel sick; forcing him to wipe his face though it did no good. He only succeeded in making himself look more like a charred mess. He wanted to cry, to curl into a ball and to just cry out his heart for the entire world to hear because he was just about done. He didn't want to be covered in such filth; he didn't want any of this to end. It just wasn't fair. He wanted it all to stop.

However, Stevarn did not have such privileges. With a steeled face, he looked for what his next target might be. What had it been that had plummeted to their land? Surely it must have been something sent by the gods... Perhaps it was his peractia, that he would be exiled on this very day to seek out this gift from the above. It was a reckless and stupid thing to believe, but Stevarn was just about ready to stop right there and let himself be killed. He would have willingly walked into the flames and lived out his nightmare had it meant no longer living in the confusion and chaos. He had to believe that this was a sign, for him alone.

It was settled. This was his peractia, his lifelong purpose. He would travel to where that fireball impacted and find out truly what had happened.

The wolf scanned again for the direction of the fire. It was definitely heading away from the river, which left a large bend around the terrain and towards the impact. However Stevarn noticed with shivering fear that this path ran directly across the territory of the monstrous lions. His route would cut straight through; going across the heart eventually until he left in the exit wound the other side. It would be no easy feat, but he was just one mild wolf. He must be inconsequential to them to bother with truly.

Suddenly he felt a sharp flare of pain strike through his forearm, a dull thud deafening his ear. Confused as to what had happened, Stevarn jolted back his arm that kept him balanced against the trunk, rubbing where the pain radiated from. His paws ran through wetness, and he looked to see a gash bleeding across his soot-ridden fur. A knife had impaled the tree with such force that it dug in several inches, enough to keep it embedded there so that it hung, sat within splintered bark. The wolf looked down, just in time to see a second knife sail through the air, missing him by only a few feet.

Aydame was up and about, staring straight up at the defiant wolf with a cold gaze, picking out knives from a belt and throwing them with deadly accuracy to the sky. His expression looked as foul as he did, muddied in dirt and ash much like Stevarn, but he seemed to be more agitated that he could no longer reach the wolf,

"Come down here, you bitch!" Came the yell, a guttural roar that rang in his ears.

"Now, now," Stevarn chided, crouching down upon his branch and waggling a finger at the stallion as though he were scalded a child, "We don't use that sort of language, you know."

"I will cut you," Aydame hissed back, throwing another knife that came incredibly close to slicing through the wolf's shin, "Do as I command!" Stevarn laughed, pretending to be unfettered by the horse's wild threats, but secretly he already felt faint. The slash was deep on his forearm, and without properly binding it he'd surely bleed until he passed out, even until he died. Though it was fine for the time being, he certainly couldn't keep up the act of nonchalance forever, nor could he remain up in the tree,

"You're really not making a great case for yourself. I can stay up here whilst you're stuck down there with your stupid hooves." Aydame riled, picking up a strewn great axe and hurling it into the base of the tree. The whole structure shook with the force, right to the very top where it made the wolf teeter upon his perch. He looked down the trunk's length to see the metal blade gouging out huge chunks of wood and bark,

"If you will not come down, then I will have you come down myself."

Stevarn was quickly running out of options. The horse wouldn't leave him alone, it would seem, even after such a cataclysmic disaster, but he couldn't quibble on that now. He could feel each swinging hit of that axe against the base, his heartbeat pounding in his chest as he realised time was running short. There was no way he could leap from tree to tree in some daring escape - they were much too far and too weak for anything like that. His only way out was to barter, but he had nothing to offer that the stallion wanted aside from his freedom and choice.

"Hey!" Stevarn shouted, trying to rouse Aydame's attention and distract him from felling the tree, "Hey! You! Don't you want to know what that is? Don't you want to know what just fell from the sky?"

"Nope." The wolf's ears wilted. That was that plan out of the window, and he had nothing else up his sleeve. All that was left was to surrender with whatever peaceable terms he could negotiate for himself,

"If I come down now, without you having to cut me down, will you bandage up my arm at least?" He called out so pitifully, his tone defeated and weak. He wasn't even sure if Aydame had heard him through his angry fervour, so for a moment he was convinced his request had fallen on deaf ears. But the shaking of the tree stopped and his pulse slowed; from down below came a soft, warmer response he hadn't been expecting to hear,

"Fine..." It was reluctant all the same, but Stevarn felt a little better that his enslaver wasn't at least out to kill him.

He carefully scrambled down through the branches, cradling his wounded arm as he attempted to make the climb down with just the use of his good arm. The horse became more visible as he reached the ground, eventually making out the blackened smudges through his fur, the ruffled mane and dishevelled look. The blast had taken as much out of him as it had from Stevarn, but he appeared to have bounced back regardless. He seemed much more concerned with recapturing the wolf than the greedy fires that threatened to reduce anything in its path to dust.

Jumping down the final few feet, Stevarn came to a staggered land just shy of the stallion's position. He was barely rising to his height when Aydame set upon him, slamming him back against the ground and grabbing his arms roughly, rope already whipped out in his paws,

"Hey!" Stevarn growled, snapping back as he resisted, "A deal's a deal!"

"You've clearly never met a horse before, have you?"

"You hooved freaks!" The wolf spat indignantly, thrashing about as he felt Aydame's weight press down against his back. His face was pushed up hard against scorched soil, barely able to see anything other than the tendrils of dried grass that still whispered in the wind. The air was at least clearer down here, though all he could do was breathe in the earthly scent of fire. "Back-stabber! I hope Stamenia burns you alive!"

"Shut up, runt..." Aydame shoved Stevarn's head into the ground, giving the wolf a closer look of the ground, his face pressed so close up against it that dirt entered his maw. He heaved it out ready to launch again into a tirade of insults as he protested, fighting back against the horse that now held him captive, but a rag was shoved unceremoniously into his muzzle. He grunted and shouted out, muffled by the cloth, but it was no use; he felt two ends being tied behind his head and then tightened until it crushed his skull in a dull ache. His attempts to push out the cloth with his tongue were only met with the savoured bitter taste of sweat and other notes he couldn't distinguish. It would have normally have made him gag, but for now he accepted that it was there and it wasn't about to be removed any time soon. It did not stop him though from continuing to growl and riot from behind the fabric, feeling heavy paws grappling for his arms. Aydame's size and strength greatly outmatched him, so all of Stevarn's efforts were pointless he realised, but still he could make things awkward, perhaps even prolong the situation until an opportunity to free himself was presented to him. It was a losing battle as one paw finally managed to clasp over both his wrists in a vice-like grip, securing his arms behind his back as they crossed over one another. The other disappeared momentarily, making the wolf squirm about on the ground until he felt something cool and sticky get slathered onto his forearm. There was a sharp sting, making him yell out, as this gel seeped into the gash, followed by a tingling sensation that carried an odd coolness to it. Pain ebbed away until all that was replaced was a numb sensation, his arm feeling relaxed and loose. He barely registered the constricting sensation about his arm as something wrapped it up, smothering it eventually until it was tugged secure.

Aydame let go finally, rising to his hooves as he looked down at the wolf who scrabbled to his footpaws, glaring at the stallion with such vehemence that startled him for such a small creature. Stevarn regarded him coldly; he yanked the cloth from his muzzle with his good arm as he slowly looked to his wounded one, lifting up the limb to inspect the damage. His whole forearm, now bandaged up in stained yellow cloth, felt heavy, as though he were trying to lift the greatest boulder. All the heat had since faded away to be replaced by a chill that sapped along his veins, accompanied by a distinct smell of sap and oils, the cloth damp to the touch. The wolf flexed his paw, or attempted to at the very least, but it refused to cooperate, barely giving the faintest of twitches as he lost sensation. Panicked, he tried to massage the feeling back into his paw by wrangling the pads and wrist, rotating them manually with the other to see if he could generate life back into them.

"What did you do?" Stevarn asked franctically once he realised all his attempts were fruitless. His paw didn't respond to anything he willed it to do. It felt almost as though his paw had been severed from his body. Aydame rolled his eyes,

"You're welcome," He replied dryly, arms folded in a defensive posture, "It will stop infections, yes? It also keeps pain away. It'll only be for a while though. You will feel it once again." The horse gestured to the gag-cloth that hung around Stevarn's neck, "Now would you be handing me back my loincloth?"

The wolf looked down to the fabric about his neck, his good paw reaching up to feel the moist and musky-smelling gag before his eyes looked upwards. Whilst he had been remiss of the sight before, his mood clouded by seething anger and resentment, Stevarn finally acknowledged Aydame in all his glory. Truly, it was glorious, as even compared to his fellow wolves he surpassed them in all accounts. Now free to look without the fear of being surrounded by the enemy, the wolf could focus upon the details of his face, his body, and anything else that caught his eye. Whilst dirtied by soot, the stallion had a thick mane that flouted any straggling looks. It appeared full and thick, much like the muscles that took Stevarn's attention next. As the stallion crossed his arms, it was impossible to not recognise that the biceps and forearms of the horse bulged with such a strength that the wolf had never seen in his lifetime. They covered up the horse's barrel of a chest, pectorals pronounced and hardened on the sight. The sprawling tattoo of black tendrils was more obvious now in the closer encounter, showing how they took up a great deal of Aydame's arm. They stood out boldly against his soft brown fur colour, which in noting contrasted excellently with his lighter mane. His eyes were a dark blue, foreboding and disconcerting as they stared arrogantly at the wolf. But of course, Stevarn's gaze was drawn down to the horse's groin, persuaded by curiosity and growing stupid lust; the wolf had never seen any other male from another species up close before. They were considered too dangerous to keep so close to the village, but had seen women before now, the odd lioness who strayed from a hunt, or a bear who had come down from the mountains, exiled herself too. They had never appeared so different to Stevarn when he compared the sight to female wolves, but looking at Aydame's bared body now made him question this assumption that they were all alike down there. His eyes caught the sight of two plump and very large balls, hanging low and swinging as the horse shifted upon his hooves. Between those two thick legs swung what looked like the beginnings of a third, but to both Stevarn's horror and amazement, this third appendage bobbed and dribbled with white ooze: an unmistakable distinction of a penis. The wolf couldn't believe the sight as he quailed internally, not recognising its protruding form or blotched colour, wondering how any female - or even male, for his case - could take such a large size. Its head, unnatural to his own tapered point, was blunt and flared, whilst it trailed back a great length of black and pink to its sheath, which appeared less as a firm, soft upright tube but more of a leathery, folding flesh.

Hastily, mesmerised still by the unholy cock that throbbed before him, Stevarn reached up behind his neck and fumbled with the knot with one paw, eventually loosening it enough to a degree where he could slip it off in a mad hurry. He threw the musky loincloth back to the stallion, who caught it deftly with one hand and undid the rest,

"What the..." Stevarn hoarsely whispered, words failing him as he was astounding by the biological differences. It was like meeting a nightmare, if he were to be frank; some beast that belonged only in the imagination stood here alive and breathing, living quite normally just as he might in the real world. There was no knot to his genitals, no tapered point, no proportioned length... How then did he tie with his bitches? How did he assure his seed prospered in a woman's womb? Was entry painful for the females of his kind? But most of all... why did this matter to Stevarn?

He couldn't assume a reason as to why this bothered him so much. Surely if he were to escape it would matter little. Perhaps it was just the horses; maybe they were the only ones with corrupted forms. Stevarn had grown up all his life assuming that the God Anima had allowed the wolves to take his own shape, their whole species serving as direct descendants to the true blood. All other species were forsaken sinners who had been cast out in the darkest days of old, twisted and malformed in the savage lands that lay beyond where Stevarn was about to roam next with a little luck. The lions had descended from madness within a wolf named 'Leyo-Ni', who was cast out when he betrayed the true pack, whilst the foxes had come from two children named 'Vule-In' and 'Forek-Zy' who'd wandered too far when they became poisoned in a dark forest, unable to return to higher ground as their fur became tainted with this toxic orange, leaving them to survive alone in the shadows. But no such legend had been made about horses. The tribe had always regarded them as creatures born from total darkness, their inexplicable shapes having leapt from nightmares. For Stevarn to see one up close, so fully and naked, was shocking.

"You like what you see, huh?" Aydame drawled, his muzzle spread in a sly grin, "Good... You will be most pleased then with the duties I have in store for you..."

Stevarn shook his head, staggering back from the horse. The gap was closed swiftly as Aydame took a few easy strides forward, already snatching up the rope he'd since abandoned. The wolf thought quickly,

"Wait!" The stallion paused, though looked irritated, "If you tie me up, I won't be able to walk. You'd have to carry me... Don't want to waste your strength, do you?"

"I am stronger than I look." Stevarn didn't doubt him, but he pushed the rope away again a second time as the stallion made a lunge for his wrists,

"But what if we get attacked? You'd be risking yourself if you have to slung me on your back." He pointed to the fires, "If you haven't noticed, the Gods are angry with us, for whatever reason, and nobody's going to be dismissive of that. All the territories will be teeming with tribesmen; since you've been abandoned by your pack, you're on your own and burdened with me. So let me walk." He stared fixedly at the stallion who returned a blank stare. He felt it best to add one final thing, "Please?"

There was a pregnant pause, but doubt and hesitation flickered behind those impassive eyes. Stevarn knew before the horse even spoke that he had won,

"Very well," Aydame adjusted his loincloth once again until it fell into a position that hid away the abhorrence of nature tucked between his thighs. He coughed, clearing his throat, "If you so much as dare try to run, I will hunt you down and gut you. Do not think yourself above being slaughtered, runt."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Stevarn spat back, a slight tingle to his paws. At least the stallion's words were true; he could begin to wiggle the tips again, but only at much exertion. He felt relieved that his limb hadn't been poisoned, though he still resented the male's indifference towards him. He would have to guard himself well against any threat he'd have hidden, be it some cowardly tactic or worse. To trust him would be foolish. Though his word might be true, it did not make it automatically dependable. Stevarn expected to sleep with one eye open tonight.

Aydame began heading off away from the spreading fire, moving towards the mountains - almost invariably where Stevarn's pack would be. He couldn't return there, not ever. If he were to be found anywhere in their territory, it wouldn't just be the stallion he'd have to worry about.

"Where are you going?" He asked, remaining where he was. The hulking stallion turned to fix him with a cold, apprehensive stare,

"To the shale cliffs; my herd will gather there in wake of the Demon's descent. We must hurry, or else we will be consumed." Stevarn was confused; what was this demon? Aydame looked so fearful. For a bestial man like that to be afraid... the wolf did not bode their odds their well.

"Demon's desce... What are you talking about?"

"The beast has descended!" The horse pointed to the ember glow that clung to the horizon. Stevarn could see through the trees, thick smoke still billowing to the sky as somewhere, off in the distance, he knew a menacing inferno blazed heartlessly, chewing up the grass and all beyond it. "Long in our time, he has searched for ways of walking the land. He was kept at bay by natures' forces, but now he has found a way to descend and stride across the world." The wolf couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Aydame really that stupid to believe this was an evil sent to destroy them?

"Are you serious?" He laughed, holding back a full bellied chortle as he mocked the horse, "A demon? Really? That was no demon; that was the Godstar, and our creators have finally come once again in person to unite with us. Why else would they bring down their celestial home? We have to go, we must meet with them and be welcomed into their fold."

The stallion shook his head, a paw going to the grip of his sword, the silent threat enough to quell any rebellion within the wolf,

"No, we are to go to the shelter to meet with my herd. There I will decide the fate of you." Stevarn would have bickered more, but they neither had the time, nor did the stallion have the patience. The fire would soon be upon them if they did not begin to move. The only safest refuge would be... "We must cross the river and attempt to reach the shale cliffs from there."

"Are you insane?!" Stevarn yelled, pushing the horse's weight with all his might, though it did little to do anything else but annoy him, "That's straight into lion territory!" Aydame shoved him back a couple of feet, and whilst the wolf staggered, trying to maintain his balance, he hissed back,

"Do you think I'm oblivious to that?! We have little choice! If we do not leave now, these meadows will be ablaze and the Demon shall devour us! The river is our only hope of evading his wrath." Whilst Stevarn would have questioned the horse's reasoning, his logic was true; if they were to attempt to escape through the meadows they'd be burned alive. Their only hope would be to head for water and hope that the fire doesn't manage to cross to the other side of the river. It was a slim chance, not even a sound one, but it was by a longshot the best. If he went along with the horse and used his help to cross the river, there might be some chance he could then escape. For now, he was resigned the play the dumb, dependent and helpless hostage.

They set off in what Stevarn assumed to be the direction of the river. It took them in a diagonal line that cut through a portion of the meadow. The world seemed to be tinged in a haze of grey and black, as now the smoke had since begun to spool in the sky and blot out much of the light. If the wolf looked back now, he could make out the retreating pillar of black, licked with red and orange, as it plumed into the clouds. For him, it felt like he was turning his back on the very beings that had brought him into existence. He believed that maybe if he could meet with them, converse with them, then the issue of being unfaithful to the cause of life could be smoothed over. He could regain his status once more; perhaps even solidify it if he were to act as a unifying ambassador between his pack and the Gods. He couldn't understand why Aydame was so dead set against examining the Godstar's point of descension. Why he viewed the Gods as a demon, Stevarn would never know. As he looked at the stallion's broad back, the towering leviathan unfeeling to him, he wondered truly if maybe the horses were nowhere near as advanced as the wolves were in their understanding of the world. Maybe they were just barbarians covering amongst the cliffs and caves in fear of a little fire.

Aydame kept the wolf in his sights at all times. Even when clambering over fallen obstacles of upheaved earth, the stallion would watch Stevarn as though his life depended on it. Perhaps it was just to protect what was rightfully his, the wolf supposed. With his pack gone and with little to no spoils to show for the loss, maybe the warrior was looking to find some pertinent use of the wolf to justify him returning practically empty-pawed. Stevarn knew that for his own pack it was a great insult to the very establishment of the village to bring back nothing from any excursion. It was why wolves would often set out alone for days at a time only to return with some offering to make of value. Metal ores stolen from the bears, woven clothes from the foxes, or food fit to feed the entire tribe. When they reached the thick of the woods, where the trees grew most dense by the river's winding path, Aydame pushed Stevarn roughly in front of him. From then on, the stallion kept him there at all times, refusing to let him stop for breath or break pace. It was a constant march towards the river, picking their way through the heavy undergrowth that had sprawled its way across the forest floor. Inside it was deathly quiet, the heat and the acrid stench of bitter fire long since forgotten and replaced by the sickly chill and dampness of dew. A thin shroud of shadow though had replaced the smog with equal intensity, leaving Stevarn to adjust to the fraction of light that managed to tipple through overhanging trees and an expansive canopy. The whole sensation felt eerie and wrong, chilling him to the bone as they trekked through the cavernous wood.

"What do you plan on doing with me?" He asked, piping up quietly from the front. It would be best to make small talk, engage the horse to lower his defences. If he could have the stallion at least somewhat trusting him enough to allow a little leniency, perhaps let his guard slip just that tiniest bit, then he could find his chance to flee later.

"You will serve the herd," Aydame responded gruffly, swatting a low-hanging branch out of his way with the back of his paw.

"What do you mean by serve?" That was probably what Stevarn feared most. Service could encompass anything and everything, from simple labour to more... questionable activities. He might be willing to go against the act of life, but he wasn't prepared to do so for some degenerate species. To be forced to do so was the greatest dishonour as it showed weakness. To force another was worse.

"You will do whatever I see fit," the stallion said, his tone trying to hold back the viciousness to it. Stevarn could see that he was under pressure, clearly fearful that this 'demon' would hunt them down at any minute. "Be it repairing armour and weapons or submitting yourself for use."

"What do you mean by-" The wolf was cut off before he could finish his sentence, a brutal arm seizing his neck and whirling him against the nearest tree. He felt himself lift up off the ground, his footpaws no longer pressed against the cool moss and now he dangled, choking, in the air, paws instantly clawing at the stallion's grasp. Aydame held his face close to Stevarn's, his breath hot and rank, baring his teeth as he flapped his lips in aggression,

"You ask too many questions." As Stevarn made the last few gasps of air he could, his vision tainted with more black than usual, he was released, left to collapse to the ground in a huddle. He sucked in deep breaths, rubbing his throat in one paw as he rasped on until he could see straight again. The stallion stood, arms folded, looking in any direction but at the wolf as he waited impassively for him to pick himself up off the filthy floor, dust himself down, and carry on. Though he daren't say it to the horse's face, he mumbled some incoherent curse under his breath at the stallion, still nursing his sore neck.

Though the wolves had never partaken in the act of slavery, they were well versed in it. A hunting expedition gone wrong; it had resulted in the pack losing a good stock of males that season, captured by the horses somewhere off in the meadows. The territories had to be redrawn that day, further encroaching up the mountain. There was often much contention within the packs' elders over the threat of losing too much land to rival species. Some petitioned for war, others declared that they must merely stand their ground. But all Stevarn was aware of was the tales that had mingled amongst the children - shackles and hideous piercings of metal through flesh, burnt markings upon the skin and subjugation unlike no other. The wolf knew a lot was exaggerated to scare the wolves and vilify neighbouring tribes, but he understood that there was far greater submission involved than just simply following orders.

He cast a cautious glance to the stallion now who practically held his fate within his paws. Though escape felt impossible, Stevarn did not want to truly know what enslavement was like.

His window of opportunity appeared to be drawing ever nearer though. They heard the roar of the river before they saw it, and even amongst the dense trees, he could smell the freshness of crashing water against rocks. He smelt vaguely familiar of home, where a bubbling stream would run through the highest points of the mountains. The Barathok however was a much more dangerous foe than a mere trickle. As they came to the edge of the woods, the mighty river howled against them in a deafening rush though blotted out all else. To be heard, the two of them would have to shout simply just to register the other was trying to say something. Attempting to cross the river, particularly at such a perilous point, was suicide beyond all measures.

"How do you propose we cross?" Stevarn yelled, cupping his muzzle to project the sound better. His stoic friend remained unchanged, continuing to look out across the foaming, writhing water that practically boiled itself as it went along its path. "Aydame, what are we going to do?" Still no response; the wolf believed that maybe even the stallion didn't have an answer. He was at a loss himself as to what to do. His people had never had to deal with any such predicaments. They were accustomed to falling trees or chasms, not violent rivers that could swallow a man whole if they weren't strong enough.

"Do you trust me?" Aydame said, finally, in a level voice. Stevarn looked back to him, though the stallion refused to fix him with any form of recognition. He answered honestly,

"No."

"You're going to have to." Without anything else, the beefy stallion lifted the wolf up, grappling him easily in two paws and lifting him atop his head. Before Stevarn had any chance to voice his protest, writhing about in the iron grip, the horse leapt forward, plunging down further to the sketchy frame of the river bank. He ran in, neighing loudly, until he was nearly thigh deep in a heavy trudge of water. He continued going, unceasing as he strode forwards deeper into the river. Stevarn realised absently as he stopped struggling, trying to keep himself balanced above the horse's head, that he was attempting to follow some shallow route hidden beneath the river's fractured skin. They would get deeper and deeper, the water beginning to drag the stallion down until he was shoulder-deep leaving them to a crawling pace. They weren't even yet at the halfway point and still Aydame pressed on, water flicking at his muzzle. He spat out whatever washed into his mouth, and every now and then Stevarn could feel him bob ever so slightly where his footing gave way. How he was able to stand against the powerful buffet of river, the wolf didn't know, but he marvelled at the male's strength. Though he feared with each lumbering, water-logged step he took that they'd soon topple and sink into the river's embrace.

There came a particularly strong rush of water, and Stevarn's fears became a reality.

It happened slowly, as though Aydame was merely teasing the wolf, until he felt the balance truly give way. The stallion no longer stood upright, his weight now lifted up off the marshy river bed leaving him afloat. His grip was lost on the wolf, and Stevarn fell with a tremendous slap into the water. The icy cold engulfed him, like a long lost friend, as it dragged him down. He felt the pull and snare of the river take a hold of his body was he froze upon, the strength sapped from him. As he fought back against the current, he lost sight of the horse, white water and spray stinging his eyes as he struggled to keep his head above the surface. He found no traction upon the river's floor, his limbs flailed out as he was carried away downstream. There was little he could do except fight to survive, fighting against a watery abyss that hungrily attempt to swallow him whole, pulling him down and thrashing his body against the rocks. Stevarn knew it was impossible. Nature was cruel, and the Gods had placed boundaries upon the world to stop furs from leaving the sacred lands. Tales of men succumbing to rivers, washed away in a flood and never seen again were rife amongst other stories, and cubs were always scalded for ever straying off any given route. As Stevarn choked, water gushing into his mouth, the air failing to reach his lungs and meeting only liquid instead, he wondered whether he would die here, alone, cold and wet.

"Is this your first time?"

Stevarn didn't feel good. His head was draining fast and the light from up top was nothing but a glimmer away now. He was drowning, that much he knew - such an odd word. Seldom did he hear it back with his pack. Nobody ever really drowned. That was for other species to worry about.

"It's okay, just relax."

He listened to the voices that echoed in his head. Perhaps Stamenia was welcoming him into the afterlife, cutting his string and finally retaking his soul. Maybe he had done no wrong after all, that all was forgiven and he could be welcomed into the great smoke.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry."

He believed the voice - for he now realised there was only one - as it sounded soothing, reassuring. Like an old friend. He closed his eyes and let himself tumble about in the murky blackness as he believed everything was over.

"I know it hurts, but give it a minute... You'll like it, I promise."

A hand caressed his face, smoothing through the sodden fur as he drifted weightlessly through the water. It stroked across the fine line of jaw and over his muzzle, as though summing up his features. He daren't open his eyes though, fearful of the blackness which now consumed him. His mind became vaguely aware it was being tossed about, thrown from rock to rock, but it was all so ethereal to him. He could remain like that for ages more, a part of the water's flow and lifeless.

That's when the pain flared up once more. Broad arms now enclosed about him in a vice whilst the caressing touches became steeled, grabbing the wolf's limp and weakened body and handling him as roughly as one might handle a carcass. The water had since washed away whatever Aydame had used to numb the pain in his arm, and now Stevarn felt the fires of agony rouse him back to life. As this saviour of his, some beast pulling him through the water, still jarred as they slammed against the rocks and pits, he began to fight. He struggled in the grasp until the sound of rushing water began to fill his ears again. Daylight seemed closer, gradually growing brighter and brighter until he felt safe to open them once more.

He broke free of the surface with a desperate gasp of air, choking and spluttering the water that had filled his lungs and burnt him from the inside. Something bobbed him nearer to the shore, travelling in a tired diagonal until they reached the bank. Stevarn was thrown down amongst the pebbles, grunting and spluttering as he rolled to safety, a hand pushing him further up until a heavy weight flopped down beside him. As he blearily wiped the water from his eyes, rasping his now clean lungs and returning to some semblance of life, he looked across at the stallion, whom had come to rescue him,

"Why..." he wheezed, trying to lift himself up to at least orientate himself, "Why save me?" Aydame didn't answer, though Stevarn could see the light rise and fall of his broad chest which informed him he was very much alive. The stallion stared up at the ashen sky, neither speaking nor moving as once again he gave the wolf the cold shoulder. Stevarn sighed, lifting himself to his footpaws and shaking as much of the water out of his fur that his strength would allow. "Fuck you too then," he muttered, barely audible as he slouched against a piece of driftwood that had scoured its way up the bank. He didn't recognise at all where they were, but if he could smell smoke once again and see the clouds look blacker then he concluded them to have fallen further down the river than intended. A small part of him quelled deep within, shuddering from primal fear. They were surely in lion territory now.

"Because you are valuable," Aydame said, speaking now as he clambered up to his hooves. He wiped his short coat of fur down free of water, and did his best to wrangle what he could out of his mane. His braided portion had managed to remain intact, though it looked dredged now, sodden with water. Stevarn snorted at the stallion as he sat back, recovering his strength after being so close to death. He swore he'd heard Stamenia calling to him, though he daren't tell an outsider of such a vision. It _must_be because they were closer to the Godstar. It was the only explanation.

"What now?" Stevarn panted, "We're deep in the lions' turf now. Still want to risk going to find your..." he swished the word around in his head for a moment before sound it out slowly, as though it were alien, "...herd?"

"We must. They will need me." The wolf rolled his eyes. It was probably a smart move to immediately attempt to evacuate the lion's territory, but dependent on far deep they were, they might not breach the boundary by sunset. It would mean camping out within a breath of the enemy. As much as Stevarn wished to see the Godstar, he did not wish to be caught by the lions more. He would go along with the stallion's plan for now, at least until they were safe from the cats. Then he would make his escape. Besides, he was in no fit shape to fight or flee. After nearly drowning, he was beginning to lose the faint hope that he might survive alone in this world. For the first time, he longed to be back with his people, regardless of how they treated him. He longed to be home.

~ ~ ~

It had been tiring. The whole chain of events, from the Godstar falling to nearly dying, it had all drained the wolf of any desire to continue on. As he sat tied to the trunk of a tree with a length of rope, he simply waited for the stallion to start up the impossibly small fire he'd set. Whilst the horse had the best pickings of food to eat from what he'd foraged, apparently they didn't share the same diet. Stevarn was tossed a handful of rather unsavoury looking plant roots and nuts, but he didn't feel much like eating them. He merely nibbled upon a dried plant so as to appease the horse before he set about dining himself. Though he might have been hungry, he wasn't about to sell himself out in the name of sating a grumbling stomach. He was a wolf, for goodness sake, and he had integrity.

Aydame though seemed much less bothered that he was eating food that had come off the floor. He chewed and gnawed his way through his preposterously sized portion until he was happy, rubbing his gut as though he'd dined on a whole carcass all to himself. The stallion hadn't even managed to find a single fruit to share. It was pitiful. Stevarn wondered, rather bitterly, if these barbaric horses expected him to feed upon such filth if he were to be their slave. He wondered on a graver note if he'd be forced to degrade himself if he was fed nothing else whilst being enslaved... He shook his head. No, they wouldn't do that. He'd rather die of starvation than let this herd get the better of him.

They were still quite deep in lion territory, but so far they hadn't run into any scout patrols or encampments. It boded well, and perhaps luck was on their side, though it did little to settle Stevarn's nerves. As they sat there in their little hollow, the glow of the fire casting dancing shadows about them through the smattering of trees, the wolf constantly looked further beyond, hoping not to catch some fleeting glimpse of something moving in the dark. They couldn't risk an ambush; particularly not in the state he was now, weak and leashed to a tree like some sort of insane man. Stevarn would have taken the horses any day over that of imprisonment and eventually execution by the lions. He knew far more of them than he did of the horses. They were much more terrifying.

Aydame seemed to be idly content though with the silence that hung between them. He didn't speak much, nor did Stevarn really want him to, but he didn't seem at all bothered by the situation they were in. In the dead of night, with the cold creeping in all around them, still trapped within the enemy's lines, he was watching the tiny blaze before him as though he hadn't a care in the world. Stevarn's gear, all that he owned now that was left and hadn't been washed away in the river now sat at the fire's side. It was within reach, but he knew if he moved now to retriever his tools the stallion would only move them further away. He had to bide his time, for now at least. His knife flashed ever so softly in the light, but it would be useless unless he could get a hold of it.

The stallion shifted about in his spot, which stirred the wolf's attention just enough to get him to look over in his general direction. Their eyes met, the awkward silence intensifying, until Aydame finally broke it,

"I suppose you're wondering why you're valuable to me."

"Not really." Aydame ignored him,

"You see... Our herd has rules... sort of traditions that we must uphold." Stevarn remained silent. The stallion looked as though he'd switched into an automatic mode, talking more for his own sake than the wolf's, "One of those traditions is that the men must mate with a female and attempt to produce at least one foal a year." Stevarn had no clue what a foal was, but from the context he assumed Aydame meant a cub. It was disgusting listening to their customs, "Not many survive, but it is our duty to try and maintain the herd with new stock. Every male and every female is put to this duty. We therefore do not take mates for life. We rotate, annually, joining with a new female to help propagate the herd. There is no lifelong commitment, no cause for love. We mate, raise a foal if we are of the lucky few, and we move on." Stevarn shuffled himself into a more comfortable position, listening with a sickening gut as he heard the stallion unfold his life. He barely noticed a small flick of the horse's loincloth, but he assumed it was just the firelight playing tricks, "We are permitted to dabble... to take others for sexual release. Whilst a mare might be in heat for a few weeks of the year, the stallions are always virile, always wanting... The women often cannot give, so we take slaves. They become our comforters, the sates to our yearnings. We rarely take slaves to work, but rather to use." Stevarn's eyes went wide, as he began to realise what the horse was hinting towards, "Typically these are female, as the woman's form is more desirable to most, but if we cannot find a female then we make do..." Aydame fixed his eyes with Stevarn's, regarding him with an almost apologetic gaze that looked forlornly over to him. The wolf wanted to speak, but his throat was dry, his voice no longer his to command. The stallion stood up, and began to undo his loincloth. Stevarn wished desperately that he could get away, but no matter how hard he tugged upon his bonds he couldn't free himself. "I have never truly liked_the female form... It's too shapely, too... _cumbersome. I much prefer the agile bodies of men, the reactions I can get, the feel of strength and power beneath my paws, it is nothing that I have ever found when with a mare. They are always so passive and disinterested. But with males..." Aydame shuddered, finally releasing the loincloth from his hips, "Males seem just that little bit more involved..." Stevarn stared down at the stallion's crotch, seeing that unholy cock swinging between his thighs. It was swelling now, much like any manhood the wolf had seen before, but it was unnaturally large that it scared him. He wanted to get away from it, to never let it touch him. Issak was fine, he was gentle, caring, the shape was familiar and assuring, but Aydame... He didn't want to be defiled by some inferior species. His mind became a desperate mess of jumbled thoughts as the stallion began to approach him, stroking his member with one paw. He could barely enclose his paw around it, the flat, nasty head dribbling with the faint juices of arousal. Quickly the distance was closed between them, and the light was blotted out by the silhouette of Aydame's body as he towered over the bound wolf. Stevarn whimpered, spitting up at the horse,

"I'll never submit to you! I'll scream until the lion's come. I'd rather die than let you touch me like that!" Aydame shook his head, rather sadly, as he gripped the wolf's muzzle in one paw and let go off his cock.

"That's a shame... I would've thought you'd like it, given your fixation with my groin before." He sighed, as though he genuinely was disheartened, "Nevertheless, whilst I would have liked to use your mouth, it's not necessary." Stevarn fought back, trying to pull his face out of the horse's grasp, but he couldn't. He was simply too weak. Whilst he blushed at the part when Aydame identified his underlying love of men, the red haze swiftly left his cheeks as that unwashed, foul loincloth was once again pushed into his mouth and tied around his head. Stevarn tried to yell, moaning from behind the gag, but all he succeeded in was drooling across his chest. "I know you're going to enjoy this... You've been taken by a man before, I can tell. Most males would be confused at this point, but you know it's possible, unlike them who were naïve. You know how it works."

Stevarn fought back as best he could, but the horse grabbed a hold of his ankles and pushed them up, making the wolf fall with a sharp thud against the tree's bark. With his paws otherwise useless, and now without the ability to move his legs in the solid grip of the stallion, his rump was exposed from beneath his own clothing. He whimpered, ears folding back, as Aydame hacked up a wad of spit straight onto his rump, the wolf flinching from the sensation as it landed smack dab on his hole. He felt thick fingers slide down from his taint, cupping his delicate balls, before smearing in the saliva, pushing into his hole. He whined, the pain erupting in his rim as one digit entered. It was almost the same size as any cock Stevarn had taken, somehow managing to make a single finger compare to any other male leaving a wrenching feeling in his gut. The intrusion didn't stop, no matter how hard he tried to force the finger out, as it pushed into him deep until he felt the knuckles graze his cheeks,

"You are very tight... This will hurt since it's the first time, but you'll learn to enjoy it." Aydame shuffled forwards, kneeling amongst the dirt and grasping the base of his cock in one paw, "If you don't, then... well, you're going to wish that I had let you drown."

A stabbing pain screamed out in his ass, and Stevarn groaned loudly, too loudly for the stallion's liking, as the male took a firm grip of his balls and squeezed them until the wolf was squirming but relatively silent. The crackle of the fire clung in the background, but whilst it didn't light up what Stevarn saw, he could make out the outline of Aydame's long face hanging just over his,

"If you make a sound, I will crush your balls and leave you to the lions... do you understand?"

Pain gave out over fear, and Stevarn nodded his head, his tongue pressed up against the musky cloth that filled his muzzle. Its taste ran across his tongue in gouts of rancid flavour that tainted his muzzle. All he could feel was the horse, that fat, impossible head entering him, fire burning in his gut as he was spread too far, forced to accommodate the ungodly cock. Every inch was so pronounced to him that it felt like an age until the stallion had hilted him fully, those heavy orbs swaying and tapping against the base of his tail. He reached deep into his gut, much farther than Issak had, and with greater size. His eyes watered as he was used, violated by a man he wished he'd never met, his hole ravaged by the monstrous member. Aydame sat there like that, if only for a moment, before he began to pull out, reigniting the fire of agony that tore through Stevarn's body. The wolf kept true to his word though, as whilst he grunted and huffed in pain he remained as quiet as he could. It was difficult, feeling the cock drag along his inner walls, leaving them savaged by wrong flesh, but he maintained some degree of self-control. He had stopped resisting though hoping that if he helped the stallion finish himself off as quickly as he could, then maybe the nightmare would be over. As he felt a hard twinge in his ass, just before that blunt head was about to be removed, Stevarn clenched his hole down, straining against the rope and paws that held him in position. He sobbed weakly, the cry coming out more as a muffle series of pants, but his eyes spoke more volumes than that,

"You will enjoy it, I promise you, runt..." Aydame said, once again almost as though he was apologising for the whole thing, but Stevarn had nothing but contempt for him. He began again to push back in, letting his member guide itself as it reworked the wolf's insides, forcibly making him adjust to fit the stallion's length. His hole was now numbing itself from the pain, having now been abused to the point where it had given up sensation. The horse managed to bottom out once more, this time the pain ebbing away, and he let his cock sit there again for a moment or two. He panted, huffing out hot, rank breath against the wolf's face as though the effort of pushing his manhood into a male was hard work for him, "So tight... fuck..."

Just then, as Aydame adjusted his stance, Stevarn felt something prod with his gut and his whole abdomen exploded in a feeling on intense pleasure. His sheath stirred ever so slightly, his member beginning to harden and rise from its confines. Though he was in tears, still wishing he could be anywhere else but here tied to this tree getting rape by a vile horse, he was confused as to why he found that weird movement enjoyable. He refused to believe that the stallion was right, that he could enjoy the act of life with another male from another species, but there it came again, another blossom of pleasure that perked itself through pain. As the horse began to thrust, now deciding Stevarn could take whatever he dished out, he became aware of the jabs of bliss that shook through him each time Aydame made some rough shove forwards. The hot breath no longer seemed to stink as much as he thought, the heavy smell of male sweat and musk enticing to him, pheromones and lust taking over. Pain was now becoming a forgotten memory, and though he was much aware that he was breaking probably every sacred law his people had ever held by going against the Gods' wishes of procreating with another male of a foreign species, he couldn't have cared less. He was still bitter about being used, of being treated like an object, but his body spoke for him now, taking over as the stallion became erratic, humping away at his rump with blistering speed. His member was hard, pushing away his cloth and leaving him exposed for the stallion to grin and smirk evilly, "Told you you'd enjoy it..."

He gave a heavy huff, thrusting forward for one more time until Stevarn felt a sickening, warm feeling in his gut. Issak had never came this much, but Aydame kept holding back a loud bray as his emptied his load into the wolf's ass. Stevarn squirmed as he felt himself fill up, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as warmth flooded into him, twisting about in his gut as something plugged it all up, keeping him filled. He felt raw, abused, and disgusted with himself, but he couldn't hold it back. It was too much. As Aydame came, so did he, the sensation of it all being overwhelming to him regardless of how wrong it was. His cock twitched pathetically until finally it spluttered across his stomach, where an obscene bulge had formed of the stallion's seed, and smattered his bedraggled fur. Everything was too much for him, and so his mind began to shut down, to protect him, and to hide away the trauma.

His last conscious memory was of Aydame pulling out, followed by the gut-gurgling squelch of cum as it rushed out of his gaping, wrecked hole.

~ ~ ~

It was a pleasant day.

Stevarn awoke to birds chirping, though the sound was alien to him, and he was surrounded by obscure constructions made from stone. The ground had been paved in a similar fashioned, comprised not of dirt or grass but of an apparent solid slab of rock that stretched from each construction and beyond; even as the sun shone above them and a fresh breeze rolled by, the wolf had an uneasy feeling. He wanted to get away, he knew that much, and being here terrified him. It was so unreal, so abstract and ungodly that he feared for his life. He wished to only be back home, to be with his pack. That's all he wanted really, above all else, but it was impossible. He had been forced to go down this path, and now it led him here - to this alien world.

He rose up to his footpaws and staggered about, looking around as he felt trapped by the bizarre formations. They had panes of an invisible wall mounted with the rock, which allowed the wolf to see inside these hollowed out caves erected in the midst of nowhere. Inside was well furbished, as though someone had taken the concept of clothing and dressed it all across the floors and walls, filling the caverns then with tools and equipment such as chairs and tables. Stevarn wondered if this was some home to someone. That something lived in this isolated caves, but he couldn't have been sure. Everywhere was deserted.

He learnt why soon.

A great flash of green light drew his attention towards a grassy meadow, and the standing caves all began to rush away. The world picked itself apart in a slow explosion until Stevarn felt himself get lifted up off the ground, dragged towards the glowing light. Though he would have liked to believe this was death, he knew deep down it was something more dangerous than that. He let out a bloodcurdling scream as his body was plucked apart, piece by piece, his organs, bones, and blood extracted from his being all the while still living until he was consumed by the light, and then everything roared with a powerful intensity.

~ ~ ~

Gasping for breath, still gagged, Stevarn awoke with a petrified start. He looked about wildly, scanning his surroundings and breathing a sigh of relief when he realised he was fine. It was just another nightmare, like many before it, and it was, at least, somewhat familiar. Some wrong-placed memory, some spiritual overlap he'd perhaps had with someone once. He didn't much care, as right now he wished to return to sleep. But now that he was awake, with adrenaline pumping through his system, he grew aware of the situation he was back in. His ass felt incredibly sore, still wet and leaking the male's juices as it attempted to recover. He couldn't quite sit directly on his behind yet, the pain still flaring within him each time he tried to do so, so he settled to slouch to one side, feeling his guts push and pulse, trying to expel the foreign fluids within him, generating more aches as it did so.

Aydame had soundly fallen asleep though. Amidst the soft glow of the Phans, he lay sprawled out across a tree's root, slumbering deeply with his member still hanging from his groin, slick with seed and stirring every now and again. Apparently the release must have been enough to give him peace for the night, as he didn't at all seem disturbed by the wolf's sudden awakening - if he wasn't affected by that, then maybe...

It would be Stevarn's one and only chance. He refused to be turned into some sex slave for the horse. He reached now with one footpaw towards the smouldering embers of what had once been the fire, dragging his toes through the dirt until he caught the handle of his dagger. He did his best to pull it towards him, stopping every now and again for the faint stir of the horse sleeping not a few feet away. Gradually though he made progress, and though his body complained at the sheer levels of torture and pain it was being put through, the wolf was able to toss the knife eventually within grabbing distance. Aydame was quickly stirring though, troubled by something in his sleep, and Stevarn knew he had only moments to cut himself loose and flee into the night. He had no idea which way to go, so he settled in his mind there and then as he sawed the blade through the woven rope that he'd turn tail and run away from the little camp they'd made. Strand after strand was frayed and plucked, all the while the wolf could see that Aydame was grunting, clearly in some sort of anguish as he slept, plagued by his own nightmares; it was a race against time until finally, the rope fell slack, and Stevarn pulled his paws free hastily. Without wasting any more time, hearing the stallion snort in some bleary form of sleep, he got to his footpaws and fled.

He ran as fast as he could, ignoring all the protests from every sore limb and bone in his body that begged him to stop, his rear throbbing painfully from the forced penetration. Still he pressed on though, sprinting through the thicket and not stopping to look back, even when he heard the angered roar of the stallion in the far off distance. Constantly he looked out for any sight of the lions, but luck was prevailing, leaving him with an open path to flee in. All he had to do was find some place to hold out, hide himself away from both the lions and his captor, and he could then look into finding some way of reaching the Godstar. That, now, was his only hope. Tired, hurt, and weak, only the Gods could help him now.

Stevarn didn't look where he was going, and he tripped, his ankle snagging upon some unseen root. He slammed hard into the forest floor and lay there, dazed as his mind reverberated with the impact. His knife clattered off into the distance, scattered with metal clangs as it skipped across rocky terrain. Pain was becoming a consistent companion, it seemed, and as he tried to push away the pangs of agony, he felt himself get dragged backwards, pulled by his ankle. For a moment, the wolf feared that already the horse had caught up to him, managing to snare him and truss him up to ensure he would never escape ever again, but as he looked back, there was nothing there. An invisible force yanked him upwards high into the air until he soared for a moment, then hurtled back to the ground. His body hung limply, dangling by his single leg, as he swayed up and down and all around by some trap. Dread swallowed Stevarn's gut, engulfing his mind as he looked around, upside-down, with the blood thumping in his head and causing his thoughts to swim and blur. Shadows were moving in the backdrop of the trees, slowly creeping forwards until figures emerged, donning grotesque armour and painted in a wide variety of colours. Stevarn gulped, or tried to, as he swallowed back his nerves and whimpered feebly, knowing full well he could do nothing.

They were lions.

One approached him in particular. Though he was upside down, he could see that across one eye ran a red line, dyed onto the fur, but then cutting through the ragged mane of ash brown. His eyes looked wild, threatening and demonic, as they stared into Stevarn's own. A paw shot out to right the wolf, to prevent him to swinging about further, and he felt a sharp jab jolt at his gut, where the lion struck him. The male leant forwards, giving two sniffs of his body followed by one long inhalation,

"He smells freshly used," the lion spoke, his voice snarling and violent, much more horrific than the stallion, whom Stevarn longed to be with again rather than with a pack of lions, "Cut him down and bring him with us. The fireball's brought us a rare treat..."

Stevarn whined, but as the lion who'd approached him let go, several more set upon him, a heavy blow smacking against his head and putting him out cold. For the umpteenth time, his mind went black and his body passed out as the cold emptiness welcomed him home.

For once, the wolf was left trapped in icy fields of the wilderness, left to die alone at the paws of a madman.