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His eyes opened against the ashy sunlight. The scent of rot hung like a pall over the woods, but nearer, more intimate was the odor of wet dog, soil and musk. Desmond looked under the hood of the creature seated nearby.

A long, lupine snout grinned at Desmond. The jowls pulled back, and then came a giggle. "Good morning, Meat," he said. "I knew you'd return. Come to take in my beautiful features, have you? You're lucky I smelled your stink before the dogs did you in."

Desmond sat up slowly. Male beauty he had once enjoyed was being stripped from him by the cursed forest. His hair and fur were pocked with brambles. Once he had bothered to pluck them, now survival was more important. Poor nutrition left him bony. His teeth, previously white, were yellowing; several had loosened.

"Can't take much more of this," he said to the Wolfman.

"Can't you?" the Wolfman jauntily asked. "Is being a smelly skeleton with skin and fur stretched over it not the goal here?" He grinned his sharp teeth at Desmond, leaned in close, then clutched a paw around his sallow guest's neck and licked his face. "After all, if you fattened up at all I might make a meal of you, Meat. As it stands you're not much more than a morsel, more fun to watch than to snack on."

In another time, a better place, Desmond would have shoved the Wolfman off and recoiled in disgust. The hooded creature stank of desperation. But so did Desmond. When the Wolfman was through, Desmond sat up and hugged his knees. Beside him, stricken by mange and lumpy with brambles, his tail lay like a deceased caterpillar.

"I want out of these fucking woods," Desmond said, sounding defeated and tired. "And away from you and your games."

The Wolfman giggled. "What's wrong with a game, comrade? There's not much else to do. Not getting out of here anytime soon." Now he prodded at Desmond's ankle, where a stained bandage reeking of alcohol was tied around the limb; Desmond hissed and swatted the Wolfman's paw. The wolf said, "Survival is not your strong suit. I couldn't say why someone like you would come here, but you're sure not cut out for fighting."

The foxcoon eyed the Wolfman cautiously. Even his eyes seemed paler, like scuffed jades. "I've never been a fighter. Or a survivalist."

A lusty growl rose in the Wolfman's chest. He sidled up to Desmond, hooked an arm around his bony shoulders and chummily squeezed him close. "Everyone has a niche, my fuzzy little carcass. Even here, in these woods. What say we find yours?"

The Wolfman didn't wait to ask. He slid down his dirty trousers but left on the coat. His rifle remained slung on his back. His musky scent worsened as he bared his lower half, and his fur reeked of sweat and grime. A smile on his snout, teeth bared like yellow knives, he held the back of Desmond's head and pulled him down until the foxcoon's nose touched the matted fur on his sheath.

"Get a whiff of this, Meat," he said. "Wonderful, isn't it? You can be honest."

The odor of the Wolfman made Desmond cringe; the smell was one of decay and of masculinity. As he inhaled the scent, his first reaction was revulsion. The Wolfman forced him to smell the opening of his sheath. Desmond's nostrils were greased by the odorous mucous inside the fleshy tube; his eyes watered. He grabbed the Wolfman's sweaty pelt, holding a leg and a hip. He breathed in the scent and shuddered.

"You know, I lied. I would eat a morsel like you. This is a better use of you, though." He unhanded Desmond's head then plucked the brittle blonde hairs from between his fingers. "Go ahead and explore down there. No reason only one of us should appreciate my exquisite form, eh?"

He slid his paw down Desmond's back, over the threadbare shirt and ragged jeans. When Desmond had arrived, there had been no room at all for even a finger between the waist of his jeans and his hip; but now the Wolfman's paw slid under with room to spare. He felt over the curve of an ass cheek, still round enough to be a pleasant treat in a cursed forest. He squeezed it, then grumbled in lurid delight.

"Very nice, Meat. Yes, I think this arrangement could work for us both. Don't think I can't smell that rotten little peach between your thighs - giving me that's fair trade for your safety, wouldn't you say?"

Desmond stared at the Wolfman. His features were so sickly that his eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, amplifying the accusatory effect of his glare. "What are you telling me? That you'll-, you're going to protect me?"

A grin, a giggle. "Just what is it you need protection from, Meat? Some might argue I'm more a threat than anything in the forest." He snared Desmond's ear in his thumb and forefinger, then pinched and rolled it, tweaking cartilage to the point of breaking; he drew a squeal out of Desmond. The Wolfman freed Desmond's ear, then coyly said, "Then again, if you ended up here, maybe you like to suffer."

The foxcoon rubbed his ear and met the Wolfman's eyes, but a few seconds into the stare he looked away. "I guess I'd rather take my chances with you than whatever comes at night."

"That's the spirit, little morsel," said the Wolfman with seemingly genuine cheer. "The devil you know. Or the one you think you do." He tickled Desmond's chin and got no response, good or bad; Desmond had gone frigid. "What's the matter, Meat? I'd have thought a young man like you, so in touch with his feminine side, might have a better appreciation for cock."

Desmond pulled away from the Wolfman. He expected to be snatched back, but he was allowed to sit up and move a foot away. When he looked back, he saw that the Wolfman was still sitting, legs spread expectantly; the grin was still on his snout.

"I'm not doing anything. Not until I have your word you'll keep me safe."

The wind whistled in the crowded trunks around the camp. The trees were packed so densely that few sounds of the forest propagated far. Desmond had learned the hard way that the forest betrayed nothing, hiding footsteps and the cries of beasts until there was no time for anything but a confrontation.

The Wolfman slid his tongue over his jowls. "Meat, Meat, Meat. This isn't how it works and I'm sure even an idiot blonde like yourself knows it." When Desmond looked, he saw the toothy grin was gone. The stony expression the Wolfman now wore was far worse. "You can't make demands without a position of power."

He stood. Being bottomless did not detract from his menace; the rifle slung on his back would have assured his dominance even if teeth and claws failed him. Desmond stared at the Wolfman from his spot on the ground. He was trembling.

"I'm sorry," Desmond murmured. "Please-, please, I just want-"

"Maybe another few nights alone would change your tune, comrade." Now the grin was back, just a flash of teeth.

"No! I'm sorry!" the foxcoon gasped. He lunged on the Wolfman and clung to a leg. The Wolfman let him grovel; Desmond nuzzled into the matted, rank fur dressing the wolf's scrotum.

"You've fucked up, Meat," he growled. The red tip of his penis peeked from his sheath. Precum dribbled down, glazing the fur. Its scent was repulsive. Though Desmond's nose wrinkled, he kissed and lapped, grinding his nose against the wolf's musky genitals.

"Fuck me. Have me. Please don't leave me alone," Desmond said. His voice was strangely even, but there was mania in his eyes. The Wolfman knew terror when he saw it.

"Get on your back," he snarled, and shook Desmond off of his leg. The foxcoon stared at him, but complied after a moment. He said to the pitiful creature lying in the dirt, "This forest is always hungry, and so am I."

Desmond's ears splayed. His mouth worked, but no words came out. Soon the tears came. The wolf stared dispassionately and said with only a hint of his usually playful manner, "But you've grown on me, Meat, ever so slightly. So I'll keep you alive." He squatted over Desmond, who stared at him in what seemed disbelief. His scrotum dangled on the foxcoon's chest; his penis hung free of its sheath, its bulbous knot bulging inside. He said with a note of menace, "Alive could mean a lot of things, Meat. Would you consider being blind, deaf and mute alive?" Again came that grin, and now it was here to stay. "Hmm, locked in your head, an even worse prison than this fucking forest, I imagine."

"Don't," Desmond said in a small voice. "Anything you want... please."

The Wolfman pulled a hunting knife from inside of his coat. Its blade was matte, offering no glint at all, but the edge was visibly fine. "Oh, but Desmond, what if my fancy is to see your eyeless sockets gaping up at me?" He touched the point to Desmond's cheek and drew a bead of blood; Desmond closed his eyes and exhaled.

The foxcoon surprised the Wolfman and himself when he said, "But then I can't look at your beautiful features."

"Very clever, Meat," the wolf giggled. "All right. So I suppose I won't take your eyes. Both of them, at least." He sheathed the knife. "You've got stronger nerves than I thought."

Desmond said nothing and stared at the wolf, whose breathing was heavy and humid; a dribble of saliva fell from the wolf's slightly parted jaws. It diffused across Desmond's cheek.

"I think I'm going to sit on your face," the wolf calmly said, but his grin was widening, and another runner of drool spattered onto Desmond's snout. "Let me tell you something, comrade, there is no bonding experience quite like a friendly sniff."

The Wolfman waited for a response, a protest of some kind, but the foxcoon was silent. For many moments the wolf regarded his young companion not with sentient understanding, but lusty hunger. His eyes saw not a troubled young creature unsuited to surviving a cursed forest, but food. Not the mutated shit he was used to, half-rotten even alive, more mushroom than meat, too like carrion even for his baser sensibilities; Desmond was sickly, yes, but untouched by the forest.

Slowly, indulgently, the Wolfman licked from the middle of Desmond's chest to the narrow stalk of his neck. He lingered, teeth pinching at grimy fur, and felt the thud of the heart through an artery. His penis pulsated in the open air, red to pinkish white like an unripe strawberry. Veins pulsed at its surface and dribbles of precum, reeking of bitterness and masculinity, shot against the foxcoon's dirty pelt.

He saw the change in Desmond's eyes. The steely nerve was gone; now he saw what seemed to be lust. With a grin, the Wolfman slurped up Desmond's cheek like a friendly dog, then touched noses. His breath was ripe with the stench of dead flesh and dirty teeth. Desmond's nose wrinkled.

"Thanks for indulging me, Meat," he growled. "Who knows how long it's been since I've seen anything half as pure as you in this place?"

"Just don't let me die," Desmond murmured, eyes drifting from the Wolfman's bestial gaze.

The wolf's growl came on low and hungry, the sound of a feral about to pounce. "In fact, Desmond, I'd like to keep you around for one reason or another." He nipped his vulpine friend's cheek then stole a kiss on his sticky jowl-lips. "But accidents happen. And this forest is far from predictable."

Before Desmond could register the words, the Wolfman pushed a deep kiss on the foxcoon. His kiss was overpowering, his tongue slavering into Desmond's maw, a pink ribbon filthy with saliva. Desmond cringed and he fought by shoving; the wolf forced his emaciated body to the twigs and grass below. He snaked his tongue deeper, harder into Desmond's maw. Gravity helped his slobber into the foxcoon's mouth while yet more strands escaped the crudely linked snouts, soaking Desmond's pelt.

The Wolfman ground his penis against the somewhat convex plane of Desmond's stomach. The bulb of the knot pressed upon the foxcoon's vulva, which despite Desmond's unease was growing wet and heated. The wolf humped his companion, loosing more precum into Desmond's fur while at the same time he loped his tongue deep within the foxcoon's mouth.

He forced his tongue against the back of Desmond's maw. The foxcoon's eyes, which had been drifting shut as the pleasure of the kiss and contact thawed his demeanor, suddenly opened wide. A grin tugged at the wolf's jowls and bared his rows of sharkish, yellowed teeth, and he forced his tongue down Desmond's throat. The foxcoon whined, gagged, and made an effort to shove the Wolfman away, but the Wolfman pinned his wrists, almost leaving Desmond cruciform on the hard ground.

Hungrily he lapped into Desmond's throat. His saliva seemed endless, and it was thick and almost phlegmy in consistency. Desmond gagged and began to cry, and the Wolfman lapped deeper, harder into the foxcoon's neck. Writhing muscles fought his tongue, giving pleasure without meaning to, and his thick saliva gummed in Desmond's airway. Very soon the foxcoon was panicking. He sputtered and choked, his eyes awash with tears. The Wolfman's growl shook the deepest recesses of Desmond's chest cavity.

Slowly then, the Wolfman withdrew his tongue. The tip lingered in the orifice of Desmond's throat, and the muscles there quivered. Filthy thoughts paraded in his mind, ways he might test and torment the foxcoon - but he had drifted so far from his initial plan to begin with.

He popped his tongue free and Desmond commenced with a deep, wet cough. The Wolfman helped him to sit up and patted the foxcoon's bony shoulders. "There, there, Meat," he said in a slightly mocking tone. "You aren't dying."

"Yet," Desmond managed between wet coughs. He spat up a thick wad of the wolf's drool, identifiable by its fetid taste and yellow hue. Shuddering, he held his chest, where his lungs ached. He appeared as if he wanted to say something, eyes locked with the wolf's, but after a moment he let his gaze drop.

The Wolfman smiled. Even his smile was wicked. "You handled that quite well, comrade. There's hope for you yet." He abruptly shoved Desmond back; the foxcoon didn't make a noise. "Now, I believe it's time for you to get acquainted with me, Meat."

He stood over Desmond, penis dribbling its natural lubrication which spattered on the foxcoon's chest and belly. He grinned down at the hungry little survivor and said, "Don't try to hold your breath. Eventually you'll have to breathe, one way or the other." As he lowered himself in a squat, the taut cheeks of his ass parted. In the overcast sunlight, Desmond could barely see a glint of pink nestled into fur matted and slick with old and new sweat. The odor of the unwashed wolf hit him like a slap. The Wolfman's musk was sharp and foul, and Desmond gripped the wolf's buttocks.

"Please," Desmond bleated. "This is humiliating. It's disgusting!"

The Wolfman paused. Though Desmond could not see his face, he knew that the wolf was grinning ear to ear. "Humiliating and disgusting would be your steaming carcass split open like a log, comrade. Guts on display, a buffet for the savages and the other things lurking around these parts."

Desmond hesitated. "Do you-, do you think that would happen?"

"Yes, I do," the Wolfman confidently said, "because I'll do it myself." Now he started to stand; Desmond reached for his bottom and wound up pawing at his legs. "Yes, I think I'll do exactly that, Meat. Unzip you from neck to pussy, split your ribcage, take a little nibble for myself and leave the rest."

"Wait! Just wait!" Desmond shrieked. He sat up, nearly bumping his snout into the wolf's rear. He cringed at the scent but stayed close, and the wolf's matted tail swayed, brushing across his ears.

"All right, Meat. I'm waiting," the wolf calmly said. "And contemplating where to start - neck or pussy. Either way, pretty fucking terrible for you, wouldn't you say?"

Desmond brought his snout tentatively closer to the wolf's behind. Though the forest itself smelled of fungal infestation, decay, and death, the Wolfman's odorous musk gave him pause, even contrasted with the threat of being gutted. He said after a moment, in a voice as appeasing as he could muster, "If-, if you cut me open-, unzipped me, as you put it, then what? It's over, right? Right?"

The Wolfman chuckled. "You sound afraid, comrade."

Desmond swallowed. He could still taste the wolf's slobber. "I suppose I am," he conceded. "I don't want to die. Not in this fucking forest. Not to it, or to you. I'll do what you want."

"Very mature reasoning, Meat. Too bad for you that you were naive enough to wind up here, but," a giggle, "hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?" He swished his tail across the foxcoon's head. "Show me how much you want to stay zipped up, Desmond."

The foxcoon knew what the Wolfman expected, and at no point did he doubt the survivalist's eagerness to unzip him. None of the personalities he'd encountered in the forest had been sane, exactly, and the Wolfman least of all. But he had nothing to trade except his body, and most of the relatively stable individuals he had come across had no use for that.

Desmond deeply inhaled like he meant to dive, but let it out only a second later. He closed his eyes and nuzzled into the split of the wolf's ass cheeks. The fur was slimy with sweat, and a wet dog odor pervaded. As his nose slipped into the crevice, he heard the Wolfman giggle, and he smelled ripe anal musk. His sensibilities were delicate despite the degradation of the forest, and he cringed and paused before he could nose the wolf's anus.

"What's the matter, Meat? I still don't feel your nose against my asshole." His tail wagged. "Should I grab my knife?"

The prod worked. Desmond pushed into the crack and notched his nose against the quivering pink bud. Vulgar musk assaulted his senses. His eyes watered and he clung to the wolf's legs, as if to do anything but squeeze close would see the Wolfman drift away along with his chance to keep his insides where they belonged.

Gloved fingers curled around the back of Desmond's head and pulled him closer. Desmond's nose sunk half an inch into the Wolfman's anal ring, and the survivalist said with a lusty growl, "Breathe deep and savor it. This is the best musk you'll get inside or out of this damned forest, Meat."

The fist-sized pouch of Desmond's stomach rolled in his gut. He gagged, and the Wolfman chuckled. For a moment, the fear of mutilation was second to the certainty that he was about to be sick. He retched, but had nothing to give. Then the Wolfman backpedaled, tipping Desmond back. The foxcoon fell to the ground and gasped the stale air of the forest in; but the musk was in his sinuses and it clung to his nostrils. He gagged again and sputtered, "You smell godawful!"

The Wolfman looked back with a toothy grin. "That's subjective, Meat. I'm inclined to point out that I'm the most attractive creature in these woods." He squatted without drawing it out and pushed his ass down into the foxcoon's snout. Desmond made an uneasy, sick noise as his muzzle again sank between the wolf's ass cheeks, but despite his quivering, allowed his nose to again kiss the smelly pink ring.

"Was that really so hard, comrade?" asked the Wolfman cheerfully. His tail wagged. "This is just a friendly greeting, from a lupine to a vulpine. Didn't you know that?"

Desmond's nostrils quivered. Sweat from the wolf dripped along his snout. He opened his mouth to answer and a briny drop fell onto his tongue, nearly gagging him again. The Wolfman filled the silence when he said, "That nose feels good back there, Meat." He lowered himself, deepening his squat. Now his anus slightly parted to permit Desmond's nose, and the stretch caused him to shudder and growl. "Sniff like your life depends on it. It does." He pulled off a glove to reveal his clawed digits. Slowly, more like a lover than a killer, he trailed a claw from the wiry thatch of Desmond's bush to the middle of his chest, as his squatting body blocked the foxcoon's neck. "Pussy to neck, Desmond. Well, you get the idea, at least."

"You don't have to keep reminding me," said Desmond, fear and anger in his voice. His feminine fingers touched the wolf's buttocks; the wet fur sluiced through his digits. "God... you smell abhorrent," he murmured without conviction. "This is disgusting."

The Wolfman's grin was a yellow crescent between sticky black jowls. "You make a better chair than liar, Meat, but there's a certain charm to your attempts." Now he shifted to his knees, rubbing the musky, nearly greasy rim of his anus all around Desmond's nose as if chalking a cue. He doubled over and touched his own nose to the plush, black mass of the foxcoon's vulva. With his usual whimsy, he teased, "Well, Meat, if your pussy smells even half as nice as my ass does, I'd say you're enjoying quite the treat down there."

He mouthed the dark flesh, suckling it, prodding its spongy lips using his tongue. The foxcoon's wetness was subtle, the aroused and almost female scent apparent to the wolf's sharp senses. With his bare fingers, he deftly spread the folds and tucked into the humid pink of Desmond's vagina. He attacked the taut channel with his tongue just as he'd forced it down the foxcoon's throat; when his effeminate companion gasped and kicked the dirt, the wolf grinned. He plucked his tongue out, slinging yellowed slobber. "What's up, Meat?" he giggled. "I thought you didn't want me to eat you." He forced his ass down, spreading his anus around the foxcoon's sniveling nose; Desmond huffed through his maw, but took noticeable breaths through his nose.

The wolf pushed a finger into the slimy passage of Desmond's vagina and watched, smirking toothily, as the foxcoon's legs twisted and toes curled. "Can I be honest with you for just a moment?" he mused. "If it weren't for this," now he swirled his finger inside the foxcoon, "I'd leave you to the night terrors."

"You-, you can have it," Desmond said. His voice was diffident and nasal; he was noticeably distracted. "Your smell, it's really-, it's so horrible..."

Obvious admiration painted Desmond's words. The Wolfman, at times vain creature that he was, couldn't keep himself from grinning. For once he was at a loss for words, and so he leaned low, mouthing Desmond's spade-like vulva again. He wriggled his tongue in alongside his finger, tugging with the digit and writhing with his tongue. He listened to Desmond's whining, whimpering cries of what seemed to be pleasure. The foxcoon was wet and tight, his vaginal muscles tensing; and in much the same way, the Wolfman's great canine penis throbbed in the grubby fluff on Desmond's chest.

What had so recently been revolting was becoming a vulgar pleasure. Desmond snuffled deeply, flaring his nostrils within the Wolfman's musky anus. In his pleasure was a degree of self-loathing - disbelief that he could enjoy something so foul. It revolted him despite the taboo pleasure, as he could feel the sweat rolling down his snout and the veneer of anal mucous soaking into his fur. He tentatively caressed the Wolfman, feeling under the thick fabric of his hooded coat, over a furry back marred by scars.

Reluctantly, the Wolfman withdrew his tongue. He was huffing with pleasure and nearing a state of musk-drunkenness like what he'd inflicted upon the hapless foxcoon. A rope of saliva the thickness and color of sputum bridged his maw and the malleable flesh of Desmond's vulva; vaginal secretions blended with foul-smelling drool oozed from the vagina itself. He drew back his sunken finger and said to the foxcoon, "I think you can guess what comes next, comrade. I won't be gentle."

Desmond made a murmur of acknowledgment. His snout was wedged in the Wolfman and his eyes were half-lidded, his pupils unfocused.

The Wolfman rose. At first Desmond came along with him, as though his snout was stuck, but when his nose came free, Desmond gently laid back and shuddered. "I lied to you," he said, "about your smell."

As the Wolfman turned around, he giggled and remarked, "Remember what I said about you being a terrible liar, Meat?" He touched his nose to Desmond's and indulgently sampled his rancid anal musk. It was rare he did so, as despite his crudeness, he wasn't one to finger his own asshole and smell himself in that manner. "I'll keep you alive," he said, "and keep you smelling nice." He grinned and kissed the foxcoon, but shallowly. Even then, Desmond opened his maw somewhat, awaiting tongue that never came.

The fiery orb of the sun was shining through the trees, casting long shadows; a silence started to fall on the forest as if it knew the wretched night was nearing. The Wolfman pulled Desmond to a seated position, then coaxed him onto his paws and knees. Desmond assumed this position without fighting and held his matted tail high.

"Not much time, Meat," the Wolfman said, mounting the foxcoon. He steadied his wet cock against the folds of Desmond's vulva and plunged past them without pause. Desmond gasped, and his malnourished body trembled. The Wolfman wrapped a possessive arm around his middle, and with its twin, held himself up.

The wolf's knot made a wet smack as it collided with Desmond's vulva. He hesitated for only a moment before fucking the foxcoon. He was quick, snarling and drooling, jowls pulled back in a feral mockery of a grin. His speed was as much a matter of raw lust as necessity to beat the coming night. Suddenly he bit Desmond's ear, and the foxcoon's cry fueled his bestial mating.

Burning orange sunlight licked at their heaving bodies. Desmond, who until that moment had cowered in abject terror as dusk fell, was oblivious to the coming night. He pushed against the Wolfman, as wordless as he was, bestial but utterly submissive. The wet, sticky trickle on his ear could have been saliva or blood, he was unsure, and he was too much an animal to care. He bucked into the Wolfman, welcoming the plowing red piston of his cock and the thudding mass of his knot. Even the wolf's balls, which swung an arc against his thighs, were a welcome pleasure.

The Wolfman brayed with feral pleasure. He released the ear but bit the neck, this time drawing blood for certain. He laid on Desmond until the weak and hungry foxcoon collapsed against the dirt, but his hips never lost their jackhammer rhythm. He snarled savagely into the foxcoon's flesh. A fist closed around Desmond's brittle hair and pulled. His knot was pounding at Desmond's vulva, demanding entry. The musk which surrounded them was a rancid miasma.

"Oh-, god!" Desmond shrieked, his first words since before the sex had begun. His speech did nothing to break the Wolfman out of his savage trance. The survivalist threw his weight against Desmond but held him by the hair and with his jaws.

The last vestiges of sunlight played across the dirt, dimming and reddening. Desmond opened his eyes against the glare and thought of the terror and death soon to come, but his body cried out for the breeding to conclude.

The bulb of the wolf's knot gouged open Desmond's vulva and plunged its way inside. Desmond cringed but remained admirably quiet; the Wolfman arched his back and snarled, slinging diseased spittle from his lips. With his climax, he polluted Desmond with his thick and heated seed, his muscles tensing, jaws clapping, bloody teeth gleaming in the final flicker of daylight. He stared down at Desmond's writhing form, a blackening expression on his face. He saw the foxcoon as a pile of gore, a bag of bones, a morsel to pick clean. He gripped the foxcoon by the shoulders and snapped, "I can barely contain myself, Meat!"

Desmond looked back at him, and in the fading sunlight saw the hunger in the Wolfman's face. Pleasure became fear, and the certainty of death filled his mind. He said lamely, "You said you would keep me alive."

The Wolfman slid his tongue over his teeth and jowls. Shuddering, riding his climax into afterglow, he leaned low and kissed the foxcoon on his smelly snout. "I keep my promises, Meat," he grunted, as though Desmond's questioning his loyalty was particularly distasteful.

As the night fell, the Wolfman rudely pulled his knotted penis free of Desmond. The foxcoon shrieked, but his cry was lost in the dark woods. Night was falling, the inky black of the shadows encroaching on a moonless night. The Wolfman quickly dressed but denied Desmond the luxury, and he walked the foxcoon briskly to the crude assemblage of planks, fences and sheet metal that was his compound.

"Sit down, Meat," the Wolfman warned, "and stay quiet."

Desmond's eyes drifted over the grizzly decorations of the Wolfman's home: scattered bones, stains of blood, piles of scrap and other junk. Inside the dim walls of the compound he felt only marginally safer than on his own outside. His bony body ached and his genitals throbbed; the odor of the Wolfman's anal musk was thinning in his nostrils, leaving the fetid smell of metal and rot native to the compound.

Almost fearing the answer, Desmond timidly asked, "Is there something I can eat?"

"I said stay quiet," said the Wolfman, shooting Desmond a glance. "In case you haven't realized the way things work, comrade, the things that stalk the nights around here seem to have ears. So be quiet."

The night dragged on. The generators just outside droned, at times chugging as they burned through stale, polluted gasoline, pulling the lights dim; Desmond often hugged his naked self a little tighter and looked to the motionless form of the Wolfman for comfort. The Wolfman, however, was still and vigilant, his ears twitching beneath the hood of his coat.

Hours passed. Desmond was exhausted but too full of adrenaline to sleep. He laid on a filthy mattress and waited for the dawn, and whatever it might bring.

Later in the night, Desmond heard the rustle of clothing. He rolled over to see the Wolfman standing askew of one of the barred and fenced windows, bottomless; their eyes met and in the wolf's gaze, Desmond learned everything he needed to know. He moved quietly along the packed dirt of the floor until he knelt behind the Wolfman. His paws clutched the survivalist's bottom. There was no apprehension when he sunk his snout between the wolf's buttocks, and he shuddered as he inhaled the oddly comforting scent.

"Good, Meat," the Wolfman whispered. "If I say get down, you'll do so - no questions asked."

Desmond said nothing. He was basking in musk. His tongue loped over the Wolfman's anus before his nose returned to the rim. His fear, and even his hunger dissipated. There were, he supposed, much worse places he could be in a cursed forest.