FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This features an older character of mine, pictured above, that never got proper love.

Always looking for more folks to bounce ideas off and eye up my drafts, so if you like my stories and know a thing or two about writing, feel free to drop me a line!

Also, I love hearing back from you guys. Be sure to drop a comment if you enjoyed the read.

Enjoy!

---

The prisons of Vilford Castle are no place for a prince.

The warden's warning died in Delwyn's ears, as did his insistence that the fox take an escort. His only company was an oil lantern, illuminating the grime on the tile below. Three cells he counted down, and the handle of the lantern rattled against its side when he placed it at his feet.

At last, after months of planning...

The cell looked empty, save the one oversized shadow that was blacker than night. There was a heavy, earthen scent in the air. Delwyn's tail swayed behind him, and a grin crept up on his snout. The shadow rose, lurking closer to the bars. Twin globes of white-and-blue glared down from nearly seven feet off the ground, and lamplight glinted off a set of thick, otherworldly fangs.

The wrenching creak of metal forced Delwyn's ears down, followed by the loud clang of iron striking the floor. Del took a step back right as a black-furred hand snatched hold of a cell bar and squeezed. It'd broken its damned shackles. The beast's snarling snout wedged between a pair of bars, and its nose pushed an inch through. Those eyes fixated on Delwyn's snout, glaring.

"You."

Delwyn didn't move an inch.

Perhaps it was just the darkness, broken only by the flickering lamplight, but the beast's features were harsher than he remembered. It was a wolf, of sorts, but it looked nothing like the wolves Delwyn had known in his childhood. Wolves didn't come in black; they didn't have such tremendous fangs, and they never grew this large. The voice didn't help: it came out in a low rumble that Delwyn could feel in his chest, and between that and the hateful glare it leveled on the prince's snout, it--no, he--seemed more like some nightmarish monster out of a children's tale than a person. He certainly dressed the part, wholly nude save a loincloth, a sharp contrast to Delwyn's layered garments.

The fox forced himself to smile. "I'll have the smith cast thicker shackles."

The wolf's expressions were inscrutable, but that growl wasn't. The beast's hand clenched on the bar, squeezing until the iron let out a weary creak, but it didn't give out.

"Who are you?" it snarled.

Of the thousands of books housed in the royal library, only one spoke of this wolf. For all that he should be terrified, Delwyn couldn't keep his eyes away. This was every scholar's dream: the unknown. It was the truth behind all those tall tales from the northern farmers. The truth behind generations of legends.

"Your hearing is in three days," Delwyn said. The words were rehearsed, and they came out quickly. "I expect the elders to push for your public execution, as an example to other barbarians. I will try my best to spare your life, but I make no promises." His pace slowed. "...I bear you no ill will, savage. You are an unfortunate casualty of war."

The beast released the bar and sat down on his haunches. Delwyn nudged the lantern closer. One of the wolf's arms was as thick around as the fox's leg, and a single pectoral was larger than his head. Big didn't even begin to describe him. Fascinating. Delwyn had always thought the tales were exaggerated, but no: if anything, they didn't do him justice.

It spoke: "My life has already ended, little fox." Each syllable came harshly, like his mouth wasn't formed quite right to make the sounds. His eyes stared off into the void while he spoke. "I knew this day would come."

"The guards said you would not speak," Delwyn said. "But I knew you would talk with me. Your speech is... quite astonishingly good. It's a wonder that..." He trailed off and took a step back after he realized he'd been creeping in closer. His tutors would have scolded him for all that: he'd be told to cease his academic musing and get on with his point, to stop being such a child.

Delwyn cleared his throat. "You're right. I've described you as a thorn in our side that's bothersome, but not worth the effort of ripping out." His eyes traced over the curves of muscle on the wolf's beastly form. "But I've done it, and with ease. You are mine, now, wolf, and all will know that it was little Del that brought you down."

Now, it looked up. "The ambush was your doing?" The savage snorted. "What is your reward, little one?"

"Little one?" Delwyn shook his head. "I am but a poor farmer's boy," he mouthed, dulling the edge in his voice. "Please, great one, spare me. My ma will surely perish if I cannot tend the fields. Have mercy." The wolf's eyes narrowed, and the fox continued. "You're gullible. I am the noble prince Delwyn of Vilford, and you are in the dungeons of our royal palace."

"You are a scheming rogue," the wolf spat. "And you will be king?"

"No, simple beast." He spoke as he would to a simple farmer who did not understand the new taxations. "If I were, I would have no reason to reel you in. My older brother will be a wise and noble king."

"Good. Because a country would never swear loyalty to one as weak and deceitful as you."

Delwyn's mouth flattened to a line. He was no meek farmer's boy, and he didn't fear the wolf's words. All his life he'd been the runt, but now, all this great beast's size and bulk meant nothing, and he wouldn't be stepped on. "Was that supposed to sting? How are you to call me weak, when you are caged like some wild animal? If either of us is weak, it is you."

The beast snarled, and now both hands locked around a bar, twisting and tugging. Every inch of his bulk seemed committed to making Delwyn eat those words. Del's eyes went to the wolf's arms, watching the swell of their bulk as each oversized muscle contracted again and again. And Delwyn laughed. How many hundred pounds of muscle were thrashing uselessly there in front of him, powerless to silence a tiny fox? "Did I upset you?" Delwyn didn't even bother trying to hide his grin. "You amuse me, beast. Perhaps if I have your life spared, I will keep you as my servant, or as a pet."

The wolf's ears swiveled down for just a fraction of a second. Those lips stayed pulled back, fangs bared. Hateful eyes glowered back.

"Your life is in my hands, now, whether you like it or not." Delwyn's head craned in, and his voice lowered. "Maybe if you thought with your head instead of your sheath, you would still be raiding our caravans and stealing our food. But you just had to take me in."

The wolf grit his teeth. "You were bound, scared, and shivering in the rain."

"And you still wanted to put your hands on me."

"And you wanted it. Badly."

The fox averted his eyes. Damn it, that was a mistake--he should have just kept staring forward and not let the guy score that hit. He could hear the scolding in his head--keep your ears up, your eyes straight, and your tongue sharp.

The prisoner went on. "You stared when you thought I would not see. Your eyes were glued between my legs. And that sound you made when I touched your neck. The way your tail lifted, the way you ground back--"

"Enough!" Delwyn's teeth were bared, now, and his eyes locked on the wolf's. "I read about you. I heard the rumors. I knew exactly what you wanted to see. I... I practiced."

A balled fist struck against his cage. Delwyn wasn't sure if that was just the dull thunk of flesh on iron, or if it was the crack of shattering bone. Three times the beast struck against the same bar, until he came to rest with his forehead against it, eyes cast to the ground. The otherwise dead silence made his frustrated breathing seem all the more intense.

For a moment, Delwyn almost felt pity for the thing, for he could picture each angry strike against the metal as a blow against his past self. One strike for taking in the fox, one strike for letting him stay three days, and one hard strike for revealing the one farmer he trusted: the farmer whose camp a month later held a brigade of soldiers lying in wait, when the wolves came for food. Pity was not something he'd been expecting to feel for some savage who barely even clothed himself (just as he hadn't expected legitimate curiosity back then, looking at the creature's groin). Pity wasn't something a prince of Vilford felt; it was a weapon he used in his favor. Still, the fox couldn't help leaning in just slightly and indulging.

"...I'm sorry," he said. "I had no choice."

The beast didn't look up. "Your father ought to be proud to have such a lying whore for a son."

For a few moments, Delwyn was quiet: not because those words stunned him to silence, but because their gnawing on him at all stunned him to silence. He slowly shook his head. "He would be happy that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save our people, even if it comes at the expense of my pride."

A minute passed, in which the prisoner stayed still. At last, his breathing had calmed. He looked up, once more sidling his nose between a pair of cell bars and looking on Delwyn with those blue eyes. It was... fascinating to watch him. Something about seeing the cogs turn in this brute's head was so interesting. He was such an enigma compared to Delwyn's own folk.

"Foxes. You do not take the world from others; you fool them into handing it over willingly." He sighed, and his eyes looked past Del. "It is shameful that such wit and beauty are wasted on such a scheming rogue."

"Wit and beauty are powerful weapons." Delwyn crossed his arms and shuffled his weight between feet. He remembered the way the wolf had looked at him, back then. "...do you really think I am so... beautiful?"

"Do you think I am just some mindless oaf who would let any little fox into my tent?" The prisoner shook his head. "You are the most beautiful male I have ever seen," he said, eyes locked on Delwyn, "and the competition is not remotely close. You were pretty when you came to my camp with your fur all messed, but now, even in this light and all those clothes, you are astonishing, boy."

Delwyn struggled to keep his ears up, but the enthusiasm got to him; they fell in a telling blush, and he looked away. No one talked to him like that, here.

"It's an odd word, for a man," Delwyn said, scrambling for footing. "But I suppose compared to the men of your tribe, it's to be expected. It's no wonder I had such an easy time getting in."

"Why are you here?" the wolf snapped. "Do you seek only to gloat?"

Delwyn had rehearsed this, too. In theory, he came here for information: a treatise on the barbarian tribes of the north would be a wondrous way to begin his scholarly career. In practice, he couldn't not come, not after risking so much to get him here. But in the back of his head, he knew there was a reason why he'd picked to research the massive wolves of the north rather than, for instance, the fevers in the south.

"Because..." The boy lifted the legs of his trousers to get them out of the way, then sat, cross-legged. "Because you're interesting." The wolf was staring at him, unblinking. "I've spent my whole life in the palace, and..." Delwyn trailed off. The beast wouldn't sympathize with his lifestyle; there was no reason going down that path. "Do you want me to leave?"

The wolf slowly shook his head. Delwyn sighed and spent a moment just looking him over. He could see several patches on the wolf's arm and chest where it looked like the fur had never quite regrown the same after an injury. Some of the wounds looked fresh. He wasn't beautiful--not in the slightest--and frankly, that was part of the appeal. This wolf was the opposite of him in almost every way he could imagine: fighting tooth and nail for his survival, hunting prey with his bare hands.

"I know you don't like me," Delwyn started, "but I would... hear of you. If... if this is truly the end of your people, you ought to have a legacy." The fox reached into his pockets; out came a folded roll of parchment, a nub of a quill, and a small vial of ink. He hadn't wanted the warden to know he was bringing anything in, so he took as little as he could get away with and still write. "Our libraries are the finest in the world, and yet we have only a handful of pages on your tribe."

He expected to be laughed at or to be immediately dismissed. Instead, the wolf was silent for a moment. "No one knows you are here, yes?"

Delwyn paused, then shook his head. For some time, the fox watched the wolf ponder, grateful at least that his offer wasn't laughed down. The fox couldn't imagine what was going through the beast's head.

The silenced stretched on. Delwyn inched his snout closer. "Wolf?"

He sighed. "You, child, are likely to be the only company I am to have for the rest of my short life."

"I'm not a child."

The wolf ignored him, eyes roaming the prince's figure. "If I am to spend my final days letting you poke at me in a cage, then you will make it worth my while."

Delwyn tilted his snout. There was something... uneasy about the way it was looking at him. "...and how am I to do that?"

"You are pretty," he said. "Prettier than any wolf. Prettier than any maiden. I would see more of you." The wolf pointed at Delwyn's chest. "Remove that. Show me more."

"I..." Delwyn's ears burned and swiveled down, and his fingers fidgeted, twirling the quill. "Very funny."

"I'm waiting."

Delwyn's tongue flapped, struggling to find the right words. "I hoped you had earned your lesson, dog, but you still think with your sheath.

"Do you expect a dying man to have shame? You have taken all the dignity I have, little fox. It is the best I can do to drag yours down with it."

Delwyn stayed resolute; he sat up straight, ears perked. "No."

"Then I will say no more."

Delwyn watched while the wolf stood, turned, and retreated into his cell. He noted how the great beast's posture was slightly hunched, as if he were ready to drop down on all fours at a moment's notice. Only once the detail faded into a shadow that disappeared into the darkness did the prince sigh and stand.

He didn't want to play the wolf's game. Beasts locked in cages should get no bargaining chips. But what was really the harm? The more he mused, the more Delwyn figured that the only reason he hesitated was because he knew some part of him was going to genuinely enjoy the wolf's over-the-top admiration. And why shouldn't he?

The prince shook his head... then went to unbutton his shirt.

He turned his back as he did it. First, off came the frilly blouse, then the undershirt, and at last, he was bare. Delwyn knew he was pretty: he'd inherited his father's handsome features and a noble's exquisite grooming. What would be light grays on a commoner were pure whites on him. His coat carried not a speck of dirt, and there was not a single matted patch; it was all smooth, flowing over the curves of his lithe figure. Regular training kept him in good shape, and though he'd never turn an eye for his size, his features tended to invite wandering eyes to linger.

After turning himself around, Delwyn stared off into the blackness of the cell, and a wolf-shaped shadow grew. He could hear the wolf suck in a breath as he came into sight, no doubt sampling the air for Delwyn's scent. Delwyn stretched his arms out, showing himself off. "Are you happy?" His eyes sought out a place to set his shirt were it wouldn't dirty, then the boy lowered himself and took a seat. Now, they were both sitting, with just the bars and the light of the lamp between them. Delwyn's parchment, quill, and ink lay right in front of him.

The wolf was still staring. Delwyn could watch those eyes trace over his features. "Your beauty is astonishing, young prince."

The smoothness of that voice made him shiver. "I..." Were these really the words of some savage, whose head was to roll 'neath the axe? "Thank you."

"Come closer and let me touch you."

"No."

"I will do no harm. Please?"

That velvet tone was such a contrast to the coarse one from earlier. It was so hard to resist. Mere minutes ago, the wolf had been nothing but anger and frustration, but now...

His glanced down the hall, then back at the wolf. Deep breath. "Okay."

His head craned forward, ever-so-slightly. He followed the wolf's example: his snout pushed between the bars of the cage, nose wedging just an inch or so into the monster of a wolf's cell, making his heavy scent all the more pronounced. Delwyn's pulse pounded, and staring back at the creature made it worse, so he closed his eyes, and on instinct, whimpered.

"Don't be afraid, boy."

The first touch came. It was surprisingly careful, for someone with such massive fingers. Two digits started at the top of his snout and slowly meandered their way up between his ears, pushing between the bars to reach farther. They stroked in a small circle, then trailed back down. Delwyn let out a long breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding in; three digits now stroked the top of his neck in a slow, steady pattern.

"Your coat is so soft." And the wolf's fingers weren't. The fur there hadn't been bathed properly in some days, probably; it was coarse and oily, but not dirty. The touches blurred into one another, and Delwyn relaxed. He felt heat approaching his snout, but his eyes didn't open. Something wet pressed atop the bridge of his nose; it was the wolf's tongue, giving him a single, quick lick from above. Delwyn let out a surprised squeak, but didn't jerk back, finding that he'd melted against the bars. Both hands were stroking him now, and Delwyn lost track of how long he sat there, just letting himself be pet by this monster. It seemed to go on and on and on, and little Delwyn didn't want it to end. He felt at peace, even as claws strong enough to tear out his throat in a single motion brushed against his neck.

The damp, leathery pad of the wolf's nose touched up against his. His eyes opened, at last; the wolf's striking blue eyes were less than a foot from his own, and the slow petting continued. Warm. Everything felt so warm, and his trousers felt so tight.

But Delwyn was no fool. He knew with that move that the wolf was waiting for him to start it, waiting for the fox to tilt his snout ever-so-slightly so they would kiss.

Del pulled his head back. "Do you really think I would kiss an ugly brute like you?"

The wolf glowered, and those fangs showed, but he didn't snap. Instead, he stood up on his knees, groin flush to the bars, and...

Delwyn stared. He'd pulled up the flap of his loincloth; the tight fabric hugging his sheath was stretched and distended around the obscene bulge. It pushed right up against the bars, thick enough that it couldn't quite wedge between them. The tip of his sheath-bulge was soaking wet, and a line of precum was slowly dripping its way down.

"This is what you do to me, prince."

"You're..." He swallowed, and much as he willed them to, his eyes couldn't look away. He probably shouldn't be surprised that the wolf's swollen sheath-bulge alone seemed far larger than Delwyn ever got.

"You stare. You are curious." Delwyn said nothing, and the beast went on. "Get a key. Come into my cell. I will lie back and let you explore all you want."

Delwyn's head jerked away. "Never," he snapped.

"I won't lay a finger on you."

"No." Delwyn met the beast's eyes. "I'm not stupid. I'll never lose this game over lust. I'm not like you." As he said that, his fingers clenched, imagining what it would be like just to feel the wolf's sheath.

"At least you can admit your lust. You are not as above me as you wish to be."

Delwyn frowned. He adjusted his groin with one hand, avoiding the wolf's eyes and his inevitably cocksure smirk. "Enough. I have done as you asked. Now, you will answer my questions."

The wolf's snout pushed up against the bars again. Those blue eyes seemed to stare right into his soul. "Fine. Ask away."

---

What felt like an hour passed, and the wolf's answers seemed earnest enough. First one side of the parchment filled up, then the other. By now, he was up to halfway through his second page.

"Um, okay. And this... this Snow figure, he's..."

"We call him Snow, because his fur is white as the mountains in winter. For the past year, he has been my second."

"He's... wait." The prince's brow furrowed. "I should know this by now, shouldn't I? Your name. What is it?"

The wolf laughed. "You wish to know my name? Your trousers. They come off."

"Then I suppose we're done," Delwyn said. He stacked the two sheets of parchment and corked the ink vial. "Because I'm not showing you my rear, and I'm up far too late, regardless."

"And why not? You are safe. There is no harm."

"Because I do have standards, beast. I'm not kissing you, and I'm not stripping for you. I'm not some harlot that you can--"

During this, he'd reached forward to grab hold of one of the bars to steady himself as he stood, and one of the wolf's hands grabbed on top of his. The wolf tugged him in, jerking his arm into the cell.

His eyes widened. "What are you doing?!"

He couldn't fight this beast. Del lost track of what appendage was where; all he knew was that, when the wolf finally finished jerking him around, he had his back to the bars, and a hand around his neck. Delwyn had gotten too comfortable and hadn't respected the wolf's reach. His arms could fit right between the bars when he turned them.

Delwyn whimpered. His heart was racing and adrenaline flooded his body, but there was nothing he could do.

"Relax your pretty head." The wolf's voice was the low, soothing rumble, not the harsh, grating growl. "I will not hurt you, boy. The arm is just to keep you still."

"Let me go. Please." He barely recognized his own voice, pitched up an octave higher than it should have been.

"I will respect your wishes, boy. I won't kiss you, and I won't look at your arse." He felt the wolf take a deep breath; that mouth was right behind his ear.

The wolf's hand groped his ass; one fully spread palm was enough to cover both cheeks. "Let me go!" He jerked, but the hand on his neck didn't let him pull away. He could feel claws scraping against his skin, and he didn't dare test the wolf's restraint. Fingers traced over the swell of his rear, probing and squeezing over each cheek in turn. The touches were slow and deliberate, as if the wolf were trying to memorize each curve of him.

Delwyn forced himself to be still; there was little point in wasting his energy trying to fight the wolf, now. He'd bide his time, conserve his energy, and take his freedom by surprise. And... truth told? This wasn't so bad. If all the wolf was going to do was touch his rear, then... maybe it wouldn't be so bad. "What are you going to do to me?"

The wolf's hand pulled away, just to return again a moment later, this time pushing beneath the fox's trousers. Now, the only barrier between the wolf's groping fingers and Delwyn's ass was his white underpants. Yet still, the wolf said nothing. Delwyn's back arched, and he whimpered. "T-that's..." His paints strained; the wolf's fingers ached to touch him, it seemed. He'd never been groped this way before--and certainly not on his backside. His trousers were strained at the front. "That's enough," he said. "You've had your feel, and I'll even admit I enjoyed it. Please, let me go, now. No more."

Delwyn breathed a sigh of relief when the wolf's hand pulled away. He tried to step away from the bar's, but that hand kept him restrained. "Wolf--"

Now, the wolf's hand pushed beneath his underpants, and he could feel those rough fingers directly against his coat. Delwyn struggled. "No! Please! Unhand me, vile beast! I do not want you--"

Even though his trousers were still on, something thick and wet pushed under his tail, and a harsh gasp cut off his words. Delwyn went still, and then he hissed. It pushed in. His ring burned; that finger was damn thick, and it was splitting him open. "Please. Please..."

He'd said no. This was too much; the wolf had gone too far, and it wasn't funny. Tears were in danger of springing to his eyes, but at least the burn wasn't getting worse, even as that digit pushed deeper. And--

The wolf's finger struck gold. An explosion of pleasure rocked Delwyn's body and a surprised moan left his lips. His hands gripped hold of the bars for support, and his eyes closed.

"Feel good?"

Delwyn didn't want to admit it. He didn't want this, dammit. His lips glued shut, and it wasn't until the wolf did it again, and again, that he finally answered: "...yes."

The finger worked into him. Now and then it retracted, before coming back newly damp. Each additional thrust seemed to work at chipping away the tension, bit by bit. There was no rhythm, at first, just idle exploration, but before long, the wolf was working that single digit in and out steadily. The hand holding him captive rose, fingers brushing underneath the fox's chin, then reaching up to stroke his cheeks. Delwyn didn't pull away. The wolf's fingers explored--no, they caressed, roaming down the fox's neck, over his slender chest and trim stomach, like they couldn't get enough of him. When the wolf's hand stroked back up Delwyn's snout, the boy's head angled against it.

"Do you still wish for me to stop?"

It was foolish. He would be beheaded if he were caught with this beast. He would be disowned. His life would be over. And yet... somehow, it felt like this was his only chance. For what, Delwyn didn't know. But even though the wolf had so rudely ignored his protests, between the way it felt and the way the beast touched him now almost tenderly, he couldn't let it end.

"...no."

That word triggered something; the twisting of the wolf's digit grew increasingly aggressive, the leisurely pace evolving into one of measured thrusting. And each one of those thrusts seemed engineered to strike right at that sensitive spot. Delwyn had no idea his ass could even bring him this much pleasure, and he'd be lying if he said he'd never played with it before. His breathing grew haggard, and tension of an entirely different kind returned to him. Each plunge of that finger into him seemed to light a rocket off between his legs. And all of this came without the wolf even wrestling down his trousers.

"I'm..." He sucked in a breath. "It feels so good. It's like torture."

"And you sound so good," the wolf said. "It is like torture, being unable to see the look on your face."

"I..." Delwyn hissed. "I've had all I can handle, wolf."

"No. I'm going to make you cum, boy."

Delwyn let out a shaky breath. Was he serious? Delwyn's mouth opened, but he couldn't even form a response to that. How could he?

Two minutes later, Delwyn was a writhing and shaking mess. He'd long stopped being self-conscious of the sounds spilling from his mouth with each motion of that thick digit. Everything was on fire. He was getting close. He was getting close, just from this brute toying with his ass. He was on the knife's edge, and the wolf's pace drew to a crawl; he whimpered, tears once more welling from the prospect of being denied.

"Say please," the wolf said.

"I..." Del wet lips and swallowed his pride. He needed this. "Please."

The wolf's finger drilled in, and that fire burned white-hot. He didn't know how the beast was doing it: whether it was the angle, the size, or just... some kind of magic, he didn't know or care. Bliss surged through him, and his rump clenched down on that invading digit, pulsing with each accompanying bloom of heat into his trousers. When it ended, he breathed out, exhausted, and slumped away from the bars, panting.

Delwyn picked up his shirt, and his hands were shaking so much that he could barely get it back on. Once it was on, he slid down the wall and just sat there on the other side of the hallway, staring back at the wolf.

The beast was grinning; his teeth were bared in a way that looked only imposing, but his ears were forward and happy. "I'll remember those sweet sounds every day for the rest of my life."

"Why? Why did you..." Delwyn took in a few deep breaths, trying to get the exasperation out of his voice. "I don't understand. You didn't get anything out of that."

"I certainly did."

His eyes slid down to the wolf's groin. He couldn't really see it from this far away, in the dim light, but he knew what was there. The stench of it was incredible, and... that sound? The wolf's loincloth had soaked through to the point that it was dripping. "You're..."

"You weren't faking, when you came to my camp. You wanted me then, and you want me now."

Delwyn growled and stood. "You're wrong. You're just a big, mindless brute out to get his own rocks off, and you always have been. You deserve to rot in this cell."

The wolf threw his head back and laughed. His snout pressed against the bars, and when he next spoke, his voice was almost shaky. "I have shown you what my hands can do. Let me keep their freedom, and they will be yours to use at any hour." A string of precum dripped from his soaked-through loincloth to the ground as he spoke. That. That had been the mess that had dampened his finger before it plunged in. That was... inside him, even now. "Let me be your dirty secret, prince. I will do things to you that no fox ever will, man or woman."

The prince scoffed. "For as long as you live, your hands will never be free again."

With that, Delwyn turned, and he was gone.