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The sound of a heavy drum beat stirred the dazed and weak wolf into consciousness.

As he flitted open his eyes, he could do little to move except sway in a bare arch side to side, the world spinning upon its head as Stevarn looked on, the thick of night set about him in a smoky blaze as torches and bonfires blew up the darkness in fractured amber. He couldn't see straight, his mind still foggy with the blur of what he hoped was only a concussion, and though he did his best to gain some bearings he was left unaware as to where he was. Figures moved all about him in the dying light, shapes barely recognisable from the shadowed mass of night, leaving him with a foreboding sense of dread that squatted in his gut. He could feel it lurch inside him, winding itself tighter and tighter about his stomach as he was left, bound by his ankles and wrists to a rod now held by two gigantic lions. Their manes, scraggy and muddied with dye, silhouetted their faces, leaving them with painted masks of grimacing monsters. It coiled another thread of apprehension deeper into Stevarn's abdomen as he looked from either of his guards, utterly at their mercy. A fire raged in front of him. People were paying attention to it - or rather the male who encircled the roaring flames, addressing his pack,

"Brothers, sisters!" He bellowed, his voice snarled and guttural, "The Sky Guardian has brought us a little treat!" The male shot up to Stevarn's side, grabbing at his side, where the flesh was softest between his ribs and hips; clawing fingers sunk into his fur, into the skin, and he howled as the brute gave him a testing squeeze, "A meaty wolf from high up yonder! We shall dine soon, my brethren, and then tomorrow, we shall join the Sky Guardian's side as we take our place as rightful conquerors of the valley..." he whirled about in the smoke, those bloody eyes scouring through the gathered crowd of adulating felines, until he fixed his gaze on the vulnerable prisoner, "...then the world shall be ours."

There was a mighty roar, the whole pack suddenly turned feral. From the darkness loomed faces, just glimpses to the wolf, but enough to unsettle him. They were twisted expressions, lit up from the underside by the toiling fires, with eager sneers and snarls that made them all look as though they had leapt out from a child's nightmare. As Stevarn frantically looked about, trying to see all that there was to see, all around him he was met with the same sight. Surrounded by lions, alone and tied up, he was drowned out in a sea of ferocity that threatened to consume him.

He noted with mixed feelings that the stallion wasn't around. Perhaps he had evaded the lions' capture. Stevarn didn't know what to think about it really. Part of him was glad he was now rid of the horse, the lewd rapist gone for good and never to be seen again, but he longed for the familiar company. Aydame had been the only fur whom he had had any lasting interaction with, its positives muted to the fact Stevarn was the stallion's captive and would-be personal slave, intended for use as a toy to the horse's pleasures in some warped harem. Whilst the wolf refused to be disgraced by men with unholy cocks and disgusting habits, he wished to be back within Aydame's presence. At least then, regardless of the following consequences, he wouldn't be alone, and there would be the slimmest hopes of escape. Stevarn would have scorned himself for thinking such thoughts were he not desperate. He was alone. The real world, the world beyond the shelter of his pack, was harsh. It was cruel and vicious and all he wanted was to live.

Suddenly, the pole he was attached to lifted up, the two lions either side of him lumbering their great weights to hold him aloft. He swung dangerously to and fro, the world swaying as though it were once more tumbling itself over as though caught in a river of its own demise. As he was thrown about like a cub's plaything, the fire loomed into view. The tribe and all its noises, the unending drumbeat, the swathing figures, all phased out to be replaced by the roar of the flames and the intensity of its might. Stevarn's eyes glazed over as he truly began to understand the depravity of his situation as he faced death within that crimson glow, knowing that now this might be the end once more, except there was no escape, no second chance, no slim hope of rescue. It was all over as the tongues of the inferno licked out against the battering wind, sensing their meal approaching. It had been starved of meat and now it craved for Stevarn's flesh, to burn the very fur off his back and leave him peeling, roasting alive as he can do nothing but wait for the heat to reach deep into his chest and cut away the beat of his heart into nothingness. His soul would be consumed by the fire, incinerated in moment's and left to turn to ash amongst the remains whilst they all feasted upon his corpse. He saw this all in the fire's furious glow, beckoning him to an end he knew he must face. He'd faced it before. Not today, but later. He would face this fire later - over and over until something snapped.

Then, something snapped.

Stevarn fell to the ground with an inelegant thud, his limbs splaying free as the fashioned rope that had kept him fixed to the spit no lay in tatters across his body. Though still quite near to the fire, he groaned and didn't move for a moment, head still ringing with pain, leaving him dazed and vulnerable. Vaguely he became aware that people were running about him, some fleeing some attacking, all in a maddened rush. The world righted itself as he scrambled to his footpaws, realising this may be his only chance to run and escape. An odd form moved amongst the dark that fought against many lions at once, tearing through them as though they were mere children ready to be swept aside by an errant paw. As a deep bellow, familiar in its note, roared through the dark, the silhouette took clarity.

Aydame was slicing through the lions that attacked him, cutting them down swiftly with a slash of the long, delicate blade that kept them all at bay. Though maybe the odd one or two would get a cheap shot in, perhaps leaving a slice across his hide, he acted as though nothing had happened, brushing off the wound like he didn't have a single care for his wellbeing. Stevarn was filled with both dread and happiness at the sight of the horse, the sensation mixing into some disgusting concoction he didn't want to experience. His rapist had come to his rescue, arguably only to take him away and rape him again, but Stevarn had to weigh up whether he preferred death to degrading humiliation. It was a tough call. Give away every scrap of decency and shred of pride in favour of surviving as startlingly a difficult call. The wolf was shocked to find himself even arguing that maybe it was better to have let himself get thrown into the flames and roasted alive.

"What are you doing?" Aydame screamed, hacking at a particularly persistent lioness who had thrown herself at him, teeth digging into his forearm. Stevarn couldn't look away as his polished blade sank itself over and over into the lioness's side, gouging out her guts until she became too weak to latch on. She fell away in a crumpled heap, being one of many victims suspect to the stallion's slaughter, "Fucking help me and let's get out of here!"

The wolf continued to hesitate. He was being invited to help the man whom not an hour or so ago had desecrated his dignity. It was as though after being exiled by his own people had they offered him a chance to return to the tribe only to be starved, tortured, and mocked by his friends and family, left to fester in his own filth like a revolting feral creature from beyond.

Dismissing the wolf's uncertainty, Aydame tossed him his blade. The dagger he'd been given as part of his small pack was chucked unceremoniously into his paws. Stevarn grabbed at it, still wary as he examined his weapon. It was inadequate for a proper fight, but it was his, and it was a means of defence at the very least. The horse was entrusting him with it though. Whilst it compared little to the sword he wielded, it provided him with a means of fighting back not just against the insane lion tribe, but also against the stallion. Stevarn took it as a token of goodwill, a small gesture that for some indeterminate length of time they were at a truce and were to work together. After that, the wolf would bargain for his freedom and part ways, leaving for the God Star and ridding himself of the horse's scummy presence.

He was cast one last, desperate wild-eyed glare from the stallion, an expression loaded with the scream of fear and begging for help. Stevarn waited no longer, jumping into the fray himself. As one lion attempted to rush up and stab Aydame along his spine, the wolf lunged forward, tackling the poor man over to one side and away. He brought the knife down savagely, unrelenting as he sank the cold blade into his neck and cut along the nape. Blood wept down across his chest, body shuddering in the final jitters of life before falling limp. Stevarn didn't waste time mourning for the loss of his life, nor did he spend too much time paying heed to the fact he'd just killed another for the first time in his life. Only had he ever wounded someone, but never killed. He had believed he'd always avoid the issue, go his entire life free from taking another's. Now though he found himself breaking every rule he'd always thought he'd keep. Stabbing again at another of Aydame's assailants, he cut down a female going for his shins in a bid to throw off the horse's balance. Together, they worked in unison, slicing and lurching, going in tandem like the perfect killing machine. Aydame stuck to the higher attacking lions, keeping most at bay, whilst Stevarn stabbed and lunged for any who broke past the ring that the horse's blade could reach. The floor was flooded with spilt blood, sticky and foul-smelling underpaw as they made their stand.

Whether Aydame realised it or not, Stevarn knew that their little final attempt at survival in this slaughter would not hold. They were horrendously outnumbered and outmatched. Even if it were by sheer attrition alone, the lions could easily overrun them before they could last until every last feline lay dead at their footpaws. Aydame was a warrior though. He must surely have known. Yet still he had come, to rescue a slave? Stevarn was confused as to why the stallion had bothered to plough head-first into a known death trap. Even if he believed there was some slim chance of escape, why would he risk his life just for that of a fuck-toy? Surely the supply of lone males was not exhaustive. Another would come along sooner or later and then the stallion could return to his emasculating ways. But here he was, essentially throwing his life away regardless of his herd's needs just to save that of the wolf's. For Stevarn, it stank of something wrong; some ulterior motive that was at play. He didn't like it one bit, but for now his mind was preoccupied with the gradually overwhelming force that threw themselves at the pair.

For all of Aydame's strength and prowess with a blade, backed by Stevarn's agility and readiness to defend him in a bid to flee, it was an inevitable matter that one lion would get lucky. He made a sweeping blow that struck just hard enough against the stallion's head to send him careening forwards. As he stumbled, a surge of four or five lions sensed victory was in reach and practically threw their bodies at his, pinning him down and snatching away the sword. Within seconds, the horse was rendered immobile as more and more lions piled on, encumbering him and weighing him down until Stevarn could no longer see his chestnut body beneath a sea of gold in the smoky firelight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the fact he was yelling, crying out for the horse, desperate to free him, but not truly sure why. Part of him knew his only chance to escape was with the horse, but something deeper was overruling that and smothering it. As he tried to slash at the writhing bodies, he felt more felines grab at him, hauling him away and pulling him back. The dagger clattered away from his paw as something twisted his wrist, forcing him to become disarmed. He was utterly defenceless.

The lion, clearly one who was in charge and had been preaching about cooking Stevarn earlier, came back into view, looking about the destruction and slaughter they'd collectively caused. The throng of felines gradually disappeared from Aydame's body, but he was motionless. The wolf feared the worst and assumed he was dead. Unable to see him clearly through the dwindling flames of a ruined fire, he swallowed his apprehension and came swiftly to terms with the fact he was alone. Completely and factually alone; there was no longer any hope of rescue. No passing chance that a saviour would come galloping in. He was truly, completely alone. Stevarn would have wet himself were he not determined to maintain some face.

This lion-chief looked enraged. Beyond the typical angry Stevarn had ever seen, his face was a boiling, seething rage-filled expression that would have made even the Gods cower in fear. He continued to scan about, looking from wounded man and woman, taking in every last scene of devastation that had been wrought upon their tribe. It was a horrific sight, Stevarn would admit, but it was the casualty of war. If he was going to be kidnapped and killed so that they could eat, they he was sure as anything that he would take somebody down with him. When the lion-chief's wild eyes fixed on him, Stevarn recognised him from the woods. His expression was cold, emotionless and empty. Beyond psychotic, the wolf would have thought. As he tried to shake away from the grasp of the men holding him back, he returned the lion's stare with a bitter, rebellious scowl.

"You have killed many of our brothers and sisters." He spoke carefully, slowly, and with very little tone in his voice to bely anything, "Working with a horse of all things... Is this some new alliance, sent to destroy the mighty lions, sent to destroy the Sky Guardian before we could take our rightful place?" Now the wolf could see the madness burning behind his eyes. Whilst the flames sputtered out the weaker sparks, Stevarn gazed past his glassy eyes and saw the viciousness that lay behind them. He connected far too many dots, assumed too much. His paranoia drove his conclusions and shrouded his judgement. The wolf realised that no matter what he said, did, or argued, it would go unheeded. This lion would believe whatever he wished to believe. He would certainly be killed sooner or later.

"Put them in the prison... I wish to interrogate them and learn of their plans." He declared, waving his paw, "I will personally torture them in the most delightful ways... They will be punished severely for their crimes today. Our brothers and sisters will have justice!" The lingering remnants of the tribe, whilst still large, seemed to give a diminished cheer. Their vigour was not quite behind it, but they supported their leader's decision all the same. Stevarn could do little but allow himself to be dragged away, hauled by his arms from the retreating sight of the bloodshed, Aydame's body lying amidst the pool of crimson skin. Only when a heavy blow to the back of Stevarn's head did he finally stop resisting, his body falling limp instead of trying to claw its way back to be by Aydame's side to at least mourn his loss.

Cold blackness consumed him quickly.

~ ~ ~

The smell of fire stung the air.

Though it was bitingly cold, Stevarn knew that something was burning. A creeping inferno that was churning away someplace else - he was sure it existed, for he remembered knowing John had caused it.

Though who John was, he couldn't quite recall. He'd met him before. John was a distinct man, a very lonely man who had spent too long alone. That, Stevarn recalled, as partly the reason why he was running away from him.

He sat now, back against a cold, metal wall, surrounded by things he didn't recognise or know, as he caught his breath from running. The air swirled and misted before him, the cold being so unforgiving that it took the very breath right from his mouth and smoked it. His teeth would chatter, but he tried not to make a sound. John was looking for him, he knew that much. If he made too much sound, the lion would find him, hunt him down and chop him limb from limb with the axe.

The amount of knowledge Stevarn seemed to possess scared him. As he sat shivering, dressed in unfamiliar and cloying clothing, he kept scanning between the alien structures. They all looked similar to one another, carrying a different array of artefacts or trinkets, perhaps all of them important. They consisted of long, relatively thin panels, stacked upon one another on different levels to allow things to be placed between each surface, all held together by four poles at each corner. For instance, one such structure he peered through now held a box of what looked to be plant-life in sealed bags, circular discs of a material he'd never seen before holding moss or other such vegetation inside. It felt like a twisted ungodly place. Stevarn wanted to flee, but he knew he couldn't. The only exit now was back through the way he had come, but as he listened carefully, that was no longer an option.

The soft scrape of metal was almost too difficult to hear at first. The steady crackle of flames elsewhere very nearly drowned out the sound, but it came slowly but surely. A careless screech of metal gliding along, catching upon surfaces - it was slow and indifferent. As though the being making the noise didn't care if anyone heard or as to how fast he was going. Heavy footfalls accompanied each scrape. Stevarn could make out the sounds distinctly. Thud, scrape, thud, scrape. Over and over, each time in succession, moving around nearby; the walls were thin, Stevarn figured, and somebody was moving just behind him from beyond the metal barrier.

John was coming with his axe.

"Steven?!" That familiar voice called out, insanity plucking along its notes, "Where are you?"

The wolf didn't dare reply, though he knew it was meant for him. His name was pronounced wrongly, but that didn't bother him particularly. All that filled him was the sense of unnatural fear that quaked in his gut. He was risking his life by not giving John what he wanted. Something very important, clutched to him in some bizarre box-like bag. As Stevarn held it tightly to his chest, he wondered what its contents might be that were worth his life.

"Steven, let's just talk about this, okay?"

Stevarn didn't trust him. John had lied before; he'd attempted to take the specimen. He knew it was that, at least. A specimen. He was protecting the specimen from John.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened to Adam. I'm sure he's alright. Let's just both admit we've been acting pretty stupid, go sort this mess out and then talk it over like adults."

That's right... Adam. Aydame. Stevarn had trouble knowing which was which. It was so confusing. Aydame had been attacked... Wounded, no killed. He'd had to leave him for dead, taken away. But here and now, he knew Aydame had been hit by the roof collapsing, pushing Stevarn out of the way whilst John had attacked them both. They were both protecting the specimen, oddly enough, working together much like they had earlier. The bull had taken the hit for the wolf even despite their differences and altercations. He'd said he loved Stevarn, forgiven him for everything...

No. That was wrong. Aydame was a horse. Stevarn had thought bulls were just myths, stirred up by his elders to scare cubs and to make sure they didn't even dare expand their species' collective knowledge beyond that of the few tribes they knew. Yet Aydame was one. Not Aydame... Adam. Aydame was a horse whilst Adam was a bull. Stevarn was confused. His mind reeled as it tried to process the information, his vision tinging green if only for a moment. Something was very, very wrong.

"Steven?"

The voice was much closer, frighteningly close, in fact. Through his haze of thought, the wolf had neglected to pay attention to the approaching madman. As he stole a glance through the structures, he could see a vague form moving between them. Somewhere in the room was John, gradually approaching. Stevarn held his breath and curled up tightly, heart thundering in his chest as he was utterly defenceless against the lion.

Go away...

"Steven...? I know you're here somewhere..."

Just please, go away...

Thud, scrape.

Thud, scrape.

Closer and closer, undeterred.

"Steven..."

Thud, scrape.

Thud.

There came no scrape. Stevarn scrambled to his footpaws as John rounded the corner to find where he was hiding. In the cold, frozen stiff and not in the best of conditions, Stevarn was faced with the lion-chief, dressed in clothes that would flitter between his ceremonial dress and some alien garments like a bad reflection fractured between two images. His face though remained the same, with his crazy eyes, streaked mane, scarred face and wild expression. Whether he was from now, or before, it mattered little. He remained the same. Stevarn knew, somehow, deep in his being that John or whatever he was, would remain the same.

"There you are..." He smiled, drawling out the words lowly, with a cold cut to them. It didn't at all sound good to Stevarn, as he brandished a deadly looking axe. As a weapon, he could tell it was inefficient. It lacked a symmetrical sister blade to its other side, and its handle had a slight nook at its end that left it with a curve. Arguably, this gave it better purchase for the wielder to angle it in a chopping motion, but for any other attack it was useless. Its single blade, typical of any axe, was coloured a bold red, a strip of silver running along its sharpened edge and smeared with a streak of blood. Adam's blood. Stevarn remembered him getting in a lucky hit near to the bull's calf. Nothing life-threatening, but it had been enough of a distraction for him to take a swipe at the specimen.

"Give me the orb, Steven, and nobody gets hurt..."

Stevarn looked to the bag, unzipping the top part. The little devices and functions of the bag looked so unreal to him, yet still he knew how to work it properly, as though he'd experienced such bizarre technology before. He opened the bag, just slightly, to peer inside for a quick peek. Nestled in the darkened confines, glowing a deep, bold red, was a glassy sphere, perfectly rounded and flawless to the sight. It ebbed with an ungodly shine that Stevarn recognised. The only effect that marred its appearance was a singular crack that ran across one side. Whilst nothing to note, it did seem different for a change, as though the wolf had knowledge of such orbs before. For now, he realised that whilst it was dangerous to be so close to the sphere, that it was otherwise harmless so long as he kept away from open spaces. That was why it was in the bag. To keep it contained.

"Give me the orb!" Every word was punctuated with determined anger and persistence. John brandished the weapon at the ready, prepared to do whatever to get the bag. Whilst he appeared to be just as ready to pounce and lunge for Stevarn, he made no such move.

"I can't let you..." Stevarn said, though the words were not his. It was not his voice speaking them, but someone else. Yet they rang out in his head, echoing as though they'd been uttered from his lips, and still they were his speech. He couldn't quite remember why John was allowed the specimen, why the orb was to not fall into his paws, but whenever Stevarn came close to the answer his mind hurt. Green stung his eyes as much as the smoke did. The answer would then drift away and mock him, never to be realised.

"Then I'm sorry..."

John swung with the axe, attempting to hack at Stevarn. The wolf leapt back, as far as he could, the blade missing him by mere inches and burrowing into twisted metal beside his head. Things clattered to the floor, raining down atop them both. Paws snatched out for the bag's strap, but Stevarn held them back, grabbing the only thing he could and doing the only thing he could think of. One of the structures tumbled down onto John, hitting him with a loud thump and making him stumble, dropping to the floor as the structure pinned him down. Stevarn dashed over the falling debris, not wasting a moment to make his escape as John was momentarily incapacitated. There was a roar of impatient rage behind him as he fled the room, looking down either corridor. Red warning lights were flashing along the walls, a siren wailing in the background. One path of the corridor was blocked by burning wreckage that had torn through the window, letting arctic winds billow in. The storm was raging on, communications were down. Stevarn remembered his mission. To either get word out for rescue, though it would be too late if he didn't stop John, or to destroy the orb himself. Whilst Adam had tasked himself with contacting somebody, it was Stevarn's job as a scientist and the only one with any clue as to what was going on to find some way of handling the orb.

He was a scientist... What was a scientist?

"STEVEN!"

John had recovered, preparing to pursue the wolf through the base's corridors. Stevarn acted on impulse and began running in the only directions he saw. He took many turns, losing himself immediately in the alien environment, but his body continued on as though willed by something else. He was led through corridor after corridor until he burst out into the open, greeted by a howling wind and blistered flurry of snow that scorched his vision to nothing but smeared fog. He covered his sight as best he could, but braving the storm was barely possible. He made particularly sure to keep the bag sealed, holding it tightly shut as though his life depended on it. Somewhere in his mind, he recalled that it did depend on it. That opening the bag would kill him and everything on this planet. He didn't even know what a planet was... As he trudged across the open square for the other side, heading towards his laboratory, Stevarn could feel heat seeping into his body.

"Steven..."

Somebody was faintly calling his name, though the noise sounded far off the wolf felt that it was much closer than he believed. Some instinctual part of him was fighting back.

"Stefan..."

Who... who was Stefan? The world ebbed with green, the colour gradually growing until it blinded him totally.

"Stevarn!"

~ ~ ~

Awakened with another startled panic, Stevarn shot up into a sitting position fast enough to leave his head spinning. The back of his neck throbbed with what was almost certainly a bruise, leaving his mind to complain about the labours it was being subjected to. He still felt cold though, ice surrounding him where he had been lying, frost covering his paws and an unholy chill running through his bones. His breath condensed, waving through the air. Stevarn could not help but shiver as the fear took hold, instantly believing he hadn't escape his nightmare and was in some deeper plain to it. Gone were the metal walls, the scalding blizzard and fear that he was being hunted, replaced now with a stone cave, the welcome scent of burning wood, and an iron grid that had been worked into the rock-face; he was back home, that much was for sure, but he dreaded where exactly he was.

As he looked about, his eyes fell upon the slumped form of something large and brown beside the opposite wall. It lacked any beguiling strength or posture and instead remained a deflated mass that breathed slowly, its breath also freezing in the icy air. Stevarn looked closer, scrutinising every detail until he could see the faint outlines of black tattoo inks running across the form's torso, a drooped mane brushed across his face and matted with blood. The wolf came to the slow realisation that he'd been placed in a cell with a corpse, but as he continued to see the mass heave ever so slightly, breathing crystallising, he felt somewhat relieved that at least Aydame was alive.

"You were mumbling..."

The ice began to fade. It didn't melt, like the wolf expected, it just washed itself away gradually, peeling back outwards from him until the cave had returned to normal, the cold fog lifting until it was replaced with the dim glow of absent fires. He felt warmth return, seeping back into his body and giving him cause to stir finally, sliding around and putting his back against the rough walls. From across the cell, Aydame looked at him with a piercing stare, eyes peering through his dried mane,

"Whilst you were out, you were mumbling. Like a bad dream."

"So?" Stevarn didn't mean to snap, but it wasn't really the time to be talking about something so personal to him. The visions had been with him all throughout his life, of places he'd never seen or people he didn't know yet somehow remembered details about everything. Every night they would come, every time he closed his eyes and let his mind drift, without fail they'd come with varying intensities, but always the eerily familiar sensation that he'd been there before.

"What do you dream about?" His voice was dead, unforgiving and unyielding.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Tell me, or I will strangle you here and now and let the lions feed on you until all that's left is a cold, dead carcass."

Stevarn bit his lip, not truly wanting to tell the stallion what it was exactly that plagued every time he slumbered or passed out. It was something quite deeply rooted to himself alone. Never had he told anyone about what he saw. Occasionally, he had tried to breach the subject when he was much younger, either to his parents or to his friends, but most had just taken it for an overactive imagination. The desires and wishes of a far too creative child; persistence on the matter brought him no results. Slowly his friends who were at first intrigued began to pass it off as him seeking attention, growing weary of his tales and then dismissing him as freakish not too long after. The adults had grown tired far more quickly than those younger. He was told to shut up. He was told to grow up. He was told to drop the issue altogether and to stop being so pathetic. Eventually he'd grown to ignore the terrifying fact that what he experienced, unnatural as it was, was going to stay and that nobody cared. Until now, of course, but Aydame was an outsider. He had kidnapped and raped the wolf. But then again, what choice did he have if the stallion was promising to cut his life short if he did not divulge.

"I have nightmares... They're like visions. Every night I always dream I'm somewhere else, in a place I don't know. Most usually I'm always killed by the end of the dream, by some ethereal power pulling me apart or by burning alive in flames, I seem to always die. That's when I wake up."

"Usually?" Aydame picked up on the exception, something which Stevarn had tried to gloss over, but he had the sense that if he lied to the horse, he would know. Somehow, inexplicable as it was, he would know.

"There is one time where I don't die... I'm running, trying to hide from someone. I'm trying to stop them from getting this... this artefact, and they're insane," Stevarn pulled is legs up to his body unconsciously, mimicking the pose he'd taken in the dream, "I manage to escape, most of the time, but it's always barely. Then I'm back to running, in some alien temple where everything is made from metal in the middle of some frozen wilderness."

Stevarn fell silent, believing what he said to be enough. Aydame didn't need to know anything beyond that. He didn't need to know the fact that figures would blur and that he somehow took effect in the dreams. All he needed to know was the essential details that Stevarn felt comfortable telling him. The stallion gazed at him for a long while after that, unblinking and unmoving, simply watching him. The wolf preferred to think that he was merely processing the information, not weighing up the options of killing him there and then. He assumed the horse was angry for having risked his life and ended up getting captured for the wolf's sake, now keen on revenge for his mistake.

There was a moment of deathly quiet between them that didn't seem to falter. It gave Stevarn the chance to gather what little bearings he could. To one side was the cell's entrance, a metal grid that was fixed into the stone with a hinged door, something well beyond what the lion's should be capable of. Perhaps they'd taken a wolf or fox prisoner and forced him to upgrade their arsenal and camp in order to keep pace with the rest of the tribes. The lions were too savage to bother with engineering or improvement. When something worked, they did little to change it. It was the same mentality the rest of the tribe shared. All spurred on by their leader who refused to change with the times.

A large male lion stood by the door, his back to the room and gazing out quite sternly across the tribe as they milled about, cleaning up the carnage the two of them had caused. He seemed to be quietly picking up on the conversation going on behind him, but otherwise seemed indifferent. He lost interest when Stevarn had begun talking about his dreams, unconcerned with the imaginings of a wolf in his sleep. Perhaps only a little shorter than Aydame, the male still possessed equal strength and size with swelling muscles, something which evidenced itself from the very bulge of his body. Stevarn often wondered how it was even possible for anyone to get to that point of physical power that their shape began to bloat with overworking strength, but it mattered little.

"His name is John."

Stevarn's fur stood on end, the back of his neck prickling with a sinister sensation as he heard Aydame utter the words. It was impossible to be true, there was no way he could know that. Not unless...

"I'm sorry?"

Aydame coughed, shifting in his position to make himself more comfortable, brushing the mane from his face to expose his expression. Whilst contorted into a mild grimace from pain, he belied nothing as to what he meant,

"The lions' chief. His name is Jorran."

"That's not what you said." Aydame shrugged, frustrating the wolf, but he could nothing if the stallion was going to be forthcoming with information. Stevarn gave a final bitter sigh before he considered the subject dropped,

"What are we going to do then?"

"To escape?" Stevarn nodded, Aydame huffing out in thought, "Well, to put it simply, we don't."

"Coward." Aydame riled, his body bristling at the comment, but he contained the fury,

"There is no way out of this. We are trapped here, completely at the lions' mercy, and awaiting interrogation. They keep talking about torturing us, but I don't see why. Normally lions don't like spoiling their meals by desecrating the meat." Stevarn stood up slowly, his body weak from exhaustion and hunger,

"Jorr'an seems to think the wolves and horses have formed a pact of some sort and that we're now working together." The stallion snorted in derision, laughing at the possibility that the two tribes could form an alliance,

"Is he mad?" The wolf fixed him with a disbelieving look, to which Aydame just smirked, "Alright, so he _is_mad. But does he really believe that by coming across one wolf and one horse fighting together that our tribes have now joined forces as well?" Stevarn went to say something, but he stopped. It wasn't the right time to broach the issue. The horse didn't fail to pick up on it though, "What? What is it?" The wolf held his wounded arm close to him, his fingers running across the bandage. It made some sense, some unfathomable sense, but he needed the proof,

"Why did you come back for me?"

"What does that have to do with Jorr'an?"

"Because it looks odd; why would a horse come to the rescue of some lone wolf? Why did you go out of your way all to risk your life for some bed-warmer?" Stevarn turned on Aydame, surprisingly angry, as he accused the stallion of having his unknown motive. Though the horse bristled once more, it was not out of rage but nervousness. He seemed to not want to answer the question, but the wolf fixed his glare on him, waiting for the response that would have to come sooner or later.

"Is that all you think you are? Some slave?"

"What else am I to you?" Aydame's mouth worked to say something, but much like Stevarn he held it back. The wolf didn't press it. He really didn't care. Aydame to him was nothing more than a hindrance. An obstacle he had to get around in order get to the God Star. To Stevarn, he was worthless. Escape, it would seem, would require far more than just mere strength alone anymore.

"How do you propose we escape?" Aydame asked matter-of-factly in a hushed tone, inexpertly diverting the subject away from himself. Looking around, dejectedly scanning for some sign that freedom was a feasible option, Stevarn breathed out slowly, paws at his hips and stretching out every battered muscle and bone he could. It felt hopeless, to continue to struggle and fight back even now, but the thought of meeting his Gods, of redeeming himself in some fashion, was enough of a cause to spur Stevarn on. After being exiled, he had lost everything, from his honour, to his safety, his dignity, and now ultimately his life. He would not lose the very last of those things, for all that he was worth.

"There must be something we could do..." Aydame snorted once again, as though it were funny to him,

"Our combined talents together are nothing. I have my strength, but I cannot break the door down bare-pawed. You have nothing in any skills. Even your combat is lack lustre. All you are truly good for is servitude." Stevarn shot him a vicious look, but it bounced off of the callous stallion as though it were nothing. He gave a great roll of his shoulders, being quite blunt and obtuse with the wolf.

But an idea struck Stevarn. It was a sickening thought, one that did not sit well in his gut, swirling in the pit of his stomach as he contemplated it. Sure, it was a possibility, slim at that, but it was a potential all the same. He turned to Aydame, keeping one eye trained on the guard,

"If my only worthwhile trait is sex, then how did you know I had served a male before? You said yourself you could smell it on me. So did Jorr'an in the forest."

"You have a scent to you," Aydame explained, though not in any particular detail, "Males who fear exposure have it. They desire what they cannot have, so secretly mask it away, but if you can recognise the distinct smell, then you can see..."

"So you could identify anyone who liked the same sex?" Aydame gave a sullen nod. "Then tell me; what about him?"

Stevarn pointed to the grill that separated them from freedom, blocked by the way of the guard who had their back to them - though he pretended to be unaware of the conversation, his ear flicked occasionally as Stevarn made his plot. Aydame raised his head to look at the male, inhaling sharply once, then twice, and then for a third, elongated time. When he lowered his head, he matched Stevarn's soft-spoken voice,

"He likes both, but craves what he cannot have. I would say he has gone some time without it. What are you proposing, runt?"

Stevarn didn't reply. He just fixed the stallion with a knowing gaze before he walked over to the entryway. Though he had not seen it before, he could now look out across what was to be their place of death. It was still night, though cresting into the earlier hours of the morning, but dark enough so that what little stars there were not blotted out by smoke or sunlight shone brightly in a speckled canopy. Fires lit up the surrounding area; the tribe itself was comprised of several mud huts, the sodden earth baked in the sun until it had hardened into the mounds that dotted the place. A hole had been dug into all of their roofs, where smoke billowed out as some sort of ventilation. Barriers were erected around all sides of the tribe, fashioned from chopped down trees and one end sharpened to a fine point that prevented the walls from being climbed. They lined each boundary, marking haphazardly where enemies who dared to come close were never to cross. A stream had been burrowed across one side of the tribe, forcibly installed through the earth and lined with stones to keep the water from getting too muddy. Lionesses would dot this water, collecting jars of the stuff or by washing gear or clothes in the small reservoir. Stevarn could just about make out where Aydame must have broken through their defences, the perimeter shattered with the barrier torn down. It was quite impressive to see, knowing that one man had caused so much destruction by sheer will alone, armed only with a sword. Stevarn saw the path he had taken, the slugged route towards where the bonfire had been relit and fuelled - the place where he would have died were it not for the horse's timely intervention. Warriors now scoured the area, buffing up the hole until other men and women had darted to and fro to repair the structure. Anything else beyond that was impossible to see for the wolf. The lion guard's body blocked his sight and stood obstinately in the way.

"Why are you here guarding us?" Stevarn asked the warrior, trying to strike up some sort of conversation to enact his plan. There was no response, so he persisted, "Why are you not with your brethren, helping to rebuild the wall?" Still, nothing... "Why have you been tasked with watching over too incarcerated prisoners like children?" Only then did he bristle, though it wasn't enough to really invoke a proper reaction. He just shuffled his posture until he'd settled again. "If I was you, and I'm just saying here, I would be insulted that my leader thought I was incapable of helping my people. I'd be furious that I'd been put to be nothing more than a nanny, tending to make sure we don't stir up trouble in a locked cell."

The lion bared his teeth, a low growl building in his chest, and he made the mistake of letting his eyes, the pupils mere pinpricks, flit down to look at Stevarn who leant against the metal bars. The wolf put a cocky smile on his face, as though it didn't scare him in the slightest that a larger male was preparing to tear his throat out for mocking him. It was all bravado of course. Secretly, the wolf was just about ready to call his whole plan off, but it was too late to back down now. He'd goaded a response out and now he had it. A hot, snapping problem that would soon be ripping off his limbs and devouring his dying flesh.

"You have some nerve, wolf," the male spoke, voice low and dangerous, "Many men in your position would be bawling for mercy... like a child."

"I'm not like most men." A laugh came from the lion. Apparently Stevarn was being humorous tonight.

"That you are not, to have foolishly wandered into our territory. You must seek the Sky Guardians. You wish to destroy them before the lions may reach its treasures." Stevarn shook his head, putting his back to the bars,

"No. I seek no such thing. I am a slave to this horse warrior. I am to serve his every need, no matter how humiliating." He gave a forlorn sigh, one that conveyed the belief he was tired of the supposed service. It wasn't far from the truth, so fortunately the wolf did not half to lie all that much, "I must present myself to him, allow him to relieve himself on me... Even inside me, if he so desires."

The lion looked shocked, startled by this fact that the stallion had captured and enslaved a wolf to be his personal sex slave. For a moment, Stevarn panicked and realised that there was just as much likelihood that Aydame could be wrong about his judgement, or even lying to the wolf if he simply wanted to see him getting punished for attempting to seduce the guard. It would have had to be incredibly lucky if the male liked the male form. Stevarn had already found himself unfortunate to have that happen once already with the stallion. For the same to occur with the cat, it would have to be phenomenally auspicious.

"You... serve him?" The lion said, rolling the words about his mouth as though he were savouring them, sampling their taste upon his tongue, "That I find most... unbelievable."

"I swear to you, I am truthful. I was exiled for my desires for men from my pack and he captured me. Now I serve him. Already he has used me plenty." Another startling revelation for the lion, but it seemed to be the breaking point for him. He huffed, turning his back to the wolf and putting his attention anywhere but the cell. Stevarn considered it a loss and so shuffled back to sit down on the dusty floor. Aydame gave him a weak smile, as though thanking him for the effort, but it felt hollow to the wolf. Truly, he was going to die here.

After several minutes had passed, the lion seemed to begin to fidget at his post. He kept glancing back across his shoulder, into the cave and directly at Stevarn for a moment until he gazed over to the resting stallion. It was as though he were trying to process the information, attempting to make some judgement as to whether or not it was true. But it seemed the poor lion's made was quickly making its decision, as slowly he seemed to grow more and more disinterested once again, settling back to ignoring the pair. The wolf thought quickly, doing the only thing he could think of that would clinch the feline's attention.

He swiftly moved over to Aydame's side of the chamber, lifting away his loin cloth and lowering himself to his knees. The horse was just as much surprised as the lion was, who gawped at them through the bars whilst Stevarn subjected himself to yet another humiliating ordeal. If it meant freedom though, if he could barter his way out of this mess by getting the horse out too, then maybe he could go truly free and his separate way from Aydame. He masked his surprise well, thankfully, as Stevarn put his muzzle to his crotch, tongue lapping out across the balls. The stallion even played along, cooing the young wolf and coaxing him along,

"Yes, slave..." He hissed, genuine pleasure blossoming in his groin, "Please your master..."

Stevarn tried to pretend like he wasn't watching out of the corner of his eye to see the lion's reaction. He focused on his task, lips opening to suckle upon the leathery sack that was weighed down by Aydame's immense balls. Though he had first thought the sight and texture of the male's endowment was grotesque, the design was oddly growing on him, just as much as the horse's length grew now. Slowly distending from its sheath, Stevarn held up the warm cock, licking along its firm shaft and sampling the musk, sweat, and cum that had dried up whilst it sat in its home. It was still much different from what he was accustomed to, as wolf cock differed greatly to that of a horse, but it had its own appeal. Its size was vastly superior, as it was both thicker and longer than any male Stevarn had ever seen. Now he held it in his paws, instead of having it intruding into his ass unwanted, he now had the chance to reconcile his fears. Its blunt head had very little similarity to that of a wolf's tapered tip. There was no knot to tie with the recipient, but the wolf figured that the natural strength of any male of this species would be enough to hold things in place, and the flared head could plug up any fluids. It no longer felt intimidating. Stevarn knew he had taken it before, and that he could take it again. Willingly, if things ever played out that way, but for now that was not the issue.

He moved his mouth to the top of its head, sliding his tongue delicately around its flare momentarily before he opened his jaw wide, descending down onto the dick and letting it fill him up. This is what he could have had before, if he had just submitted to Aydame like the stallion had wanted, but now he was doing it regardless. For the sake of his freedom, for the sake of his sanity, he could come to terms with everything. It tasted much differently too, strangely more earth-like, the smells of sweat and musk much more potent and they filled his senses. Lowering down between the male's thighs, his face flushed in embarrassment, knowing the lion was still watching, hiding his erection as he tried to cover up with his paws. It was futile though; as Stevarn serviced the horse, feeling the swell of his hardness press down into his throat. It was an unusual sensation, as Issak had never quite penetrated that deeply, only the tip had poked his throat but never any further. Angling his neck, Stevarn found he could take much more, a surprising amount in fact as his nose brushed up against the coarse pubic fur of the stallion.

"Fuck..." Aydame groaned, paw clamping down upon the base of his head and pushing him onto his cock a little further. Though Stevarn made gagging chokes, he could do nothing to pull off. Instead his face was buried into the meaty thighs, chin scraping against the stallion's balls and the deep scent and taste of manliness flooding his mouth. He grunted, his body belying his arousal as it slid out from under his own loincloth and into the exposed air. The horse bucked his hips, determined to fuck the wolf's mouth as he received voluntary pleasure, not just from raping the wolf, but actually having Stevarn truly give in. It must have made some difference, as it didn't take long until the wolf felt the horse seize up, Aydame pushing him down as hard as he could, fucking the poor wolf's face until cum erupted from his cock. It flooded his throat and backed up, spilling from his mouth and past his lips, onto the stone floor and over the horse's crotch. The lion moaned, softly from behind the metal gate, as he steadied himself, watching on and realising that every word Stevarn had said to him, at least in his mind, was true.

"Good slave," Aydame praised, eyes closed shut in lidded pleasure. To him, now in his mind, it hadn't been a ploy. It had been the real thing. For Stevarn, he had trouble deciding whether he enjoyed it or not, whether he'd down it simply to fool the guard, or if it had been because it was something he secretly wanted to with a justified excuse. As he wiped the cum from his muzzle, he spotted the lion making a final precursory glance to check if the coast was clear before he slipped inside the cell, locking the door shut behind him. Stevarn's heart pounded in his chest once again, as he swallowed down the bitter taste of male cum and prepared for an encore with the lion. Fucking his ass would be took risky, too long to perform, but to suck him off would be all the lion would want.

"You," The lion pointed at Aydame, who glared at him from his position on the floor, "You dare move and I'll gut you before you have a chance to lay a finger on me." He turned to gaze down at Stevarn, who still knelt on the cold, filthy floor, looking up at him. He looked hungry, his lust barely concealed behind dead eyes, "You though... You will do the same for me." He lifted away his loincloth and exposed yet another endowment Stevarn had never seen before. Whilst he would have shied away, the moment would have been wrong. He would have endangered everything. "If you bite me though, I will slice your throat, understand?"

Stevarn gave a single nod before he took a hold of this new alien cock.

Unliked Aydame's or any wolf's, it lacked any recognisable size or features that he understood. If anything, it was equal to that of Issak's in that it had a desirable thickness and length to it. However, that struck Stevarn as odd though was that it was barbed. Strange spines lined the shaft that looked similar to that one might find on a plant. Entry it seemed would be easy, smooth and uneventful, but exit was another matter altogether. Stevarn figured the barbs were designed in such a way that as they withdrew they would scratch and claw at the walls surrounding them. It made little sense to him why that was such a feature, as it appeared to provide little stimulation. Stevarn even concluded that it might even be painful, which made him regret his plan even more. But it was unavoidable now. If he failed to follow through with the lion's demands, he could be killed, plain and simple. As he heard a threatening growl come from above, he opened his mouth apprehensively and slid his muzzle onto the cock.

It tasted quite similar to Aydame, though whether that was because he had just exploded prior in the wolf's mouth was up to debate. The same earthy notes and bitter, acrid taste washed across his tongue as he warily sucked the cock. The barbs, for all their intimidating look and purpose, were surprisingly nice. Whilst they did tug and stroke along Stevarn's cheeks and the roof of his mouth and tongue, they did not hurt. They even tickled, in some places, making him moan once more in adoration as he bobbed his head along the cock. It was much easier to take the lion's size, as it too could only touch the back of Stevarn's throat but no further after that. The wolf found himself once again burying his face onto the crotch of yet another male, slurping down and choking on the member as it filled his maw. The balls were heavier, throbbing with potency and a need for release. Stevarn hoped that it would all be over quickly, but it seemed the lion was distracted and could maintain a healthy stamina. He would be constantly glancing across to Aydame, making sure the horse did not move as he used his supposed slave, undermining his authority as a warrior and claiming the spoils.

There was no opening to snatch the keys clasped to the male's loincloth. They were, as Stevarn suspected, fox-like in their design though crudely adapted. He'd known such tools existed, but never had he had the need to interact with them. The lion wore their weapons though as trophies, medals for his victory over the pair of them; Aydame's sword was strapped to the male's back, but it was impossibly far away, too far to reach and grab for. The only thing close enough besides the keys was his own dagger, but as the lion took a firm hold of Stevarn's head, much like Aydame had done mere moments ago, the wolf couldn't plan his strategy well. If anyone were to do anything, it would have to fell to the stallion to find a moment to strike. All the wolf could do now was work his magic and make the lion lose his attention, to drive him into such pleasure that he dropped his guard. It was difficult work. For all that he tried, the reminder that Aydame was in the room, steeled and watching, seemed to pester the lion, who carried on using the wolf's throat as though it were a female's opening who was caught in heat. He fucked Stevarn's mouth with such gusto that the wolf felt the spines become a blur along his maw, the pre dripping down onto his tongue only to be ground in by barbs that stroked across every inch. He would choke occasionally, heavy balls swaying and slapping against his jaw, but it was unheeded by the lion. He was getting closer to an orgasm, certainly, but something kept holding him back. Stevarn thought hastily for something that might push him over the edge, something to ultimately distract him so completely, but there was little he could do in his position.

He did the only thing he believed that might possibly make a difference. He sucked hard, grabbing at the lion's thighs and pulling him onto him. His face was stuffed full of as much cock as possible, the sheath scratching and poking at his lips, balls pressed against his face. The heat was overwhelming, the lion roaring loudly as he finally came, face tilted up to the heavens and eyes clenched shut as he unloaded his seed into the wolf's mouth. It had a very distinct and different taste to Aydame now, much sweeter but runnier. It filled his maw and he swallowed, not wanting to disappoint the feline by spilling anything unlike before. If Aydame didn't make his move now, he would have to do all that he could to appease the lion so that he wouldn't slaughter them both so that his secret would not get out.

But Aydame came to the rescue once again. As the lion was consumed with his climax, he leapt up from his seat, arm snaking around the feline's neck and tightening in an instant. The poor male strained and struggled, garbling out senselessly as he clawed at Aydame's bulging arm, the power put into the limb suffocating him. It took a moment, but Stevarn watched, gasping for air as he spat out what little feline cum there was left in his mouth onto the floor, as the stallion dispatched the lion. He lowered the lifeless body to the floor and ripped the sword from his back, taking the dagger and tossing it to Stevarn. The wolf picked the keys from the body's side and shot to the door, clamping his teeth down onto the weapon as he unlocked the gate for them both. Aydame stood out first, looking around to see if their escape was unnoticed, before he waved for the wolf to join him. Together they crept around the embankment, keeping low to avoid detection as they flitted across the inside of the perimeter. There seemed to be no option of an exit, no way to leave. The only entries were where guards were posted, armed with bows and arrows, swords held at their sides.

As Aydame flexed his grip on the sword, Stevarn slapped him across the back of the head,

"Fighting is useless!" He hissed vehemently, keeping as quiet as he could, "We can only run."

"Which way?"

The decision was made for them.

Some guard yelled, spotting them through the bushes, and their cover was blown. Stevarn made the attempt to flee first. He sprinted for the only exit he saw, ignoring the swathes of lions who seemed to all bolt into action the moment he broke from his hiding place. He was terrified beyond words, unable to comprehend that this was going to be his one and only chance to escape. As he slashed and cut away at anybody who dared to come close, he heard Aydame rushing up behind him. The world was turning into a fast-paced state, whereby everything all happened at once. Aydame sliced at everyone he could, always keeping by Stevarn's side until the numbers began growing. The odds were leaving their favour.

Instead he changed tactic, listening to the wolf. He snatched up the smaller male in one paw and slugged him over one shoulder, throwing himself through several groups of warriors who tried to blockade their way, and out into the forest. There was a roar of anger from behind them, and as Aydame fled, running as fast and as hard as he could deep into the wooded forest, Stevarn could see the tribe pursuing after them. In his mind, all he could think about though was Jorr'an. The lion's unmistakable face stuck in his mind. Before, he had been an unknown figure in his dreams. An entity that had meant nothing; but now Stevarn knew who he was. As he watched the camp's sight retreating through dense trunks, he envisions Jorr'an making some speech to his people, rallying them to go off in pursuit, to keep the pair of them from supposedly destroying the 'Sky Guardian' they worshipped. It paralleled far too much with that ghostly nightmare, whereby John desired what Stevarn had kept away. Now, Jorr'an wanted what the two of them were going to take away. Much like in his vision, the wolf believed that something was deeply wrong with the world.

There could be no such thing as coincidences. Not anymore.