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The kingdom of Tufan had been crushed by a triple alliance, burning all to the ground and taking no prisoners. Homes were burned to their foundations and families fled to underground shelters where most starved to death. Mack was a frighteningly seasoned soldier. With only two years in the academy and fifteen short years old when he'd entered. He trained with the exceptional masters and was taught to kill ruthlessly. His body currently broken, he gingerly inspected the slices along his ribs, back, arms, and a cut to his head, which partially disfigured, his mop of shiny black curls. He ripped his armor free, tugging off the weight and balancing out his battered body. He'd assassinated two of his standing officers, but now badly injured, he fled across the devastated land. He had fought hoping to give his hometown half a chance. The handsome young man fled, down a winding road several miles to a small temple where he knew rest would come, if only for a while. He collapsed, his wounds overtaking him as fever and infection set in. Twitching in his sleep it was desperately obvious he needed medicine the small place of worship was in short supply of. The war had a way if wiping out everything, even healing properties.

At that same shrine a slender vixen wandered around aimlessly. She could hear the bombs go off in the distance and though it was an all too familiar sound by now. Even knowing what would happen didn't diffuse her unease. The battle was miles and miles away, but she knew how a soldier battle could turn into a citizen battle in a remote city hours away, in the blink of an eye. She tugged her robe closer to her body and relit her smoking tapered candle. If she was to stay up all night worrying, she refused to do so in the dark. When she was sixteen, the war had begun taking soldiers. Young men with hardly enough sense to not fall in love. No hair on their chins if they ever had the choice. She had seen many-too many- of their bodies in the streets. Dragging themselves by their hands and elbows. It made a pitiful sight. Now twenty, she watched the carnage from her window, only coming out when fights weren't about. Women weren't safe anymore. Not from the enemy soldiers and not from their own. No matter where they went, there was the constant stare of a man, driven wild, by what, she was uncertain, but nights like these, she pondered on them. She gingerly stepped outside and breathed in the air. It was by no means clean. It smelled of gunpowder and blood. Always of war and violence. She closed the sliding door behind herself and picked her way through the garden, enjoying the feel of grass on her paw pads. Very seldom did Mother Superior allow her to leave. Though she wasn't a sister, she was protected as one, and thus, leaving the shrine was prohibited unless it was for food or supplies. Tears filled her eyes as she sat the candle down on a stone bench. She missed when going outside meant getting fresh air. She missed when outside smelled of fresh air. She missed not being afraid and angry.

He couldn't take it. The temple was so close, but his wounds were grievous and mortal for a human boy. The boy had worn a rifle over shoulder, an officer's handgun pushed into his belt, and a spade shovel he'd sharpened to use as a spear. He could hardly walk, but refused the help of the few frightened but friendly neighbors he passed. He wandered the place of worship and using the spear as a kind of crutch he ascended the steps. It was only a matter of time before this place got the shit wrecked out of it. The Empire of Goltana cared not, so long as the people were gone or suicidally complacent, and they could claim the vast amounts of minerals within their land. Before him, he saw a strange sight. She had yet to see him, but he looked at her a moment. She was a slender curvy thing. Her dark hair fell to her knees and waved gently. He had heard of Furs, but never seen one up close. They were rare in Tufan. She was a fox and strangely ethereal in the moonlight, with the bombs going off so far in the distance. He hobbled up to her, looking weighed down from the simple action and limping like a ninety year old man. "Another prisoner? "he asked, catching the back end of her tears, doing his best to look away and let her keep what dignity she had. "This place...gonna fall you know," he delivered grimly, though he himself looked ready to drop. "Better get outta here before the real shit starts up, whatcha seen so far is just the tip of the iceberg, sweetheart." he managed to seat himself in front of the stained glass window. "Pretty," he noted with a sigh. He couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at her unladylike snort. Weren't nuns supposed to be all nice and proper? "What does...beauty mean right now? Truly?" she spat, bitterness coloring her tone dark. She wasn't usually so down on the world but in the moonlit garden, with a young soldier, wounded and bleeding on the soft grass, the truth caught up to her again. She might die tonight. Mother Superior and the Sisters would die tonight. Her home for eight years, destroyed to get at the minerals underneath it. She turned to look at him and gasped. She had smelled his blood, but seeing him, seeing him was another story entirely. He was wounded, and badly. She rushed over to him, her candle and tears forgotten. "You are badly wounded. Sit, sit. I must bandage what I can." she said softly, reaching out a small slender paw to his shoulder. Her robe fell open, revealing her nightgown beneath. It was a simple cotton shift that reached to the floor and pooled around her small paws. Simple and practical. Cheap to make and buy. It almost screamed Tufan poverty. "Who has done this?" she asked quietly, her purring voice hardly a whisper.

He stood up abruptly and unsteadily, easily evading her slender hand, holding it tight by the wrist. He was bloodied, battered, part of his face swollen purple and red. His eyebrow bore a deep cut, leaving a trail of thickening blood down his face. He bore no tattoos, the only adornment he had were his dogtags and firearms. "You don't...understand." he coughed and his entire frame shook. "They're coming. Late tonight if you're lucky. They will lay waste to this place, and everyone in it. It is my duty to protect the weak. You are the only one who listens to me so far. I will entrust the warning message to you to deliver...but if they do not listen, you must flee. I have supplies. Take them. I don't think I'll last through the night, sadly." He lifted his shirt, showing the various bandaged wounds, that the blood had easily soaked through. "Think of only yourself now. I can...protect you for a while. Not sure how far...but I will try, if you chose to listen." He said at length. She let her gaze rake over him and brought her brows together.

"All of this...over patches of dirt." she spat. She knelt next to him and reached a paw out to his face. "I have known since the bombs woke me that they would be here soon. They're doing a bomb sweep. I told my Sisters but they will remain here. With their Lord I suppose. They say the Shrine is where they were born, and it would only be right to be the place they die as well. I will leave. But only once I've done all that I need to do." She said and stood after a moment. "And just for the record...I'm not weak." she spat. The war had left her raw at times. Had ripped callouses from her emotions, replaced them until she almost couldn't take it anymore. Physically, all she had was speed and had the advantage of superior senses. She wasn't particularly strong or good at fighting. She could discourage many men from advancing on her or her female friends at best. Normal, human men with little determination. But she was smart and she was blessed. Or so Mother had said. Her "gift" had been nothing but a burden since the day she discovered it. A nuisance she had labeled it. But perhaps, it might help her wounded soldier.

He chuckled at her startling vehemence, almost going into a full burst of laughter, but simply didn't have the strength. His wounds were bandaged, but dried, crusty old blood clung to them, preventing further blood flow from those areas. He shrugged again, "I never called you weak specifically. I never underestimate anyone, but, the truth of the matter, these women will be raped and slaughtered at best. Convince as many as you can to leave...but I will take you alone if you if you speak the truth. First light, tomorrow, we leave. His expression pained, he held tight to the arm that had tried to touch him and looked down at her. "Now...do you have a sewing kit? I need to take care of my wounds before this little sojourn." he huffed, falling back to the cushion. She felt her first tendrils of suspicion spike but found she couldn't hold onto them. Even if it were some elaborate plan to squirrel away a temple full of virgin nuns to grace his Generals' tent, it wouldn't make sense for him to be so wounded and battered. She could see the earnestness in his young face and she gave him another once over. She considered herself to be very young, but he looked younger than she and his honesty shone through in his strange green brown eyes.

She placed a paw on his shoulder and pushed gently. "I need you to lie down for a moment." she said, tipping her head to the side, her wavy brown locks toppling over one shoulder. "It is clear to me that you have never spoken to nuns about leaving their shrine. They are most adamant about staying. And, cruel as it is, I hope the bombs get to them before the men do." she said. She looked to the window and sighed. Mother was awake. Her candle lit and she sat at her desk, head bowed in either prayer or stress. If she had to guess though, she'd say it was both. She had decided that her gift was of use now. She needed to use it now for the good of at least one man. How many had she used it for, only to have them turn on her? Countless. But she had never gained anything in quitting, so she knelt down on her knees and waited for him to comply. "On your back if you would. With your eye closed." she said softly. She only hoped he would agree and get it all over with. She could only do so much. "If you'd just give me the damn sewing kit...." he grumbled, but figured the vixens' way must be more successful, since she was being so uppity and forceful about it. He sighed heavily, giving in. He figured there was no point in arguing. Flat on his back, arms rigid to his side, he reopened the wounds on his shoulder, back, and arms. "Then only you will escape. And, I hope the bombs and bullets get them all before the men do. I've seen what men do. It ain't pretty." He waited patiently on the lush grass, laying completely still like a plank of wood, not saying anything, except a rebellious mumble of, 'This better be good.'