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"Sulla." Lannon tasted the word, the name. In what little he knew of the Old tongue - su-lla; love's beauty. His paws continued up, tracing over Sulla's chest, his shoulders, his neck, and then back down again, feeling the grain of his fur, the contours of muscles beneath the skin, the beating heart, the stirring lungs. "I see you, Sulla. I'm glad to meet you."

Those strong arms squeezed around him again, holding him firm in the wolf's embrace without crushing him. Sulla shifted his legs to wrap them around Lannon's body, bringing the lynx in dangerously close to the simmering heat of his body; Lannon turned and buried his muzzle in that thick, unkempt fur, a bit softer now than it had been before, somewhat damp, slightly perfumed. While searching for Sulla, throughout this entire morning, there had been an odd feeling in the back of his head as though he had a task to accomplish. Now that he was here with him, now that his scent and warmth curled around him, that task had come to completion, and satisfaction stirred in its place.

When did this happen? he asked himself again. Lannon ran his paws up from Sulla's sides and over his chest, pushing his fingers in through the thick fur and along the tense muscles beneath. The wolf rumbled and shivered at that touch; for at least twenty years, Lannon recalled, the tale of the monster in the forest had been told. Did that mean that Sulla had gone without touch for those twenty years? Without companionship, without friendship, without...

His paws continued up, Lannon having to pull himself up onto his knees to reach. One rested over Sulla's shoulder and the other came up along the underside of his chin and side of his jaw again, tilting the wolf's muzzle up and back. Then a second later the other paw came up as well, fingers touching and exploring, pads running over the sleek, slick silver-pink line of the scar across his throat, slashing through skin and fur alike; then up further over the bones in the jaw, the flesh underneath, the skin of his chin and lips. Lannon swallowed and let his fingers play over those lips, feeling the warm moisture, the intense heat of the wolf's breath as it repeatedly puffed down over his paws from his nose.

He teased his fingers in alongside Sulla's lips, pressing and pushing at the glistening black flesh, gently pulling - until those sharp fangs showed in the space between, sleek yellow-white jutting out from warm, humid pink, wrapped in the soft black of his skin. The wolf's tongue twitched and worked behind that cage of fangs, the wet sounds and hot breath wafting and wrapping around Lannon's head - and then, abruptly, his jaw opened, his teeth parted, the tongue came up and forward.

Lannon jerked back, but instead of a bite received a thick, heavy wall of breath dripping out around him, as Sulla gave voice to a wide yawn. The wolf shifted a little bit further and leaned in again to rest his head atop the smaller lynx's, settling into place there for a moment with the burbling of the river beside them and the silence of the forest keeping them snug within its grasp.

Still facing him, Lannon leaned back against his arms and again let his paws drift down from the wolf's neck and shoulders, slipping down his chest towards his belly and then waist. This close, held this tight, he could look at - and smell - nothing else: huge and heavy, dense and plump, sheath and sack resting right there within arm's length, bulging against the gravel of the riverbank. He glanced up, ran his paw back along Sulla's side to feel along the line of his ribs towards his back, leaned in again, let his muzzle drop down a bit...

A rich, thick aroma, constantly there, stronger and sharper now that he sought it out. Undeniably male and powerfully lupine, intoxicating, inviting. The lynx closed his eyes and let his mouth hang open, drawing steady breaths in through his nose and then letting them trickle back out between parted lips. His other paw lingered in place along the beast's waist but then began to shift closer, closer, thumb leading the movement, fingers trailing through thick fur, until... Sulla jumped around him and lifted his head, the rumble in his throat turning into a small noise of questioning.

You've been in my head all this time and I just can't get you out.

Lannon was right: he could not wrap his paw around that sheath. His fingers squeezed into the soft, supple skin and flesh, soaking easily into the intense heat within; he gripped and pushed and squeezed, rolling that skin and dark fur back to show the pink flesh hidden inside, glistening with natural slickness and moisture. The scent strengthened, as did the noise in Sulla's throat. The wolf's hips pushed up and forward, and a pulse rippled through his lower body and pushed out against Lannon's fingers again. He lowered his other paw as well and dug his fingers beneath one of those huge, heavy balls, big enough that he could hardly hold it in his spread palm.

"Let me..." He glanced up again and looked right into that one bright golden eye, watching him half-lidded. "Here. Relax. Sit back a bit. I want to... I'm gonna..."

Sulla did as told but slowly, hesitant. He shifted back along the crunching gravel and spread his legs, allowing Lannon more room to touch and work and explore. The sensation of this thick, dense flesh beneath his fingers, and of coaxing that slick length out along dark bellyfur and into the pleasant spring air... it ignited something deep inside of the lynx, something that he had known was there but had ignored until now.

The huge wolf's hips repeatedly pushed and thrust up with the attention, his length slipping out between Lannon's fingers, teased out into the air from his attentive touch. Tapered tip, broad girth, contoured length, reddish-pink flesh rippled with lines of veins, glistening with natural slickness... Lannon ran his thumb up along the length and then to his lips, swiftly lapping off the gathered moisture. It tasted much like the scent filling his head and awareness, yet strengthened and concentrated, sharp and full, musky and - delicious. He shivered, swallowed again - he could feel it clinging to the back of his throat already - and shifted to straddle one of the wolf's legs.

Their eyes met again, Lannon looking up from behind that huge length, Sulla watching him with one huge arm halfway across his chest and the other keeping him propped up. Lannon felt those eyes boring into him as they had done so many times before, but this time, he wanted this beast to watch him. He leaned in yet again, lifted his fingers from beneath Sulla's sack and play and squeeze at his sheath, and pushed his other paw up towards his tip again - then back down, and up again, and down, and up, this time with the other joining it.

Quite quickly the sensation overcame Sulla, the wolf's head arching back with his paws coming up to cover his muzzle. Lannon grinned and leaned in closer, almost able to feel the pleasure and enjoyment himself. He could feel each pulse through Sulla's length, fully hard and twitching in his paws; he could sense the desire and the need, not only in the little bursts of pre that repeatedly jetted out across the wolf's chest and belly, but also just from looking at and watching him. His scent, his aroma, washed up over the lynx, rich and invigorating; he leaned in a little closer as he worked, arms moving with the effort it took to pump his paws over the wolf's length.

Such a change in this beast, in this wolf. First he had been little more than myth and rumor, shadows twisted out of proportion and cast onto a distant wall; then Lannon had returned from Maldeth and descended into the forest himself, and there he found everything the same yet somehow changed, subtly, almost imperceptibly. There had been a strange feeling in the air, an odd sensation. Then there was a glimmer of yellow eyes in the darkness, a rumble of a growl more felt than heard, a feeling of being watched. Then whispers and noises, and half-seen bits of movement, and an uncomfortable silence bearing down over everything like a blanket woven of lead.

Then, suddenly, slavering jaws and a muzzle curled in a snarl, an angry glare, a stiff tail and raised hackles. Then nothing. Then there he was across the river, watching him - and Lannon pushed closer and closer. He spoke to him, he touched him, he felt him. He saw him.

He welcomed him. All of that, to this, now, Sulla on his back underneath him, hips rhythmically thrusting with the full-body pleasure of deft paws working along his length, one sliding up towards the tip, the other sinking down to tease at the lip of his sheath, fingers and fur slick and matted with gathered musk and moisture. Lannon lifted that paw to his lip, wiped the wetness against his muzzle, dropped it back down, and breathed in that scent almost from the source, the sharp bite of canine predator igniting something almost like panic in the base of his instincts, yet - brighter, more inviting. Tantalizing, almost. The feeling he got so often as a kitten, knowing there was something he shouldn't do, yet the taboo just made him want it more.

His own desire by now throbbed within his pants, but Lannon did not even think of relieving that pressure, he was so focused on Sulla underneath him. The lynx leaned forward, grinding in along Sulla's thigh, so he could run his slick paw up along his belly and chest while the other resumed working, squeezing and rubbing at the tapered tip, finger and thumb slipping back and forth over the dripping pre. Each one of those touches made Sulla twitch and grit his teeth again, mismatched eyes hidden behind lids squeezing with effort.

Lannon lurched forward and back, forward and back with the motion, squeezing his paw along the slick surface of the wolf's fully-hard length, or rubbing at the supple lip of his sheath, or tugging that wet skin back a little bit further, or digging his fingers into the hot, humid space between sack and thigh, hefting and feeling. His gaze flicked back and forth between Sulla's impressive endowment and his muzzle, lips pulling back with pleasure, eyes shut, throat tensing and pulsing with half-suppressed grunts and gasps and growls.

It was so, so tempting to lean in and wrap his lips around this dripping, leaking tip, the little sprays of long-untapped pre jetting out across Sulla's belly and still leaking down the back in between, Lannon's fingers soaked and glistening with the stuff. He shifted on the wolf's leg a bit further and brought his head closer, nostrils flared with the burning scent of male musk and lupine arousal; he licked his lips, swallowed, swallowed again, felt the hunger deep within his loins; he closed his eyes, came forward, parted his lips, let his tongue out...

...but then felt himself pushed up and back before he could make contact. Surprised and confused, Lannon opened his eyes and looked up, but then felt the breath pushed out of him as his back connected with the gravelly bank of the river. He squirmed, groaned, and lifted up so he could rub at a spot into which a rather sharp rock had dug, but paused right there. That intense, wet heat pressed down against his chest and belly and rocked forward and back, forward and back, Sulla having lifted himself up and come forward to get down on all fours above the smaller lynx.

His huge, heavy balls hung down between Lannon's knees, yet still the tapered tip of his length came about halfway up Lannon's chest. Still surprised yet no longer aware of the slight stinging pain in his back, Lannon watched the wolf grunt and grind and thrust above him, then wrapped first one arm and then the other around that sizeable shaft where it pulsed against his body. It smeared and soaked along his cloak and clothing, the fabric sticking to his skin and pulling along, slick moisture seeping through and into his fur.

I'm gonna need another bath, Lannon thought, with only a little bit of annoyance. Then, as he watched those balls swing forward and back, their movement irregular and uneven with the urgency behind Sulla's thrusts: although, I wouldn't be surprised if I've got one coming. How long has it been since he's been touched? Since he's felt something like this? He moves and acts and enjoys it like - like a wild animal, yet the lust and desire is still there. He's... gods, he's coating me in his scent; all I can smell is him, and I haven't even put my mouth on him, yet I can still taste him in the back of my throat...

Lannon let one arm drop from around the wolf's length and slid it underneath the waist of his own pants, finally giving some attention to his own twitching need. He kept his eyes on Sulla, though, and held his other paw in place to give him something to thrust into and against. Now those spurts of pre came out across his lips and chin, filling his maw with a rich saltiness, high and musky, sharper than the sixteen-pepper goulash that Ruari back at the academy prepared. He could feel the tension building up in Sulla above him, from the way the beast's paws dug at the earth above his head, to how his legs tensed and pushed against the ground, to the quicker, stronger pulses and throbs echoing through his own. In anticipation Lannon swallowed again and licked his lips, then turned his head to the side, closed his eyes... and felt Sulla bunch up above him.

The growl turned to something just short of a snarl, low and breathy, needy. Sulla's hips twitched, faltered, bucked, then bucked again, and again; Lannon pushed his paw down as far as he could, running over the bulge of the wolf's knot as it pulsed and tightened, and then dug his fingers in underneath that thick sheath. Sulla grinded down against him, nearly flattening him between his own body and the bank of the river - and then another buck, and another, and Lannon learned very quickly that he had done right to avert his muzzle.

The first spurt arced up and over his head, and his tall ears flicked back to the sound of it smacking across the loose gravel. The second did mostly the same but caught the edge of his ear, and then the third impacted the side of his face; the fourth did that as well, and the fifth dumped out across his jaw and neck, quickly soaking through his clothing like a hot, wet glue. Each rope came with a forceful buck and growl from the huge wolf above him, the knot full and huge against his paw, squeezing his wrist within the suddenly tight skin of his sheath. The sixth spurt hit Lannon's chin again, then the seventh dropped somewhat loosely out across his chest and belly. There was no real eighth spurt, but once he opened his eyes, tugged his paw free of Sulla's sheath with a bit of a grunt and buck from the wolf, and looked down, he saw as well as felt him continue to drip and dribble out across his belly, each throb of his heart still evident in the way his cock lurched and pulsed atop him.

Yet again the lynx, dripping and stinking, forgot about himself. He shook his head to try to get some of the stickiness off, swallowed, felt that rich, thick load roll down his throat and immediately taint his breath, coughed, swallowed again... and squirmed around until he managed to sit up, Sulla finally pulling back and away from him. The wolf sank back onto his haunches, his thick shaft still bouncing and pulsing in front of him, enticing red flesh glistening against the smooth soil-and-earth brown of his fur.

After another moment Lannon wiped at his face again, already able to feel Sulla's mark starting to dry into and mat down his fur. He looked up at the wolf, who immediately perked and then flattened his ears and then glanced away. His tail pinned close by his side. Lannon sighed, looked down over his ruined clothing - he would have to spend some extra time getting everything washed, and even so he could tell he would still be able to pick this beast's scent out of the fabric.

Is that a bad thing, though? A little wobbily, the lynx lifted himself to his feet and padded towards the river, passing by Sulla as he did so. The wolf still avoided his eyes, but did look up when Lannon stopped before him. The lynx smirked, his own arousal still evident tenting the front of his pants, then leaned in, placed his paws on Sulla's shoulders again... and leaned in to wipe his wet, sticky muzzle off on the wolf's, coaxing a disgruntled grumble from the larger lupine.

"Messy," Lannon rumbled. He slid his paws down along Sulla's arms and tried to tug the wolf into standing up. "Come on. I need another bath, and gods know you do, too. Come here. Oh, don't give me that. You don't scare me anymore. Come on..."

~ ~ ~

Every time Lannon glanced over his shoulder at Sulla or peered through the trees at him, he saw that single golden eye watching him in turn, devoid of the sharp edge of a predator's gaze yet still bearing the distinctive curiosity and interest that he had seen so deeply inside of it. Following their distraction on the unfamiliar bank of the river, wrapped in the warmth and privacy of the forest's arms all around them, Lannon had cleaned first himself and then his clothing, leaving them on for half of it and then stripping down halfway through to more thoroughly scrub at the matted and crusted material. A few tricks with magic made things easier, each one bringing a little grunt of surprise out of Sulla beside him.

First himself, and then his clothing, and then the huge beast of a wolf, with his strange proportions and his wild size, his knotted fur and grimy skin, his old wounds and impossible tangles. Comb to claw to even teeth and tongue at one point, Lannon did his best, letting his little water-warming spell dissipate not once, not twice, but three times beneath the attention he gave to the wolf. Sulla watched him throughout, shifting back and forth among fascination, slight annoyance, and confusion at the lynx's ministrations - but then, inevitably, all of these melted away between interest and desire again, Lannon leaning forward against the wolf's damp thigh, thrusting with his hips while his paw and arm worked beside him. A little bit of readjustment, another paw squeezed down between them, some panting and huffing and bucking and jerking... and then he had to again wipe down the wolf's fur, Lannon's own load looking like nothing in comparison to Sulla's second emptied out into the water of the river.

After their shared bath, hot and tiring in the warmth of the day, Lannon dried himself, his clothing, and Sulla off, got dressed, and headed back into the forest, though his head remained empty. He was content to simply walk with the wolf for a while, the two of them trudging through the wilderness, sticks snapping beneath their footpaws and the world turning around them, wrapped snug in the little bubble of silence that still hung around him like a thick curtain.

At one point Lannon thought to do his usual scouting maneuver and send a pulse of Spirit and Earth through the ground, to see if they were being followed - and what a sight they would be, the beast of nightmares alongside this young, soft fire mage. He paused where they were, in a vaguely familiar yet uncharted part of the forest, and focused his energies; Sulla, a little bit ahead of him, stopped as though he could sense the lynx's intent; and then he gathered that energy together, wrapped it up in the little spell package that was so familiar to him by now, and shifted to spike it down into the soft earth beneath his feet.

Naturally, it trickled away as soon as it left his grasp, drips of water percolating through porous stone. Ahead of him Sulla perked and lifted his head, briefly straightening up from his normally hunched posture. He sniffed at the air, looked around a bit, and then turned to look over his shoulder at the lynx behind him. Lannon remembered then what he had come out here to do. He had gotten distracted along the way.

"Sulla."

Just after the wolf turned to continue along through the trees, he stopped again with his ears perked. Waiting, listening. Lannon bustled forward a bit, though still kept some distance between himself and the beast.

"You're sensitive to magic, aren't you? I know I can't ask you directly, or really get much of an answer, but..."

As he walked, two and a half paces to each of Sulla's one, the yellow eye regarded him at a bit of a distance. Sulla huffed and turned forward again.

"I just want to know..." Lannon reached forward, almost grasped one of those huge paws, and then changed his mind. His loins still tingled with the aftermath of all of that desire building up to its quick, sudden peak, and now that it was gone, all of the old feelings and emotions rushed back into fill the space those few spurts had left. "I didn't hurt you, did I? The other day, when I..."

Again Sulla stopped. Standing where he did, twisted legs looking more like an animal's than a man's, shoulders hunched, muzzle down, he looked... vulnerable. Wounded. He looked like a frightened animal lost in the woods, speckled shadows twisting and shifting over his broad back and still slightly-damp fur, the silence of the space immediately around them unnoticeable while walking yet uncanny when still. The wolf looked over his shoulder at him again, this time with his clouded eye facing the lynx, the tattered edge of the scar across his throat shining cold among dark fur.

Lannon let his paw drop halfway down to his side. He found that he couldn't hold that gaze, blind as it was, and looked away to somewhere off in the brush. A shadow passed over him a second later, and right as he turned to see what it was, he felt a warm muzzle and warmer tongue against the side of his face, dragging up through soft fur and hanging cheek tufts.

_ _

Try again. That was that touch told him. Something that might have been a little smile hung on Sulla's muzzle, and afterwards the wolf slowed his pace so that Lannon could keep up with him more easily.

On the way through the forest, going nowhere in particular, Sulla would occasionally stop and drop into a crouch, sharp ears perked and predator's eyes scanning the shadows. Lannon felt as vulnerable as he likely looked, suddenly incapable of relying on his magical abilities to keep an eye on things around them. He had never had the opportunity to watch Sulla from so close, though, and every time it happened the lynx found himself looking at _him_instead of where he looked. Tail up and out at attention, shoulders back and bunched, thighs and calves taut with lines of muscle sticking through the skin, fingers of his huge paws splayed out. Sometimes a growl grew in his throat, and that still made Lannon's heart pick up, though he felt it quicken for more than one reason now.

Whether they were tracked or followed by hunter and companion or predator, Lannon never knew. He was abruptly reminded that this was not his forest, was not his home; he was merely a visitor, a returning intrusion, to the realm of the wolf and the wild. Sulla strode through the trees, tall and confident, though hideous and misshapen as he was. He belonged here, even though it looked as though he had fallen from some half-formed nightmare.

The forest shifted and melded to let him pass, out of fear or respect. The world fell silent around him, cicadas ceasing their unending song, birds suddenly losing their voices, frogs and crickets and other hissing, chittering things seeking to avoid notice. And now Lannon walked beside him, a little slower, a little quiet, but still there. Still willing to give his voice, and still seeking Sulla's in return. That low rumble, broken and confused, echoed in his head whenever his mind wandered - first his name, and then the wolf's. Lannon, and Sulla.

But... Sulla who? Does he have a last name? I assume he comes from the tribe, but I know nothing about them. Are they one family, or multiple in a clan? If he is a hunter, where is his companion? The problem remains: I don't know where he came from or what happened to him. If I could only get in, if I could only figure out a way to peel back that shell, and...

It took him a moment to realize that Sulla was watching him again, crouched down near a fallen tree with one paw resting on the trunk. Mismatched eyes, unblinking, jumped back and forth between Lannon's. He felt their weight and their heat boring into his thoughts. Sulla watched him, and he watched back. They had wandered out and around through the trees, going nowhere and everywhere, simply existing. And now they had stopped, and Sulla waited.

Slowly Lannon dropped into a crouch as well. He had been right in his assumption that he would still be able to smell and taste the wolf on his clothing and breath. I'll have to wait another few days before going back into town, he realized, or else Father will be able to tell I've done something... yet again he let his mind wander, reforming into images of himself and Sulla, closely entwined, both as they had already done and then also as Lannon wished, imagined, fantasized they might do in the future. Somewhere along the way, without his notice at first, the images shifted and changed.

No longer was it himself and Sulla, but hunter and hunter, both male, one a bit older than the other. They were grinning, panting, shaking with shared pleasure; the older one on top had warm sky-blue eyes, while the one on the bottom had the same liquid gold as this beast in front of Lannon. Both of his ears were fully intact save for a small nick taken out of the left; two eyes glittered bright and warm, unmarred and unclouded; his muzzle was sharp and pristine, his fur clean and well-kept, his throat smooth and soft without the ugly mark of a scar reaching from one side to the other.

_ _

The Sulla in the memory shook with laughter, though no sound came out. With hardly a scrap of effort he gripped the hunter on top of him and rolled him over so he was the one on top, brushy tail swaying behind him, bare body showing the sleek, tight lines of streamlined muscle along his smooth, perfect form. He ran his paws down the blue-eyed hunter's chest, pulling a shudder out of the older one; Sulla lifted himself forward and back, brought a paw to his muzzle, licked the palm, then reached that underneath his tailhole. Still grinning, still laughing, he came forward, settled himself into the other hunter's lap, sank slowly back... and his back and shoulders arched with the sensation, sweet and rich on his face even though Lannon couldn't feel it through the memory. Sulla's lips pursed and his eyes fluttered shut, and a moment later he let out a slow, steady sigh, also soundless. Then he began working his body, forward and back, slow and deliberate.

_ _

The grin on his muzzle grew. His expression turned from silly enjoyment to a deeper, more determined pleasure, teeth gritting and jaw setting. He leaned in, took the other hunter's muzzle in his paws, pressed mouth to mouth, lips to lips, tongue to tongue. Each of their breathing sharpened, their muzzles scrunched up with focus and sensation, and a moment later first the older hunter bucked, with Sulla following a moment later. Once, and again, and again, intense pleasure arcing through his body like lightning, toned muscles firing and tightening in rapid succession. Then, panting, his paws relaxed on the other male's shoulders and came in towards his belly, now streaked with milky white. In the distance, right at the edge of the memory, a pair of feral companions waited and watched, one male, one female, tails stirring together.

_ _

Sulla leaned in close to the other male and licked his cheek. His lips formed the words, and though it was still silent, Lannon could read them: "Eo lla ea." He had such a strong, precise control of his language, lips and tongue shifting and flicking to form the syllables, practiced and distinct.

_ _

In Lannon's more familiar Common tongue, it would be "ia'la loa io'le". 'I love you.'

Lannon blinked, shook his head, and looked around. He was still in the forest, still crouching down in the soft soil among the reaching arms of low-lying bushes, with the beast, the monster, the nightmare Sulla watching him, unblinking. Tattered ears, torn throat, misshapen muzzle, clouded eye; fur unkempt and ragged even after his careful bath and grooming, muscles bulging and awkward.

The lynx tried to speak, but found for that moment that he couldn't. One of Sulla's ears flicked and the wolf tore his gaze away, then stood up to continue. Lannon rose as well but then felt, sensed, something either through the beast's body language, or the way he glanced back at him, or through something else: Do not follow.

"Wait." Lannon reached an arm out. "Sulla, I'm not - wait, I just... want to..."

Do not follow, the beast showed him. Yet at the same time, the stir of the tail, the glitter in that golden eye, the flick of the ear - and the subtle change in his natural scent, relief and something else coming through over the pungent bite of a hunting predator: I will find you.

Lannon let his arm drop down to his side again and waited where he was, watching the wolf as he trudged off through the woods and then disappeared among the trees, wood and shadow enveloping him like a blanket. The cicadas picked up where they had left off, and the birds began to sing again. In the distance Lannon could just barely hear the river rushing over a small drop; off to the side he thought he heard the snuffling of a boar in the underbrush, and the hissing of a snake, and in the other direction, the quick _dok-dok-dok_of a woodpecker high up on a branch.

Life stirred around him, and he was alone. Lannon rose to his feet, looked out between the trees once more, and then turned to make his way back to where he felt his hut was. Each step brought a small waft of the wolf's scent, thoroughly ingrained into his clothes, up around his nose and head.

~ ~ ~

Day 16

Evening

_ _

His name is Sulla.

_ _

Much happened today. Made contact. Made progress. He has come to accept my presence here, and my task to find and learn more about him. I feel like we are coming to an understanding. Who would have thought that I would advance so far in hardly two weeks? There is still much to do, though. Making progress only reveals the road is longer than I thought.

_ _

Had another insight as well. He definitely came from the tribal wolves out here in the forest. Questions: when did he become what he is now? Why, and how? Where is his companion? What is his relation to the others? Today I saw a memory of him with another hunter. There were two companions there, one male, one female. The female seemed somewhat familiar, but I cannot place why.

_ _

Another question. Where does Sulla fit into everything around him? He rules over the forest, yet at the same time exists outside of it. He is a stranger, an outsider, at least as much as I am. Wildlife shies away from his presence. It might not be far from the truth to say he truly is an unnatural occurrence, something that simply should not be. The more I look at and investigate him, the less sense it makes. He is deeply, intimately connected to magic yet seems incapable of wielding it himself. He can sense it and, remembering what happened with the lantern the first night we "met", is capable of singlehandedly dismantling and dispelling it. The shield around his central spirit and essence is firm and dense, like nothing I have encountered before.

_ _

All of this is known. The source and purpose are not. Is it a result of his time spent in this form? Theory: is this body, nightmare werebeast, in itself essentially magical? Nothing in history documents anything about the tribes being able to transform like this - but, then, there is very little concerning them at all. I might be the first who will intentionally seek out this knowledge.

_ _

Lots to do. Much to plan. I have begun sketching out the basis of a formula to peel back the armor of that shield in the back of my journal. Final note:

_ _

Immensely virile.

_ _

~ ~ ~

_ _

Day 17

Midday

_ _

Sulla was waiting at the river this morning. Strange; I assumed he was nocturnal. He looked back before he possibly could have heard me, and his tail wagged when he saw me. I invited him to bathe with me, but he stayed on the riverbank. One thing I noticed: he perked his head when I started singing Mother's song. I wish I could fully recall the words.

_ _

Then we went hunting together. It is hard, and I've discovered I came to heavily rely on my magical abilities, but Sulla is of course more than capable. For a creature so large and unwieldy he can move with deadly grace and practiced silence.

_ _

I should not be shocked that he knows how to kill. I should not be shocked that he truly looks like a wild, feral beast when he does it, lips curled, fangs bared, fingers bent. When stalking his prey and moving for the kill it really does seem as though he is only halfway man, and half beast. The fierce power of that feral side grants its formidable energy to him, fueling his muscles, igniting an unquenchable flame somewhere inside of him. I fear to look at him, and to stray too close, when he hunts. Today he took down another deer, and I had to avert my eyes for how he tore into it. The stench still haunts my nostrils.

_ _

I did not ask if I could partake of the kill - besides, I still have plenty from my own drying in the back. I left him to feed, as he seemed content to do. As I prowled away I could feel his gaze on me, and when I turned to look back, sure enough I was right. He paused in his devouring and watched me, tilted his head, and then went back to his business.

_ _

I returned to the hut to write this down. A strange thing is, though, I feel like I can still sense his presence out there. It's not a solid, conscious thing, but I just have an idea, sort of. Like knowing where I put a certain spice in the pantry, or where I'll be able to find that patch of chamomile I saw during my first week out here.

_ _

Perhaps after sorting out a lunch I'll head back out there and see if we can get a little more progress.

_ _

~ ~ ~

_ _

Day 18

Evening

_ _

He was waiting for me again. This time he came into the water with me, and we stood close by one another, him standing there awkward while I washed myself. Then I turned to him and gave him the same treatment, the little comb working more easily through his fur, and him yielding more readily to my requests. He may look like a monster and can act like it, but at his heart he is still another living being like myself, craving touch and attention and affection like anyone else. It seems he likes it when I sing.

_ _

I brought him back to the hut and asked him to wait outside. He obeyed. This should not shock me, either, as I know he understands my words, but it's still a little strange assigning a sentient, intelligent consciousness to a beast that looks as he does and is essentially incapable of practiced speech. I have not heard him say another word since he gave me his name. I stayed inside for a moment and brewed a pot of Father's tea, and brought him a cup. He could not figure out how to hold the cup and spilled it, but I managed to sap the heat out of the liquid before it burned him. I poured him another one, and then another, and then another. Still failing, and him becoming ever more annoyed, I simply transported the tea into a little hanging ball in front of him for him to lap at. He didn't like it.

_ _

Then I asked for permission to investigate him again. I think he misunderstood: he sat back, spread his legs, and watched me expectantly, so - what could I do? His scent is rich and strong, and so persistent. It stays in my fur and his taste on my tongue even after I've tried to scrub it away, though this isn't too much of a problem. Besides, it is known and documented that Spirit magic depends upon passion and intensity of emotion. That close together, panting and sharing in the pleasure and closeness, I found it much easier to slip into his mind and try to dig into the walls of that shield, my arms draped over his shoulders, his chest making me atop him rhythmically rise and fall. I almost fell asleep with that motion, and the warmth of the afterglow, and the contented sweetness of being so close to and touching him.

_ _

Again, this time it was much easier to slip into him, so to say. It helped that he knew, or could at least sense, my intent. The shield weakened and pulled away if only for a moment, and I peered inside, and there I made yet another discovery that took me by surprise. Sulla, the man, the hunter, is indeed only halfway there - but in a way different than I had assumed. When I peered into his soul, his spirit, his life essence, whatever, it seemed that he is only halfway there. Part of him, a major, integral piece, is missing, as though it was just cut out and discarded.

_ _

It's not something I can easily recognize or put to words in a way that makes sense, though I have tried again and again. I can tell, though, that it is much like an inflamed, uneven wound, tattered and broken, never healing. It burns and rages and sears at his spirit, a vile, ugly thing. It is like what would have happened to Father had the tribe never found and amputated his arm, or what would have happened to me as a kitten had I never pulled the arrow from my shoulder. Spiritual wounds like this are, of course, relatively unknown, and the effects and symptoms even lesser known. But I know enough to tell that my task must now shift to finding a way to heal this wound.

_ _

I am altering the formula I began working on yesterday. It seems getting through this shield is not an issue so long as Sulla is aware and prepared, and so long as he allows me in.

_ _

_Final note: he truly is a beautiful, wonderful creature. _