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For Eclus

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Weeks turned to months as time slowly passed in this godsforsaken hellhole, and Dimas looked decidedly worse for wear. A stranger in a strange land, he had no grasp on his surroundings here - no landmarks to guide him, no familiar scents to follow - all he could do was press on, hoping his paws would carry him somewhere better. Somewhere with purpose.

He spent his nights in prayer, begging Houtu to grant him either a vision or some way of knowing what the point of this was. The life he had lived was one of devout loyalty to his gods, so why would they punish him now? Was this a trial? A test?

They rarely stayed in one area for too long, stopping only for sleep and any necessary hunting to keep themselves sustained for the journey. Inessa, his packmate from the mountain home they'd been whisked away from, followed at a distance without much complaint or meaningful suggestion - in the end, she was just as lost as he was.

Occasionally they separated to see if they might cover more ground in the interest of finding something useful or to maximize the success of their hunts, and so for now, Dimas was left alone with his thoughts.

The woods, at least, were more forgiving than the desert...

It still felt positively sweltering beneath his heavy coat.

Сколько еще мне придется это терпеть? (How much longer must I endure this?) Dimas asked the darkening sky, the hard lines of his face set in a bitter frown. Чем я вызвал твой гнев? (What have I done to stir your ire?)

As he watched, the clouds overhead drifted leisurely onwards to cover the moon.

There would be no answer tonight.

a twig snaps behind her, startlingly loud amid the quiet of the forest. the woman freezes, reaching instinctively for a blade that no longet exists. her heart pounds, breath catching in her throat. slowly, she turns to face the source.

"svalla?" she calls, voice heavy with hope and with dread. but it is not her svalla.

a man shuffles into view, half shadow and half beast. he appears just as startled to see her. broad, hewn of muscle and sinew, unmistakably male. he is no kin of hers. there is nothing familiar about him, no comfort to be found in his presence. he is a stranger.

disappointment tugs at her features, jaw taut. she had hoped that the next soul she came across might be one of her own. instead she finds only another wanderer, as lost and haggard as she. he reeks of desert sand, of pine sap and sweat and blood not long dried. whatever path he came by, it was not an easy one. even still, sympathy does not cloud her judgment.

"you are lost." the words leave her mouth flat and cold. not a question, a statement. and she does not offer help.

she keeps her distance, muscles coiled tight 'neath her skin. he is large, twice her size at least— and unsteady, but no less dangerous. desperation makes men reckless. she has seen it before. the way they will lunge, grab, take what they think they need without forethought. the man shifts, and eclus takes a careful step back. the forest is dense here, and she is small and quick. his bulk will not aid him if he seeks to chase her down.

her eyes flick over him warily. there is something off about him, a sense of being wrong that she cannot shake. he does not belong here, that much is clear.

still, she does not trust him. not yet.

It was not easy to startle Dimas so the only outward sign of surprise was a slight bristling of his coat, which was, perhaps, the most impressive feature he possessed. Though not unreasonably tall like some of the monstrous wolves he had so often glimpsed from a distance, he stood perfectly and precisely upright upon long, thickly-built legs, and his stout chest was made all the more prominent by the enormous coat of fur he wore like a king's robe.

It was with cold apathy he regarded the stranger, and a chillier tone still with which he answered her.

How astute.

Often he could just scratch at the surface of a distant memory of blurred faces, faces belonging to kin from a past that seemed to drift further and further away as the weeks gradually turned to months. Every once in a while he might catch a scent of something familiar, but not known - pine needles in particular were found to be quite puzzling - but the she-wolf before him illicited no such response.

It was difficult to say whether he was relieved or disappointed.

She looked quite unusual, however. The first thing he noticed were the scars etched across her face - unusual in a female. There was something about the way she carried herself that suggested an undercurrent of experience, and he noted the way her eyes raked across his form in quick assessment as she took a cautious step away to maintain their distance.

She was clever.

I have been wandering this cursed land for... Dimas paused, realizing he could not track the time. Far too long. There is nothing of this place I recognize; I could not even tell you how I arrived. I simply was, and have been ever since.

His brow furrowed.

Do you know where here is, then?