Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.


Unlike most of these flaming idiots, I know what happens when wolves go hungry, and start to look at little boys like snacks. Some pack or another had, after all, been decimated in my youth, having made the rather foolish decision to attack a herd of well trained, warrior unicorns in their desperation. It had gone exactly as one would think it would: five wolves to ten soldiers, and five soldiers got new cloaks.

Still, the panicked flight alongside Erebos and Aithniel to the safety of a cavern, my mother’s armored figure at the mouth, eagerly awaiting something to come close enough for her to skewer it, had lingered in my memory. The first time my heart had throbbed in my chest as if it was going to burst, and the first I’d ever met the potential of death, the image of wolves is almost synonymous to me with danger. It certainly hadn’t helped that the Wolf God had broken my ribs, and killed others before my very eyes, expounding that childhood fear into an adult phobia that was hard to shake.

Out here trying to avoid my thoughts and herd members alike, the curse of having to deal with something strikes again, as the sound of a wolf den strewn with babes catches my attention. Duir bolts out away, immediately of the fuck this mind set, and though I have a similar apprehension, I also know that we have to do what the Time God says…even if I think it’s suicidal, and moronic. It would be more so to, you know, defy the being who controls the very weave of existence in which you exist.

Even the sight of the pups makes my stomach turn, an ear moving back for the sound of the pack. Not like I’d hear a moose gallivanting towards us, or anything, with all the cajoling of the wolf cubs, and as a voice joins the cluster-fuck of noise, I groan, and move to find the idiots trying to lure the beasts back.

It’s Wessex, and some guy. I manage to not sigh, because they can see me, but really, I’m over this meeting people shit. I’d gotten used to living out in the wilderness, where it was me and Duir, and maybe Mordecai or some other person. One at a time, so that things weren’t cluttered with courtesies and other social bullshit – but now? I’m lucky to make it to the lake without someone to stop me about something. And, sure, I picked this encounter myself, but still, what’s with all the faces I don’t know around this place? I bitterly think, following their eyes towards the stray bitch.

"You just gonna let it wander off and die? I bet the pack won’t like that much, and we’re all close enough to catch the blame," I inquire and state with a subtle mutter, trying to remain inconspicuous and quiet as possible (and not like I’m afraid of how many adult wolves are about to lunge through the trees for our throats), looking at Wessex with a raised brow a characteristic smirk, "I for one don’t want to get mauled by a pissed off wolf mother, and some people seem to think my magic is too abrasive, or I’d just make the little fur-puff to turn its ass back around."

Looking at the violet tinted man, vaguely reminded of the night, I nod hello, realizing I should probably introduce myself.

"Lord Rikyn, the Puppeteer," I greet him, looking towards Wessex with a grin that is somewhat a grimace (I'd rather carry on with my day and let the pup die, if it weren't for the numerous consequences ranging from wolf bites to annihilation by a God), "and as much as I like betting and the idea of one less fleabag in our realm, the Time God bid us to protect the stupid wolves. What's your plan, Corporal Mutant?"