Gareth the wolf
knight named his sword Fang, because the blade bit into him, locked its jaws,
and refused to let him go.

He leaned upon
the Zweihander in the aftermath of battle, helm and arming cap clattering to
the ground as the knight surveyed the maelstrom of corpses encircling him. Gareth's
fellows, human soldiers all, picked through the corpse field in advance of the
buzzards. Steel pierced flesh as the soldiers put down any survivors whose
bodies were too stubborn to bleed out, sending a sickly sweet smell of iron and
mud wafting past the wolf's sensitive nose. Gareth's side had claimed their
victory, forced the enemy to retreat, and restored a bloody peace.

It made him
feel terrible.

He clutched Fang's pommel in one
aching paw and draped his other arm over the massive crossguard to support his
exhausted body. The knicks and scratches Fang had endured in the battle began
to repair themselves, growing like flesh over wounds as the sword recovered its
razor edge. Blood glided down its mirror-smooth blade as if wiped off by an
invisible cloth. The divine sword healed until it appeared ceremonial, as if it
had never seen combat.

Though the sword no longer bore
damage from the battle, Gareth suffered like a mauled animal. Spattered sprays
of blood crossed his ashen steel armor, some of which oozed from stab wounds in
its gaps. A dozen broken bones sent pain sprinting through his body with every
movement, including in his beloved tail which an especially bold enemy
soldier—now a dead enemy soldier—had crushed with a war hammer.

Gareth panted then grit his teeth
as he struggled to endure the pain. The agony begged him to use his curse to
heal his wounds, and he begged in return.

Please don't make me. Not yet.
Let me stay myself for just a little longer.

A familiar sound emerged from the
eerie silence of the battlefield. Gareth's tall ears twitched as the footsteps
approached. He recognized those steps, even upon an earth made damp by the
pooling blood of men. The wolf looked up from his brooding. His ears perked,
and his tail swayed like a dog's despite the agony of the movement.

Naya approached, carrying beauty
and radiance with him to that grey and bloody place. The snow fox's white fur
practically glowed as sunlight seemed suddenly unhindered by the overcast sky.
It washed over Naya in defiance of the gloom, his blue eyes shining as they
stared past Gareth's defenses and melted his heart. Hanging from his back, the
bronze roundshield, Rose, glinted gold, reflecting in its mirror surface all
the atrocities surrounding it.

The fox stepped up to him with an
outstretched arm.

“How many?" Naya asked as he
rested his paw upon Gareth's cheek. He spoke softly, with an accent of nobility
as he scratched the fur with his graceful touch. His fingertips drew away
flakes of dried blood that mingled with his snowy fur.

“Thirty-six," Gareth estimated.
He glanced at the bodies around them, remembering vividly some of the soldier's
faces from the moment Fang had struck them down. He shuddered and held back the
bile flooding his throat, clutching the sword tighter.

Naya nodded. His eyes betrayed a
hardened heart. His tunneled vision focused only on Gareth while blocking out
the hellish fields around them.

“Are you ready to give me the
sword?" Naya asked.

A familiar fear washed over
Gareth at the asking of that dreaded question. He began to shake. Nausea
burrowed deep in his stomach like a toothy worm as the reality of the situation
set in. The battle was over. Naya would take Fang from him. Gareth would lose
himself again.

The wolf stared at his mate like
a frightened child. He shook his head.

Naya's eyes pleaded with him, calling
him home. They silently asked the knight to cast aside the field of battle and
return to the embrace of his love.

Come back to me, those
eyes begged. Just let the sword go.

“Would you relinquish it ever so
briefly?" Naya asked. “Just to wash the blood and wounds from your body. Then I
will return it, if that is your desire."

Gareth choked on his own breath
and looked around as if searching for a way out. Panic rose in him and
empowered his shaking. But when he looked at Naya again, the deep pools of his
love's eyes brought him back to reality. He rationalized it in his mind,
convincing himself that being rid of the pain of his injuries was worth the
torment. Nodding, he closed his eyes to avoid having to see it.

Naya gently pried Gareth's
fingers from Fang's grip. The Zweihander fell out of the wolf's paws, and those
paws immediately began to transform back into human hands.

The transformation felt like the
mental equivalent of being skinned alive. It wrapped around Gareth's soul and
began to peel it apart, stabbing at its broken and battered core like a
sadistic monster ripping open its victim to tear out the heart. It ran in a
line of black smoke across his body as a fire burns across a field. The smoke
ran down his arms, sapping away his fur and leaving his pale, naked skin with
an icy chill that sank through his flesh and settled into the bone. The wolf
squeezed his eyes tighter as the smoke reached his core. The muscles there
withered, and the warrior's strength was squeezed out of him like water from a
sponge, healing his wounds but leaving behind a body on the verge of
emaciation.

Gareth's skeleton began to
condense, molding like clay as the smoke reached his head. Broken bones
reformed and wounds closed. Pressure crushed his muzzle back into his skull and
wrenched his ears to a place at either side. His teeth blunted and his sense of
smell dulled while his whiskers curled away like decaying leaves. The
transformation reached his tail, which fell away like powdered ash, leaving a
hollow weightlessness at the base of his spine.

Reaching his legs, the smoke
robbed Gareth of a head of height. His foot paws shortened and fell into flat
human feet with no claws or pads to grip the ground. He stumbled as he
remembered how to stand on human legs, grappling with the panic of an impending
fall.

Naya staked Fang into the ground
then reached out and saved him, steadying Gareth with a paw against the human's
chest. He placed an arm around his thin shoulders and held him close, now
taller than Gareth by an ear's height.

The transformation ended as lingering
ashen wisps stole away the last of Gareth's wolfen form. A feeble human was
left abandoned in the wolf's place, with sunken eyes and a thin frame that
barely fit his armor. Strands of grey snaked through his hazel hair, though he
had only reached his twenties, and his closed eyes swam in sunken pools of
grey. A tear escaped Gareth's closed eyes and rolled down his naked cheek. Naya
drew back and wiped it away with his thumb.

“Shall I still return the sword
to you?" he asked, but Gareth's yellow eyes snapped open before Naya could
finish the question. He seized Fang again from where the fox had staked it.

The monster that sought his heart
pulled back as Gareth's flayed soul reformed. Warmth rushed through his body,
evaporating the cold chill of humanity from his skin and bones. The black smoke
streaked across his form once more, starting at his hands and returning his
claws. Newfound fur sprouted from flesh as the smoke ran down his arms and
returned his strength to him, reaching his chest and broadening his shoulders. Invigorated
with the returning power, Gareth breathed excitedly as the smoke reached his
face to mold it back to form. His muzzle pushed out, his teeth sharpened, and
the complexity of the world's scents greeted him once more. The world grew
louder as his ears returned to their place at the top of his head and rose to
the sky. A comforting weight returned to his spine as his beloved tail grew in
and swayed with relief. Gareth regained his head of height and rose above Naya
as his foot paws returned, elongating his human feet and bringing his heel off
the ground.

He gasped as if coming up for air,
letting his breath out in slow relief as he swayed his tail just to feel the
comfort of its shifting weight.

Naya leaned in and kissed Gareth
on his leathery nose. “Are you ready to return?" he asked, picking up Gareth's
fallen helm.

Gareth sniffed, nodded, and
followed his love with the reluctance of a man sent to the gallows.

They walked in solemn silence,
doing their best to respect the dead and to find clear paths through the litter
of bodies. The casualties thinned out as they drew closer to the war camp and
away from where the two front lines had smashed into each other. Their distance
from the front soon freed them from the trauma of stepping over the dead. Gareth
carried Fang at his side, grasping it at the blunt section between the hooks
and horns.

“How are things in the war camp?"
Gareth asked, looking at his reflection in Rose's mirrored surface as the
shield hung from Naya's back. The relic of Naya's goddess framed Gareth's wolfen
face in engravings of golden flowers. He admired how regal it made him look.

“They are well," Naya said. “I
have taken to leading our lady's other missionaries in prayers of forgiveness
throughout each battle. It helps to carry my mind from the peril you face."

“Sounds boring."

“Well, honestly yes," Naya said
with a delicate laugh. “But it does not take up my entire day."

“What else do you do while I'm
away then?"

Naya paused. An uncomfortable
silence hung in the air as Naya formulated an answer.

“I pray for you," he said. “As
always. In my own way."

“And what way is that?"

Naya did not answer, but Gareth
shrugged it off, not caring much for the rituals of prayer.

“Look, there's nothing Liliana can
do," he said. “You don't have to pray to her for me. I doubt the goddess of
love and peace would forgive a servant to the god of war anyway."

“Of course she would," Naya insisted,
waving his paw. “Liliana does not condemn violence. She only asks that those
who commit it do so in pursuit of peace."

“And I do so in pursuit of
peace?"

“Peace of mind, perhaps," said Naya.
“The peace that your true form brings you and that having it without the need
for Fang would do for our love."

“That's a bit of a stretch," said
Gareth, readjusting his grip on Fang's weight.

Naya shrugged, smiling. “I love
you, and so it is what I must believe. For what is more peaceful than love?"

The wolf held his tongue,
restraining himself from crushing that innocent sentiment. Gareth killed in the
name of love. He had seen men declare their love for the act of killing itself.
The realms of love and war were far more intertwined than the missionaries of
Liliana might like to believe.

Still, Gareth could not help but
be charmed by that idealism—that naivety and innocence. The wolf snapped
himself out of his cynical thoughts and forced a smile as Naya turned back to hold
Gareth's free paw in his own.

“We will find a way for you to
keep your form without Fang one day," Naya said. “I still believe that. We will
melt that sword down and retire to a home in the forest of my birth. I swear
it."

Gareth stayed silent, unwilling
to swear that oath back in case this unfair world kept him from fulfilling it.
He winced at the thought of destroying the precious Fang, despite its curse.
Still, the wolf followed Naya's childish hope like a light in the darkness, and
it almost gave him hope as well.

Nearer to the war camp, the
corpses disappeared altogether, replaced by water wagons which men gathered
around in traumatized silence despite their victory. Gareth scanned the victims
as he walked, and guilt from his involvement in this cycle of bloodshed washed
over him.

The wolf suddenly stopped in his
tracks. His ears twitched. His fur stood on end.
The whine of a blade cut through the air.

Gareth whirled and turned Fang up
to block the blow. Sparks flew as an unnatural blade crashed against his own.
He held it off, one paw on the sword's grip and one on the flat of his blade,
bracing against the assailant's intense strength with both arms.

The man shot Gareth a demonic
grin as recognition set in.

“You are more a whirlwind of
death in every battle, my wolf," the man growled. “Such rage. Is there perhaps
a reason for it?"

Gareth scoffed and pushed back
from the man, who did not move an inch. They both lowered their weapons.

Karak, the god of war, hoisted
his dark claymore to rest upon his crimson shoulder plate. Flames sputtered
from the spiderweb of molten cracks which covered the god's blade, setting a
reflection of fire into his black eyes. The god looked at Naya, scowled, and
gestured with his bald head for his servant to send the fox away.

Gareth sighed and turned to Naya.
The fox's surprise from the sudden clash settled into sorrow, ears lowering and
tail falling still as he recognized the god.

“I need to see what he wants,"
Gareth said. “Go back to the camp. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Naya nodded, clearly reluctant,
but he continued on his path. Gareth watched his disheartened retreat for a
moment before finally turning back to his god.

“What do you want, Karak?" he
asked, his tail trembling ever so slightly.

 “Ah, it will not do to dispose of
formalities, Gareth," Karak said in his perpetual accent of mockery. “You will
regard me with respect."

The god raised his gauntleted
hand. A cold chill entered the bones of Gareth's free paw as it morphed into a
hand. Gritting his teeth, the wolf tried not to look at the alien thing which
now hung at his side.

The wolf averted his eyes. His
shoulders slumped in submission. “What do you want, master?"

“What do you command would
have been a far more appropriate term, but no matter." Karak lowered his gauntlet.
Relief washed over Gareth as he felt his paw return. “I have a task for you. It
will take you off the battlefield for once. Won't that be a nice change of
pace?"

Fear flooded Gareth's face. His
grip on Fang tightened.

“Ah, I forget. You cannot keep
yourself from fighting. Still so eager to wield that sword and remain one of my
wolves. Well, worry not. There will be plenty of fight to be had on this
quest."

Gareth sighed, already growing
weary of Karak's rhetoric. “Please, master, just tell me what you want."

“Why I desire your safety, of
course. You are being hunted."

Gareth's ears perked up. He
cocked his head. “Hunted?"

“Oh yes," Karak growled. “Three
of my wolves have died already. Killed in their sleep. Not an easy feat, but
these killers seem to have some aid.

Gareth's eyes widened as his
thoughts raced.

The most powerful warriors in
the known kingdoms—the representatives of Karak—killed outside of a
battlefield? Impossible.

“Why are we being killed?" Gareth
asked.

“It seems your mate's benefactor
seeks to harass me once more."

“Liliana, the goddess of love and
peace, is killing your knights? That's hard to believe."

“Not the bitch herself," Karak
spat. “Her missionaries. She's turned them into assassins. They're killing my
followers as we speak to weaken me, and you're bedding one of them." Karak
raised one of his thick, black eyebrows. “Tell me, how much do you trust this
mate of yours?"

Gareth growled as he realized
what Karak was insinuating.

Naya, serves the goddess of
peace, you cur, Gareth thought, though he dared not speak it. He carries
only a shield in her name.

“You seek to divide us again,"
Gareth said.

“Of course. Always. He is the
reason you stopped fighting, after all. Not that it took much to get you back
to the field." Karak passed his hand over Gareth. The wolf's form blinked into
humanity.

It was too fast. Gareth doubled
over from the shock as if the god had knocked the wind out of him.

Karak smiled, clearly enjoying
the act of tormenting his knight. “You know that I do not lie," said the god.
“It is not in my nature. This is simply a convenient situation. One suitable in
showing you the error of your ways."

Gareth spat at the ridiculous
accusation. He braced for the god to reprimand him for such disrespect,
thinking it was worth the pain of a bash to the face or a kick to the stomach, but
the retaliation did not come this time. Instead, the god seemed amused, as if
admiring the hateful aggression. He grinned and returned Gareth's form.

Gareth gasped as relief flooded
his veins.

“Speak then," he said, catching
his breath. “What do you command?"

“Well, I would have you kill that
meddlesome whore of yours, but we have walked that path before. No, I seek the
death of other emissaries. The camp of assassins lies to the east, and they are
coming for you. I can't kill those under another god's charge, but I can
certainly have you slaughter the lot for me."

Gareth bared his fangs. “So, in
the absence of me killing my mate, you would have me kill his people instead?"

“Is it not a fitting compromise?"

“Not for him."

“Then he will have to accept it
or abandon you." Karak shrugged. “How tragic."

Gareth closed his eyes and took a
deep breath. A blade of Karak's hung once more over the bond he and Naya
shared, ready to sever it.

“And I assume the consequences
are the same if I refuse?"

“Of course," Karak said. “I will
take that sword from you, and you will wallow in your humanity until you come
crawling back to me, groveling and begging for its return. Really, Gareth, it's
more pitiful each time."

Gareth snarled, shaking with
rage. The god spoke too much.

“Come now. As long as you're a
good dog and do as you're told you'll still be allowed to change your form. No
need for such posturing."

The wolf tried to relax and still
the shaking. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and out through his
mouth. “Fine. I will speak to him."

“Good dog." The god of war
reached out with a gauntleted hand and rubbed Gareth upon his head. The metal
bit into the wolf's skin, and a trickle of blood matted his fur. “Their camp is
in a place called Bitterrock Canyon. Your commander has already been informed
of your departure. Do not fail me, wolf. I'm always watching."

With that, Karak disintegrated
into glowing embers and black smoke, which itself disintegrated into nothing.

Gareth looked up to the darkening
sky and remembered a time when he had actually admired the god. Karak had,
after all, granted Gareth the form of the wolf he knew himself to be, despite
his birth as a human. Conscription to his service had been a small price to
pay.

In a way, he saved my life.

But Gareth also remembered the
day he had met Naya, the moment he had fallen in love, and the mistake of
attempting to resign from his duty to live in peace with his mate. He remembered
the first time his soul had been flayed—the vengeful wrath of Karak cursing him
to only retain his true form when wielding Fang, forcing him to stay and fight
in the god's service.

He pondered just how much losing
his form over and over had broken his mind, causing both him and Naya such
immense fatigue. He wondered if one day Karak's attempts to break them would
truly succeed. How tortured and broken would they both be when it was all said
and done?

Maybe I would be better off
without Naya. Maybe Naya would be better off without me.

Gareth took a deep breath, cast
that corrupt thought aside, and set off on his solitary march back to the war
camp.

***

He caught up to Naya just as the
fox arrived at their tent, and they stepped inside together. Gareth's quarters
rivaled those of a captain, including standing room, furniture, and lantern light.
War camps granted wolf knights of Karak such esteem and benefits—for fear as
much as for reverence.

Gareth sat upon the wood-frame
bed as Naya approached with the gentle aura of a psychopomp come to guide a
soul to the beyond.

Both of their ears fell back, fur
flattening.

“It is time," said Naya.

“It is time," whispered Gareth.

He closed his eyes as Fang was
pulled from Gareth's grasp once again.

The wolf sunk into the malaise of
humanity as Naya helped remove his loosened armor. He placed the armor upon its
stand and hung Fang from its sword rack, leaning the golden beauty of Rose
against the silvery menace of Fang's blade. Gareth fell into their bed, reminding
himself that he could not constantly cling to Fang, and that this post-battle ritual
of exposure was necessary to help him cope with that fact. To build up
resistance to it. He felt Naya slide into bed with him and squeeze him tight
from behind. His pain numbed ever so slightly at the comfort of Naya's soft fur
against his naked skin.

Exhaustion from the day's battle
finally fell upon him. Gareth tried to beckon sleep to take hold, but Karak's commands
assaulted his mind, and fought back its sweet embrace.

“Karak wants me to do something
terrible," he muttered.

Naya shifted and rested his snout
upon Gareth's shoulder. “I would assume no less of him," he said. “What must
you do?"

Gareth turned to face Naya,
breaking from the fox's embrace. “Has your goddess spoken with you lately? Or
given you any directives?" he asked. “Anything…strange?"

Naya seemed taken aback. “Her
voice cannot reach me in the war camp. It is ground consecrated to the war god.
What is this about?"

Gareth ran his fingers across the
fur of Naya's hip, savoring his beauty before his words disturbed their peace. “Karak
informed me of a band of your goddess's missionaries. He says they've become
assassins, and that they're murdering wolf knights across the land."

Naya recoiled at the revelation.
“That is impossible," he said. “No servant of the goddess would resort to wanton
murder. Your god is spouting lies."

“Karak is many things, but I've
never known him to lie," said Gareth.

“Liliana preaches peace," Naya
protested. “She and Karak may be old enemies, but she would not seek to
escalate the matter with violence."

“You said it yourself. She
condones violence done in pursuit of peace. Is it possible that her followers
believe they're fighting for peace by killing the servants of war?"

Naya stood up and crossed his
arms in a huff. He stared at Fang with contempt.

Gareth followed him, stumbling
slightly as he remembered how to use his human legs. He rested his hands upon
his mate's delicate shoulders. “Karak says Liliana's assassins are coming for
me next. He wants me to…put down the threat before they reach us."

Naya sighed, refusing to take his
eyes off Fang. “You are asking for permission to kill my people, then?"

Gareth's silence answered the
question.

Naya ran his paws over his head
and pushed back his ears in frustration. He muttered to himself, under his
breath. “I have tolerated so much of this curse, and now Karak seeks my
people's death." He turned and locked eyes with Gareth. “You must refuse."

“Naya, you remember the
consequences. If I don't appease Karak, he'll take Fang away and make me human
again, permanently. I can't let that happen. It would kill me."

“I know," Naya said. “But if my
people have resorted to violence then we can guide them back to a peaceful
path. We need not resort to execution, much less extermination."

Gareth stopped to consider Naya's
proposal, wondering if Karak would settle for such a thing. But Gareth knew
that Karak would not tolerate a peaceful resolution to such a weakening of his
domain. The god would demand revenge and punishment. He would give no quarter
and take no prisoners.

“Karak won't accept it."

“Well, he must." Naya insisted,
turning away from Fang to face Gareth. “I am a high servant of Liliana. I
cannot condone killing them, no matter the consequences. I have tolerated much
of what you must do to keep your form, but I cannot tolerate this."

Gareth held his tongue as he
tried to cope with Naya denying him.

“These people are traitors to
your cause," he said. “Why are you so protective of them?"

The words of Karak invaded Gareth's
mind—the ridiculous insinuation that Naya could put the goddess before him.

“You believe I was told to kill
you, yes?" Naya said, as if reading Gareth's thoughts. “That is why you asked
if I have heard from the goddess."

Gareth stayed silent, caught in
Naya's perceptiveness.

“I cannot believe you would
consider such a thing."

“I don't consider it," Gareth
panicked, realizing in that moment the irrationality of his thoughts. “You would
never hurt me. I know that. I'm just looking for answers, I suppose."

Naya turned to stare at Fang once
more. His tail whipped furiously, and his ears fell back in warning as his lips
moved in a rebuke of the sword. The fox snarled under his breath. Gareth had
never seen Naya in such uncharacteristic anger, but that glimpse of rage seemed
to melt away all at once as Naya breathed out.

“When I blessed you on the day we
met," Naya said, “and when we shared a bed for the first time, I desired so
greatly to bring peace to your heart, and to see you empathize with the
suffering war brings. And you did. You changed. And it made me fall in love
with you. But hearing you now, insisting that we kill them without pursuing
other options…"

“I don't want to kill them,"
Gareth said, moving between Naya and the sword to face his mate. He held Naya's
paws in his hands. “I'm not who I used to be, Naya. I love you, but I can't
risk losing Fang by refusing Karak's orders."

Naya's blue eyes locked with the
gold of Gareth's, and he sighed. “I suppose I understand," he said. “I need to
remind myself of how devastated I would be if I was to lose my own blessed
form." Naya stroked the fur of his arm, swishing his tail. “I will never be
able to truly understand the pain you feel."

Despite Naya's words, Gareth
thought he caught a hint of judgment creeping into the fox's voice. The cold
chill of Gareth's greatest fear ran down his spine.

“I cannot believe followers of Liliana
could become killers," Naya said. “If so, then you are right. It means they are
following their own misguided doctrine, and that cannot be tolerated. But we
can solve this without violence and hope that Karak does not retaliate in full.
That is my duty."

“I'm not sure—"

“You must go and see if it is
true." Naya snapped. He turned away from Gareth, clenching his fists. “And I am
coming with you."

***

Gareth struggled each morning to
stay sane, because the morning brought with it another day of living with what
the curse had done to him. He imagined the morning not as a time of day, but as
a monster that came with every sunrise to eat away at Gareth's mind and soul. The
morning arrived, burrowed into him, and began to tear him apart.

He awoke to the familiar and
terrifying surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins as the morning began
to feast. He sat up, already shaking. His heart began to pound as he looked at
his human hands and hyperventilated.

“Naya," he gasped.
“It's…it's…hap…"

“I'm here, dear," Naya said,
sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He looked so exhausted, awakened from his
slumber into yet another terrible morning of holding down the beast of mental
torment. The fox put his arms around Gareth's shaking frame and hung onto him
from behind as the tortured knight tried to catch his breath.

“Please get off," Gareth gasped. “I
need to move. I need to…" He shrugged out of Naya's arms and stood up, only taking
a few stumbling steps before the morning sapped the strength from his legs.
Gareth collapsed to the ground, shaking as the ravenous beast of the morning chewed
through him.

Naya sighed, having done this
hundreds of times in hundreds of mornings past. He got up to retrieve a flask
of water.

Gareth choked and groaned as he wallowed
in the dirt. He seemed a victim of poisoning, which perhaps he was. His own
mind created that poison by the flagon and pumped it through his body where it
ate at him like acid, tormenting the knight with the memory of his curse.

Naya helped him sit up and
brought the cup of water to his lips. “Drink," he said, and Gareth obeyed.

The morning's agony set Gareth ablaze
when he had finished drinking. He reached for Fang, which seemed leagues away upon
its rack, but his hand fell limp as he remembered it would do nothing to soothe
his agony. The morning would simply mock him with the fleeting nature of his
true form.

Temporary. Always temporary.

“I don't know if…Naya, if this
goes on…."

“Shhh," Naya said. “Talk to me,
my dear. About better things now."

Gareth swallowed. He tried to
keep from speaking. His words would only distress Naya more, but he couldn't
help himself from venting the pain. “I keep thinking…I can't stop imagining
myself jumping from the cliff. The one not far from here. We passed it on the march
from..."

“I said better things, Gareth,"
Naya said, stroking his mate's hair. “Better things."

“But everything better is…they're
things we can't have. That we can never have. Not anymore."

Naya kissed Gareth's forehead and
brought his head against his furred chest. Gareth listened to the sound of his
mate's heartbeat. It did little to calm him, but he felt the fangs of the
morning dull ever so slightly.

He began to struggle with
self-loathing as he remembered the toll this took on Naya. He tried once more
to quell what was happening to him, fighting against the morning to spare Naya
the stress and exhaustion of caring for him. He failed. He always failed. The
morning could not be reasoned with. It could only be waited out.

“It will pass," Naya said. “It
always passes. Today is no different." He looked up, praying under his breath. “Goddess,
help me in what I must do. I am so tired and so very afraid."

***

Gareth fastened Fang to a long
scabbard that hung horizontally across the horse's left side. Paw on Fang's
grip, the knight hesitated as he reconciled with letting go of his sword. He could
not ride and hold the cumbersome Fang at the same time. Much of this journey
would be on horseback. He would have to suffer with it.

His paws shook as he breathed
deeply and let go of Fang. The curse flayed his wolfen form once more. Gareth
bore through the agony of it, feeling the cold chill enter his bones as he
fought back a sea of rising nausea. Wiping the cold sweat from his now-human
brow, Gareth sighed and bore through the agony to load supplies into the
horse's saddlebags.

“What do you think?"

Gareth turned to find Naya
standing in a scaled leather cuirass over white linen—pauldrons upon his
shoulders and bracers on his wrists. Hardened leather boots climbed to just
below his knees, reinforced at the shin and ankle. Gareth had never seen Naya
in armor of any kind before. He thought the fox looked rather fetching in it.

“Where'd you get that?' he asked.

“I told the missionaries that I
was traveling, and they insisted I take it," Naya said. “They had heavier armor
as well, but it did not suit me."

Rose hung upon Naya's back and haloed
his body in shining gold. Gareth, so entranced by Naya's appearance, failed to
notice he was staring for an awkward length of time. He cleared his throat.

“Well, that will work," Gareth
said. He eyed the saddle which Naya had insisted include a tandem.

“We could ride separate horses,
you know," Gareth said. “They will spare them for me."

“Wouldn't you rather hold each
other close as we ride?" Naya said, rubbing up against him as he passed.
“Besides, if we are going into danger, I would feel safer with you than on my
own." Naya patted Ash's neck. Its skin twitched in response as it continued chomping
on hay.

“You've picked a gentle one,"
Naya said.

Gareth nodded. “He was one of the
only horses in the stable who didn't try to buck and run at the sight of a
wolf. He's either gentle or foolish."

“He is gentle," Naya chuckled. “I
can tell."

Gareth noted that Naya seemed
more cheerful than usual, despite the particularly hard morning and impending confrontation
with his people.

Maybe this is what we need, Gareth
thought. A Journey. Some time away from war camps, even if it is on a
miserable errand.

Checking once more to ensure that
Fang was secured, Gareth moved to mount the horse.

Naya placed a paw on his shoulder.
“You should praise our gentle steed before you ride."

Gareth looked at Naya, perplexed.

“He carries us and our belongings
so far. Might you not take a moment to offer appreciation?" A hint of
mischievousness tinted Naya's voice.

“I brought pellets of honey oat.
They'll do."

Naya looked at Gareth for as long
as it took for him to relent. The wolf patted the horse's neck and said, “Thank
you, Ash. Ride swift and true, alright?"

The horse snorted and moved his
head up as if nodding. Gareth smiled at how a horse's responses so often seemed
to mock understanding.

“Even a beast needs to be shown
love," said Naya.

Infected by Naya's mood, Gareth
smiled. “I suppose that's why you love me?"

Naya smiled back as Gareth
checked Fang one last time. He climbed up onto Ash and pulled Naya up by his
paw before the two set out into the wild.

Ash could scarcely be brought out
of a gallop for the first few days of riding, invigorated by freedom from the
stables and the relief of wide-open space. Gareth and Naya passed across great
plains and foothills where the horse could run unobstructed. They shared in the
thrill of Ash's speed until their legs grew sore and the horse accepted
Gareth's order for a gentle trot.

At each point of rest, Gareth realized
he and Naya were enjoying themselves more than usual. Naya spoke of Liliana's
doctrines and which he found most compelling. He asked Gareth for stories of
past battles and how he had managed to survive them. The conversations kept
their thoughts from straying to the inevitable objective of their journey,
bringing some peace to their minds.

Most often, Naya fantasized about
what they would do together if Gareth was ever freed from Karak's chains.

“I grew tired of working the
streets of the city, and the missionary road is arduous," Naya said as they
camped for the night around a small fire. “It is why I desire to return to the
village in the forest where I was born. We can make our home there."

“Of course," said Gareth as he tore
into a piece of dried meat, his paw resting on Fang's grip. “It would be good
to settle down. Will we have a home? Or is there a nice damp cave we can set up
in?"

“Oh, there will be a home," Naya
said, chuckling. “One of stone, if I can have it. Something to hold fast
against any storm and harbor our family from the cruelty of the world."

“Cruelty?" Gareth asked as his
tail stopped swaying. “Strange, coming from you. You've always believed the
world is brighter than I do."

“I did. But one can only see their
love go through so much pain before scheming to spirit him away to sanctuary."
Naya averted his eyes as if in guilt, using a claw to trace emblems of his
goddess into the ground.

Gareth frowned. “I don't want to
change how you view the world.

“I cannot help myself."

The flames of the campfire reflected
in the fox's eyes. They highlighted something within Gareth's mate. Naya's eyes
betrayed a flicker of anger for the future being kept from them.

The wolf set his meal down and rested
his free paw against Naya's cheek. “I may see a dark world, but you bring light
to it." he said. “Don't lose your light for my sake. I would never forgive
myself for darkening your heart."

Naya smiled and turned from the
fire to look into Gareth's eyes. “That was almost poetic. You are so rarely
sweet with words."

Gareth felt his face flush with
warmth.

“Anyway, it is difficult," Naya
continued. “You cannot help but be disheartening with Karak's curse upon you.
Your malaise is draining. I ask the goddess every day to strengthen our hearts
to endure it."

“And has she answered?"

“We are still here together, are
we not?"

“I suppose so."

Naya rested his head on Gareth's
shoulder plate as they watched the fire together, the flicker of the flames
reflecting in both of their eyes. Their solace was interrupted by the sound of
steel boots upon the earth. A haughty, arrogant voice echoed behind them.

“This was a mission for you,
Gareth," said Karak. “What is the fox doing here?"

Gareth sighed and spoke to the
god without turning to face him.

“Don't act like you didn't hear
our conversation in camp. You're always listening. You know why he's here."

“Yes, I do," said Karak. “What I
don't understand is why you have not denied him or driven him off."

Naya froze and stared into the
dying fire with wide eyes as if Karak's vision was based on movement.

“Because it doesn't matter
whether his people are killed or not. If we stop them from killing the wolves,
that should be enough for you."

“Ah, but it isn't enough, is it?"
Gareth felt the point of Karak's claymore upon the back of his neck. “I ordered
you to slaughter the lot, not to make peace with them."

Gareth momentarily wondered if
the god would actually kill him for insubordination. He looked over at Naya who
still sat frozen in place.

Karak's blade moved to Naya's shoulder. Naya's tail bristled in
fear.

Gareth knew Karak could not kill
a charge of Liliana himself. It was against the power of the gods to kill
another's emissaries, but the act still sent a shiver through his spine and
made Naya jump.

“This is your first and only warning,"
said Karak. “If you interfere with my orders, I will send other wolves to
slaughter your people regardless, then I will send them to hunt you down, and I
swear your soul shall be sent to the deepest pits of the beyond where unceasing
flame will burn you until you one day curse this wolf's name. I have tolerated
you for your passiveness. Do not meddle in my affairs."

Naya began shaking as Gareth
stood and turned to face the god.

“You have made your point," Gareth
said. “He won't meddle anymore. From now on he's here for my company only."

“You speak for him," said Karak.
“You will let him swear to me that he will not interfere."

“He will swear nothing to you."

“Gareth," Naya interrupted, and
he stood to face the god of war, who lowered his claymore. The fox looked into
Karak's horrible eyes and his ears fell back in warning. The light went out of his
eyes.

“I will not interfere," he scowled,
fangs bared. “I will let you slaughter my people, and I will sit idly by while
you do so, playing with my tail and grooming my fur like a naïve pup. Does this
please you, war god?"

Naya, the delicate fox who
worshipped peace and love, and whom Gareth had never heard speak with such
venom, now stared down Karak as if ready and able to cut the god's throat.

Karak scowled and held his sword tip
out against Naya's neck. “What are you planning?"

Gareth stepped between them and lowered
Karak's sword, using Fang's hooks to avoid touching the fiery blade. “Master,
please. He doesn't understand how this works. That's all." Gareth turned to
Naya and placed a paw on his shoulder. “I don't know what's gotten into you,
but what you're doing is suicidal. Don't antagonize him. It's not worth it."

Naya glanced at Gareth. The light
returned to his eyes and his venom dried up. The fox hesitated, then turned
away and left in a hurry, disappearing into the solitude of the forest.

Gareth turned back to face Karak.
“I will take whatever punishme-"

Karak slammed the pommel of his
claymore into Gareth's face, knocking him to the ground.

“Foolish dog." He spit a glob of
fire onto the wolf's face. It burned and spread like oil when Gareth frantically
tried to brush it off. He held back a scream from the pain as panicked gasps
escaped him.

“Mark my words, Gareth. You will
see that I am right when this is over. You will return to me with fresh rage,
more powerful than ever before, and you will slaughter hundreds of pitiful men in
every battle." Karak grinned, basking in his prophecy. “It will be glorious.
Worthy of a song."

The god of war disintegrated into
embers and ash.

Gareth dropped Fang out of pure
desperation, healing the torturous burn that had eaten his skull down to the
bone.

***

Gareth awoke to intense shaking. Stumbling
to the woods, he vomited against a tree and collapsed against another as Naya
retrieved water for him to quell the morning once more. The monster brought
with it the fresh memories of Karak's fire upon his face. He re-lived the
memory of dropping Fang to stop the horrible pain, and of the flaying of his
soul that followed. The compounded memories made his chest ache as if the morning
was trying to stop his heart.

Looking at Naya, he saw a similar
despair in the fox's eyes over the doom of his people. He vomited again with
the knowledge of Naya's pain. Only bile came up. The muscles in his stomach
felt torn from the spasms, and his stomach groaned in starving protest despite
its rejection of food.

Naya stayed quiet through it all.
He did not attempt to talk Gareth through the morning as he usually would. He
simply fell against Gareth and held him tight, tail curling around his leg as
they waited out the rising of the sun.

***

The flat, wide-open terrain from
the days prior gave way to hazardous swampland as the two continued on. Dirtying
their fur and swatting at flies, they spent slow hours on their footpaws, leading
Ash around stagnant pools of sucking mud and biting flies. Gareth's frustration
and exhaustion began to weigh him down. The words of Karak swam through his
mind.

We won't get through this.
Naya won't be able to take it. He'll leave me. Karak will win.

Naya saw the distress on Gareth's
face and, acting as if Karak's incursion had simply never occurred, he began to
hum the melody of a hymn to his goddess. The fox's soft, enchanting tone seemed
to drive the bugs and tepid smells of the swamp away as Gareth listened to his
mate. Wordless, Naya's music comforted him as if plucked from a master harpist.
The wretched fatigue of the swamp began to fall from his shoulders as the words
of Karak sank from the forefront of his thoughts.

Thank the gods for this fox, Gareth
thought as the memory of Karak's incursion faded over the hours. He looked to
Naya and smiled as they went, holding his paw for the precious moments when
Ash's reigns did not require both hands to lead him.

Perhaps we will survive.
Perhaps.

Working together, Naya and Gareth
pushed through to the end of that swamp. Their spirits lightened as they
emerged into wide open space once more where Ash could gallop to his heart's
content.

Having made good time, Gareth and
Naya caught sight of Bitterrock Canyon earlier than expected. Rocky plateaus emerged
from the far horizon as the two crested a grand hill and looked out over a vast
expanse of forest and plain. The sun cast the sky in warm hues that inspired a
sense of awe and made Naya hug Gareth tighter from behind.

“We should stop in that grove,"
Naya said, pointing to a large patch of trees in the expanse. “It is dense. We
can find a clearing and hide our fire in it to rest safely for the night."

Gareth agreed, turning Ash and
setting out for the woods, barely able to take his eyes off the beauty of the
setting sun.

They reached the tree line and
dismounted. Naya unexpectedly began to lead the way as Gareth guided Ash
between the trees, barely able to keep up with his mate's sudden pathfinding. Naya's
intuition bore fruit as they emerged into a glade where only grasses and
flowers grew. The moon began to paint the glade in luminescent silver as Gareth
gathered wood for a fire and Naya tied Ash's reigns to a tree at the glade's
edge.

They sat together around the
young flames. Gareth mulled over the events which would follow that night. Eventually,
he began to speak his thoughts.

“You'll stay here while I scout
it out. I need to learn how many there are, and how safe this will be," he said
as he tore into a piece of bread, clutching Fang upon his lap. “Karak wouldn't
send me alone unless there weren't more than a dozen. I should be okay, if
that's the case, then we can head back."

He tore into a piece of bread, shifting
Fang's weight as he noticed Naya staring up at the moon. The fox's eyes were
vacant, as if looking through the celestial sphere in contemplation of some
existential dread.

“Naya?" he asked, and the fox
snapped out of his gaze.

“I am sorry," he said. “I have
not seen the moon and stars like this in a long while."

“It is beautiful," Gareth
said, looking upward as he chewed and contemplated something sweet to say.

Should I tell him he's more
beautiful than the stars themselves? No, that's not poetic. It's cliche.

Instead, Gareth scooted himself
closer to Naya, forty pounds of plate armor clattering upon itself, and he held
out his piece of bread.

“You haven't eaten tonight, have
you? Here, have the rest of mine."

Naya took the loaf and stared at
it for a moment as if eating was some perilous decision. At last, he did tear
off a piece and chew it down.

“I know you're stressed. I'm
sorry it had to come to this," Gareth said.

Naya swallowed and spoke as if to
no one. “I am about to do the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life…"

Gareth raised an eyebrow and
watched as Naya took another bite whilst staring into the fire and chewing
slowly. He sighed.

“Listen Naya, I'll make their
deaths quick. They won't suffer if I can help it. We can even bury them if
you'd like."

“Please, stop talking about
that," Naya said. “I am done feeling sorrowful about this. I want to talk about
better things." He took another bite of his bread as Gareth wondered how Naya
was able to simply extinguish his sorrow. He strained to think of better things
to talk about, but Naya beat him to it.

“When we finally have our home in
the forest," he said, “I want to grow flowers. Of all kinds. And I want to sell
them to those in the city, and I want our children to help me in the fields."

Gareth smiled as Naya once more
mentioned his desire for a family. He imagined that impossible future, thinking
it fitting to give a loving home to those who had been displaced by the war.

“And what would you like me to do?"
he asked.

“Whatever you want," Naya said.
He looked at Gareth, curious. “What is it you want, my love?"

Gareth paused a moment to think
on it, realizing he had never considered what he would do if he ever escaped his
duty.

“Perhaps I could learn how to
hunt," he said. “I've never laid paws on a bow. I'd like to try it. Seems like
it'd be satisfying to land a blow with one."

“I'm sure you could be the
greatest hunter in the land," Naya said.

“And you the greatest florist,"
Gareth mused. “You'll fill the entire forest with flowers, until the mapmakers
rename the woods to reflect their newfound beauty. I'm sure of it."

Naya giggled and smiled up at
him. “Poetic again," he said, sighing. “I appreciate your confidence in me.
However foolish."

“Are you calling me a fool?"

“Perhaps. Although you are the
most charming fool in all the land, if so."

 “Flattery will get you nowhere," Gareth grinned.

“You said the same thing on the
day we met. We were in bed together not an hour later."

Gareth's face grew hot, and he
chuckled at the memory. “I suppose you're right." He looked at Naya and saw a
familiar look shining in his eyes. “Would you like to flatter me more?" he
asked.

Naya looked up at Gareth with
those shining blue pools and that beautiful smile. Before Gareth could say
more, Naya pulled him close by the rim of his breastplate and kissed him. Gareth
surrendered immediately, melting into his mate, and he fell upon Naya, kissing
him deeply upon the ground.

Naya drew back and smiled. “Take
off your armor," he said. “I will show you flattery."

***

Naya and Gareth lay under the
silver light of the stars and moon. The glow of the fire had long since gone
out, but their animal eyes allowed Gareth to see in the lingering light of the
night sky. His armor lay discarded in a heap alongside Rose, but he still
clutched Fang in one paw as he held Naya with his other arm. The fox slept
soundly upon the wolf's chest.

Out of the corner of his eye,
Gareth thought he saw a shadow move in the trees.

He looked up, careful not to
disturb his mate. The wolf stared into the grove and waited for the shadows to move
once more. Instead, the dark hung frozen in the forested depths. Gareth wanted
to shrug the darting shadows off as a conjuration of the moonlight and his own
paranoia. Instead, he took it as a reminder to stay vigilant.

Gareth gently lifted Naya off
himself and set his fox upon the soft grass, taking a moment to watch him
sleep. He looked so vulnerable there, lying peaceful in soundless slumber,
glowing like a gem with the light of the moon. Gareth wondered what god had
blessed him to have met a person like Naya, if any had at all. He smiled, lifting
himself off their earthly bed and pulling on his pants and chausses with only
one paw, clutching Fang in the other.

The instant he touched his armor,
Gareth heard Naya stir.

“What are you doing?" Naya
mumbled with one footpaw still in his dreams. “Come back to bed, love."

Gareth looked back at Naya and
hesitated. “I need to get my armor back on," he said. “I don't think we'll be
ambushed here, but the shadows in this forest are suspicious. I will not have
you unprotected."

“Shadows?" Naya asked, ears
perking up. “Did you see shadows moving? Are you sure?"

Gareth squinted. “No, it was
probably just my imagination. A corner of the eye thing. But still, it's a good
reminder to stay ready."

Naya leaned up on one elbow.
“There is no need. Leave your armor and come back to sleep. We will be alright.
The goddess protects."

Gareth chuckled. “I trust myself
more than I do any god, Naya. Now please, go back to sleep and I'll keep
watch."

“No."

Gareth looked back and locked
eyes with the fox, deeply confused. Naya looked worried. His eyes pleaded with
Gareth to return to their little spot on the earth.

“Naya, is something wrong? You're
shaking."

“No, of course not," Naya said,
ceasing his trembling immediately. “I want to rest by your side, that is all.
It is cold tonight."

Gareth took stock of the
temperature. The night was actually quite warm.

“You're not acting like
yourself," he said.

“Is it not myself to want you
back in my arms?"

“That's not what I meant," Gareth
said. “I've never known you to be careless with our safety. Why now?"

Naya stared at Gareth for a long
time, then his stare broke, and he averted his eyes.

“I just want to lay with you for
longer. I want to savor these moments. Before you go to my people and..."

Gareth's shoulders drooped and
his ears fell back as realized Naya's pain. He walked back to the fox and knelt
before him. “I'm sorry, dear. I'm so sorry. I'll put on my gear and sit with
you, but I have a feeling in my gut. It would go against everything I know to
stay so exposed." Gareth stood again and went back to his armor.

“Gareth, for your own good, do not
put that armor on."

Gareth stopped, blinked, and turned
to meet Naya's gaze once more.

“Come back to me. Now."

“Naya, what's wrong with you?"

A bird sounded in the forest, and
Naya's ears rotated at the sound.

Gareth looked around himself,
noticing Ash had disappeared from his place at the tree line.

 Naya closed his eyes tight and breathed out.
He whispered something under his breath.

“Don't make me do this. Please."

But when Naya opened his eyes
again, the light had gone out of them.

“My people are coming, Gareth,"
Naya said. “I cannot allow you to don your armor. They will not be able to
touch you."

“Touch me?" Gareth asked. “Naya,
what are you talking about?"

The same birdsong. Naya's ears
turned again to meet it.

“Gareth, my love," Naya said.
“There is so much you don't know about me. I have told you so many lies." Naya
stood, his long tunic covering his nakedness, sleeves falling below his paws,
tail flowing behind him like a ghostly veil. “But there is no need for that
now. As you said, the shadows are here."

“The shadows?" Gareth said,
glancing around at the forest's edge. Nothing moved within it. “What do you
mean?"

“I mean…that you should have
listened to Karak."

Gareth's ears fell as a tremor
ricocheted through him that caused his fur to shudder. His tail fell low and
still.

“Karak is right, Gareth. Liliana
is finally moving against him. She has shirked her role as a goddess of peace
and desires to finally end the reign of the war god. Her people have trained in
secret for years now, preparing for this moment."

Gareth stepped back, shocked as
all the beauty and emotion drained from the tone of Naya's voice.

“She has ordered us to begin the
purge of the wolf knights," Naya said. “And she has given responsibility for
your death to me."

Gareth stepped back further as
his breath wavered. His stomach ached. His muscles drained of strength. “You
can't be serious."

“I am."

“But you're not going to do it,
right? You can't."

Naya stared directly at Gareth,
like a monster readying to pounce upon their prey. “It is the reason I tempted
you out of your armor."

Gareth's blood ran cold. The
earth seemed to shake as a violent horror beat upon his mind. He fell to one
knee, accidentally letting Fang fall to the ground. The agony of the
transformation sent him into panic.

“Naya, you can resist her!" he yelled.
“Karak has pushed me to turn against you, but I've resisted every time! Please,
do the same for me. I beg you."

Any remaining color drained from
Gareth's pale face as Naya shook his head.

“I cannot live with your despair
any longer, Gareth," the fox said. “It has drained me. Driven me mad, trying so
hard to heal you each morning but finding no end to it. Every day I am tired
and afraid, all because of you and your misery. And now, you seek to kill my
people." Naya straightened up and squared his shoulders. “I will finally put
you out of your misery and be done with it."

Naya let forth a whistle, like
three chirps of a bird. Figures emerged from the shadows around him. Followers of
Liliana, foxes all, emerged in procession to frame Naya. Their black leather
armor made them appear as shadows scattering around the clearing, cornering Gareth
against the tree line. Their weapons gleamed in their paws—a variety of them,
meant to confuse.

“No," Gareth said. “Impossible. This
isn't you, Naya! You wouldn't do something like this!"

“I'm sorry, Gareth."

“But Naya, the future you wanted.
The forest where you were born. We were going build a home and raise a family
there. You can't tell me that was all a lie!"

“It was not. Not at first," Naya
said. “But you never believed it would happen anyway, Gareth. Do not pretend it
was ever really a possibility."

Gareth struggled to speak. The life
they had imagined together—their field of flowers, their home of stone, and
their future children—the morning burned them all alive in his mind.

“There is no point in fighting anymore,
Gareth," said Naya. “Please, give in. Do it for me." Then he turned to his
brethren, and he gave the order. “Take him."

The twelve foxes advanced upon
Gareth as he continued to stare in horror at Naya. His legs turned to jelly.
His mind numbed. His heart utterly shattered. He felt as if he was falling,
looking up at his mate in disbelief as he plummeted to his death.

It doesn't make sense. None of
this makes any sense.

As he knelt, open mouthed and
unblinking, a gleam of crimson armor appeared at the edge of the wood. It caught
the wolf's attention. Karak stood far behind Naya, a knowing smile stretching across
his shadowed face. That smile triggered something. Gareth felt it flow like
magma out of the war god and into his soul, filling him with a burning fire. It
possessed the wolf as the war god met his sight.

Rage.

Rage at Karak for being correct,
and for bringing about his horrible truth. Rage at Liliana for somehow corrupting
Naya, and for ordering his death. Rage at himself, above all, for having driven
Naya to such fatigue, and for falling for his deceptions for so long.

It's over. It's all over.

His love for Naya became nothing more
than fuel, burning away like oil, transforming into madness. An insane,
unstoppable wrath.

The foxes advanced upon him,
faster now.

Gareth grasped Fang by its grip. Scorching
magma flowed through his veins as he shifted into a wolf. He stuck the point
into the ground, levered himself up, and bared his teeth. A thunderous growl
forced its way out of his throat, like the blast of a volcano. The molten abyss
of a forge burned in his eyes. The foxes began to run at their quarry. He
watched them. He hated them. He desired more than anything in the world to kill
them. Gareth transformed into the wolf of wrath that the prophecy of Karak
foretold.

The first fox died in the space
of three heartbeats.

As it neared, overeager,
inexperienced, Gareth kicked the blade up from the ground. It drove through the
fox's guard and slit its face. The wolf turned Fang's momentum and brought it
down two times in a cross. It sliced the fox's chest, right through the leather
cuirass, sending crescents of blood like the blades of great scythes through
the air to wash across his fellows.

The fox screamed.

It crumpled to the ground.

Gareth raised Fang in an upward
stance.

“Come on!" He roared.

And the foxes of Liliana feared
him.

Gareth stepped toward the others
and screamed with the bloodthirst of a monster from the darkest of myths. They
came at him all at once. He swiped Fang in a long arc across the group to drive
them back, cutting the slowest of them across the stomach. Blood poured from
the open wound, baptizing the air with the smell sweet iron scent, dooming the
fox to die.

The wolf whirled to meet two
foxes who had flanked him. He completed the strike and brought Fang down toward
the fox on the right, but it turned Fang aside with the haft of its spear. The
fox tried to slip past his guard, but Gareth seized Fang by its ricasso and
used it as a lever to smash the pommel into the fox's face so hard and fast
that it fell dead with a cracked skull back to the ground.

The second fox landed its strike,
though not in the place the thing had intended. Its sword slashed into the
outer edge of Gareth's hip rather than the stomach it had aimed for. Gareth
didn't even feel the pain. He used the moment to grab Fang by the blade in a mordhau
and drove the sword's parrying hook into the fox's neck. He wrenched the sword
back so that the hook gouged out the fox's jugular, opening the airway and ripping
the artery. The fox fell back, gurgling as it drowned in its own blood.

Gareth rolled, evading an attack
from five foxes who lunged at him all at once, but not before a blade drove a
deep gash into his right shoulder and a mace caught him hard in the back. He
jumped into a right-side stance, barely setting into it before charging into
the group of five, slashing upward, splitting a fox from groin to shoulder and impaling
another spear-style through the chest. His adrenaline paid no heed to his
shattered vertebrae, and split shoulder as he wheeled the blade around himself
on both sides, controlling the positions of the remaining three.

The axeman tried to dodge into
his flurry. It lost a paw for his trouble, but it managed to grapple onto
Gareth with the other. It snapped at him—trying to bury its fangs into Gareth's
neck. The wolf grabbed the fox by the tail and ripped him off. He heard the
tail snap as its vertebra separated, and he threw the yelping fox to crash into
his compatriots, knocking them down.

Two more foxes came from his
side, and Gareth whirled Fang above himself, spinning into a flurry to keep
them controlled, then breaking out and lunging at the one on the right. The fox
managed to turn Fang aside and come at him. Gareth had swung too wide. He was
open. The fox stabbed him through the gut.

The second fox came up behind
Gareth and, with a misplaced swing of a war axe, it chopped off his tail.

Gareth roared as blood poured
from the wound, and the pain which should have been paralyzing lit an inferno
under him instead. The world turned red.

“Why?!" he screamed. He took the
fox who had driven the sword through him, and slammed it to the ground by its
neck, skewering it the next instant. He turned to the fox who had cut his tail and
brought Fang down before it could react. Once. Twice. Three, four, five, six,
seven times at impossible speed, beating through the fox's guard and pulping
the miserable thing into the damned earth long past the point of its death.

Two foxes from behind took the
opening that rage had created. One bashed him across the head with a mace and
Gareth reeled from the impact. He kicked the macebearer back when it came at
him again, and it hit the ground, scrambling backward. Gareth raised Fang to
finish him when the other fox jumped in front and used its shield to block an
overhead blow from Gareth's sword. The impact sent the fox flying with a broken
arm, but it was enough of an opening for the macebearer to jump up and move in
again. Its club bashed Gareth in the face, cracking the skull. It should have
ended the fight.

And yet, Gareth did not go down.

He kicked the macebearer away
from himself again and drove Fang upward and through its chest, skewering the
fox into the air and slashing outward to fling its massacred corpse across the
glade, the sound of its back cracking as its body wrapped a tree.

As he withdrew the sword,
bringing it up to strike the shieldbearer down, he felt the heavy impact of a
bolt in his back. He staggered, more from the force of the impact than from any
pain. He looked toward the crossbowman and growled.

The fox reloaded. Gareth caught a
glimmer of fear in its eyes. No doubt, Gareth looked like a demon. He seemed an
avatar of Karak himself, standing drenched in blood and moonlight, eyes white, swords
and bolts sticking out from his body like thorns, mutilated to such a degree as
to recall paintings of horrors dreamt up by disturbed men. It felt good.
Like a new form altogether, far truer than any he had possessed before. It made
him lethal beyond what should have been possible.

He would, indeed, build hills of
corpses—hundreds of them—on the field of every battle from now until the end of
time. He would serve Karak forever and never feel the morning again. He would
drink from the fountains of war running thick and red with blood and revel in
every kill as he had long ago. He would have his form. He would enjoy his
slavery once more, and he would never make the mistake of letting someone free
him from it ever again.

Then, Gareth's eyes fell upon that
someone.

Naya, who had ordered Gareth's
death so soullessly, and who had watched with sociopathic numbness as the foxes
advanced upon him, knelt in a crumpled heap upon the ground a short way into
the wood. He shivered, hyperventilated, and mouthed some mantra of desperate,
futile comfort as his betrayal ran its course. His tail thrashed wildly, his
ears flattened, and his eyes bulged as if he was suffocating. Naya reached out
for something to grasp onto, found nothing, and collapsed onto his side, curling
up into fetal position and trembling to a near-epileptic degree.

Gareth recognized that panic. That
stress and utter despair. It was the morning—the same state of mental agony he
found himself in as the sun rose each day. Naya felt something akin to it now.
Helplessness. That chilling sense of loss and the futility of enslavement. Of
panic and despair. The chains of servitude to a cruel god wrapped around his
freedom, cutting deep into his mind until he could no longer function. A pawn,
doing what must be done to survive his ruler's terrible command.

And through it all, Naya was
utterly alone.

At the edge of the battle, no one
tended to Naya as Naya had tended to Gareth. The wolf had never carried his struggles
alone. Naya had watched him. Comforted him. Kept him from hurting himself, or
from drowning in despair. It could not have been false. Naya had cared more than
should have been possible. He had given more of himself to his mate than to his
own goddess, and now he sought to end Gareth's life for her.

It doesn't make sense. None of
this makes any sense.

As Gareth watched Naya's
suffering, the rage of the war god slipped away. The wrathful strength fled
from his muscles and a deep chill set into his bones. Gareth knew that he could
have won. He could have let that rage carry him to victory. There were only a
few foxes left to kill. He could end them, heal his fatal wounds by dropping
Fang, and return with glory to the open arms of Karak and the sweet embrace of
war and bloodshed. It would be glorious. Worthy of a song.

But without the rage of his god
or the love of his mate, Gareth had no fight left.

The edge of a shield smashed into
his skull from behind. Gareth reeled from the impact. He finally felt pain
again, and Fang flew from his paws as the agony hit him all at once. So many
blades pierced his body. He collapsed to the ground, bearing the pain of
humanity once more, falling into despair as more foxes emerged from the wood.

From his place in the dirt, Gareth
saw Karak standing at the edge of the wood, bathed in moonlight that gleamed upon
his crimson armor. The god looked disappointed—like a parent upset with their
child. He shook his head, hoisted his Claymore onto his shoulder, and
disappeared in a wave of smoke.

Then the pain of battle, the
judgment of Karak, and his love for Naya were swallowed whole by the last
crack of the mace.