Started this little story out of inspiration from my history class. Hope you like! Comments welcome at studioworks78i@hotmail.com

Chapter 1.

Marcus gradually awoke to a slight tickling on his nose and the quiet hush of wind in his ears. Fluffy snowflakes came swirling out of the blackness as he opened his eyes, most of them coming to rest on the floorboads beside him, the errant few wavering in motes before lighting on the damp surface of his nose. The wind had created little drifts circling his sleeping body, and as he turned on his side to face the origin of the breeze, more of the downy material sloughed off his chest. Gusts sprang forth from a large hole in the wall, ruffling against the fur of his face, coaxing more flurries to the cabin floor.

Peering out into the night with still sleepy eyes, he could tell that it had been snowing for a while. Strangely alight with the glow of a strong storm, the ominous sky illuminated the rough clearing in the woods where the cabin stood. Around the edge of the wood, a few hemlocks and other evergreens were bent double, their long stately limbs barely touching the powder white surface. Far in the distant night, deep among the recessions of frosted trees, an owl hooted. Several branches on the closest pine tree snapped suddenly. Marcus sighed.

He reluctantly broke his gaze from the dreamy scene and quietly brushed away snow on the floor. It wasn't very long before he found his shabby blanket, which he had earlier taken off of himself and tried to arrange over the hole, vainly attempting to keep the room warm. In days past, he had tried to patch the hole properly, along with many other small cracks and crevasses along the scarred, aging walls. The limitation of poverty was too great for all the repair needed. That night, hovering at the edge of sleep, there was a draft of bitter air. He groaned, and mind filling with worry, pulled the blanket from himself. Why hadn't he noticed it earlier? Whatever was left of his humble repairs was now gone, vanquished by the thawing and freezing of early winter. Chilling air leaked in unabated and the wind whistled through the tree tops, attacking and numbing the fragile warmth of the cabin. It wouldn't do much good, Marcus thought, but it was better than nothing. He draped his tattered old blanket to cover as much of the hole as possible, and hoping that it would stay there, fallen asleep beneath.

Obviously the storm brought much more wind with it. Now Marcus stood, bare feet touching the creaky cabin floor. With each exhale, his breath formed a little cloud in the cold air. It certainly couldn't get much colder than this, and that blanket hadn't really helped anything. Not at all. Reflecting on his options, he decided to put the pitiful shroud to better use.

Across the room, two figures huddled in a dingy straw bed, clutched in sheets barely less threadbare than his. Tiptoeing as silently as he could over the boards, he gently laid his blanket over the duo, and softly caressed the nearest on the top of the head. With a sad little smile, he padded his way over to the door that led to the only other room in the cabin.

The fire had died very low, the once lively red flames now settled as grey ash. A trace of warmth still emanated from the embers. Marcus retrieved some of the last logs from the corner, knowing he'd soon have to split more. He reached into the tinder box and removed a heap of pine twigs. Carefully scraping away the top layer of coals, he meticulously arranged the tinder above. The logs were small, but that was good. Starting a fire this low wasn't easy with large feed anyways. Once puffed on, the dark coals quickly started shading red and the fire began crackling to life. As it danced with growth, Marcus found himself staring into the flames. He reached out into the enticing warmth and felt his mind flooding with memories from past instances of the same scene.

Many years ago he sat in front of this very fire, cradled on the knee of his mother, listening to her curious tales of faraway places, heroic deeds, and bygone days. These dashing stories transfixed him, and she knew it. He would beg her to tell them again and again, until too soon it would be bedtime, and she tried to hurry him away into the other room. This rarely dissuaded him, and he would promise many good deeds if only he could stay up a little longer. His father chuckled at these antics, but then reminded him to heed his mother. This always ended the dispute, as Marcus generally regarded his father as wise and his rules befitting of strict attendance. He cared dearly for both parents, his mind never straying far from their wellbeing, even as he grew up and they grew older. It dealt him great pain to watch the cabin sink into further disrepair, his gentle father and mother slowly turning older, life slipping into the wayside.

He remembered one particular October morning, the dawn pale and bright. He was helping father cut down trees for firewood, and both of them stood back to back, hewing the hardwoods that made excellent timber. Delivering the final blow to a large oak, and yelling aloud to watch for the tree-fall, he dashed to safety. He had tried his best to control the trajectory of the old tree, but it snapped prematurely, unintentionally yawing to the left. Too late did father hear his yell, old ears not as good as they once were.

The tree gained momentum and fell quickly, crushing father under the gargantuan weight. Marcus cried out in fear, dropped his ax, and rushed over. With terror filled eyes, he stared at his fathers' leg pinned uselessly against the leaf strewn ground. His strength born of desperation, he reached beneath the log and straining mightily, moved it aside. He gingerly scooped up the rigid body and hurried home as fast as he dared. That was the last time father had left the cabin with his own two legs.

Edging grimly back to the present, Marcus straightened up and walked over to the other room. He opened the door and looked in at the two sleeping figures, his dear father and mother. A single tear beaded and rolled down his furry cheek, splashing silently on the floor. Those memories had been painful, as they always were, but his time they weren't alone, with their pain being dulled by the edge of time. It wasn't going to be easy to make it through this winter, not with this much snow. There wasn't enough food in the house, or enough to be foraged at this time of year. There was absolutely no money at all, and nothing of value they could barter with. It was a real possibility they would - ... He blinked hard. He had to go, he couldn't stand here thinking about this. This was too much. He wiped his furry arm across his eyes, and closed the door.

He snatched a large pot from the high shelf. Opening up the rotten front door immediately resulted with snow rushing in. Setting down the pot, he took up the shovel from beside the fireplace and battled his way into the invading snow. With the wind howling and gusting against him, he quickly cleared a small patch of ground from around the door. Filling the pot with some of the snow and setting it inside, he noticed the fire was burning low. The drafting of the wind had easily consumed the small logs, and the sputtering flames threatened to go out. The remaining logs in the corner were hurriedly thrown in, and again the fire grew substantially. Hopefully it would be enough to last until more wood could be split. Grabbing his ax from the now empty corner, Marcus couldn't avoid looking at the only other object, another old ax, rust engraving the years of disuse. Securely shutting the door behind him, he ventured out into the dark snowy night.

The chimney protruded crudely through the roof. It carried away white smoke and some of the warmth of the fire. Scooping up as much wet snow from around it as he could manage, Marcus patted it thickly into a large snowball. He walked around the cabin and started to auger his creation into the damaged cabin wall. There was a stab of doubt in his mind about how effective this would be, but he thought it justified a try. The only other thing he could think of was moving the straw bed over, but that couldn't be done with his parents still in it. How he wished for a hammer and nails, but he knew they had no such thing. This was the best that could be done for now, he conceded, mentally cringing at the excuse. At least it looked like it would work. The hole was now plugged, and it did look like an adequate fit after all. Hopefully it would stay there.

The unsplit firewood was stored in a large pile a few minutes away. It sat in a clearing, and had been sitting there for some time, the seasons of age curing it perfectly for fire making. There was a small stream on the way, and the water wasn't frozen, at least not yet. Through it Marcus began wading, the dark reflection of sky projecting off the surface in a faint snow radiated light. He glanced down at the water momentarily, his rippling visage coming ghostly into view.

Looking back at him was the image of a young wolf, his thick fur covered in snow, disguising the slow progression of body rending poverty. The only piece of clothing on his figure was a pair of roughly cut pants, the knees frayed and torn away long ago. Youthfully strong arms clutched a battered old ax, held stoutly ready at his side. In his dark face glowed two haunting amber eyes, their gaze deeply introspective, at once sad and determined, wise and pained beyond the years.

Marcus quickly and bitterly dashed the image with his foot and continued walking, briskly now. He soon came to the pile of logs, and setting up a particularly large one, savagely split it in two. Taking another, he split it as viciously as the first. Continuing into the coming light of early dawn, the forest stood then a little brighter, snow still falling fast and flying on the wind. An owl flew noiselessly overhead, sole witness to the lone figure venting his deep self anger.

When she didn't see him in the room, she wasn't immediately worried. She could hear the whistling wind and the loud sound of her husband breathing right beside her. Whichever sound she was more used to hearing, she didn't know. Both were common. That was all she heard though, so Marcus must be outside. That's what did make her worry, even though she knew he fared better with the cold than the both of them. Shivering, she stepped out of bed, already dressed in the totality of her clothing, a drab apron blending against her brown rabbit fur. Why was there so much snow in here? It had to be that hole. It looked like it was blocked up now, and either it was Marcus's doing, or they were snowed in. Shuffling on her long silent feet, she walked out and shut the door behind herself as quietly as she could. She needn't have worried, the figure in the bed remained motionless.

The old rabbit lady sat on the stool in front of the dwindling fire, cutting a few potatoes with the dull edge of a paring knife. She tossed the last piece into the pot, and gingerly set it down to cook. If she'd known it was going to be so cold so soon, she would have cleared a space for the bed out here. Up until now, it hadn't been dreadfully cold or snowy. It was just a few days ago that Marcus had finished cutting the wood for coming years, and he hadn't yet a chance to split many logs for current usage. He had been more concerned with harvesting the last few groundnuts before the topsoil froze, his growing worry of stockpiling food for the winter turning feverish. Marcus had always been a conscientious boy, putting the two rabbits before himself, insistent on helping the only parents he had ever really known. She loved the wolf as her son, even though she knew that strictly speaking, he wasn't.

Long ago, she and her husband wandered late, foraging for blackberries in a woods far from here. Their baskets were almost full, and the sun was going down. As the light dimmed, there grew a sound, pitiful, small; mournful. Echoing through the trees, it rang with a knell of lonely sorrow. It was the howl of a wolf. Naturally wary of such a sound, the first instinct jolting through them was flight. There was something about it that stayed them this time, a strange feeling, something out of the ordinary, out of place. Curiosity piqued, they ventured forth, hearts beating loudly in their sensitive ears. Following the deer trails through many twists and turns, they had found him alone, sitting in a forest glade. Shrinking back, they were still primally afraid, small as he was. The possibility of others being nearby created an almost irresistible urge to flee. A feeling beyond logic made the rabbit doe tell her husband to wait. It seemed hours, but no one came. She cautiously approached the little one, and when he saw her, he immediately stopped crying. She picked him up in her arms, and brushed away the still wet tears from his golden eyes.

Everyone told her she was crazy. Her husband defended her as best as he could, but the villagers threatened her with violence if she didn't quickly get rid of the boy. Other wolves must know he was there. They would question and kill. Legendarily tyrannical, the lupine aristocracy was in a constant state of internal and external war, taking whatever measures necessary to gain power. The villagers had been forced to stay put on the doorstep of the wolven country, a fate seen to by soldiers of the patricians. Sent into the surrounding countryside, they demanded taxes and tributes out of those who could afford them, killing or enslaving those who couldn't. The rabbit mother and her husband had struggled to pay them that year. They had lost their home, their belongings, and nearly their life. There was nothing left besides the clothes on their backs. Still, the doe couldn't bring herself to believe that this little boy could ever be like the others. He stayed by her side, clutching at her dress, made silent by the glares of the village folk. This made up her mind, a burning decision long in formation, rapidly brought to a crux through unforeseen circumstances. They had to get out of here. There was nothing left to lose, and everything they could gain. Deep in the evening of the very same day, they slipped away in soft moonlight, guarded by the shadow of night.

Thank goodness they had made it, thought the rabbit mother, giving the fire a poke. There were a few times she just didn't know. Her thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open with a swish of snowflakes. Marcus stepped in, arms loaded with firewood. He walked heavily over to the corner and dumped the pile there. "Well that should be enough, sorry I took so long. The rest is outside."

She tutted at him "goodness Marcus, don't worry. We were fine. There's a few potatoes in the pot, they'll be done soon."

"Should I wake up dad?"

"No, let him sleep. No sense in waking him up before something is ready to fill his bottomless belly."

The wolf added a few logs to the fire: "I tried to fix that hole in there, with uh, snow I mean, couldn't think of anything else."

His mother filled a wooden bowl with some of the hot water from the potatoes: "It's fine, really, don't worry so much. At least it can't get in here anymore. How much more do you think before it lets up?"

"Hard to say, there's probably two feet right now. It doesn't seem to be in a hurry to stop. Pretty cold out too. Err, but I was warm enough though. The good news is it will be light soon, well at least as much as there can be."

She handed him the bowl "Here, try a hot drink. It should warm you up and won't taste that bad."

They mused together for a while, slowly sipping at the hot water. Once the potatoes were gone, they wondered how far the groundnuts could be stretched. Probably not for long, since the plants had grown sparsely that year. For now, the potatoes would do. Marcus poked at one with the dull knife: "I think they're ready. I'm going to go wake dad up. He shouldn't be sleeping in the cold anyways."

Marcus opened the door, and walked over to the bed. He whispered in his father's large ear "Hey Dad, wake up. There's food ready." No reply or movement. The wolf gently nudged. "Time to wake up. You can't stay in here, I gotta move you to the other room. There's fire and food." A slight groan, but no other response. It was just then that Marcus realized how belabored his father's breathing sounded. "What's wrong, Dad?" He felt the forehead of his father's inert form. It was warm, much too warm, even hot. "Something is wrong with Dad!"

The door flew open, and his mother stepped hurriedly in, her face startling with emotion. She checked one of father's long ears with the back of her paw. "Evan, are you all right?" Evan's eyes barely fluttered, his ragged breathing momentarily pausing. "Dear, wake up... You've got a terrible fever." This time his eyelids blearily opened, and his cracked lips trembled for water. Marcus took the signal and rushed out the door, nearly tripping over a stool. He filled the wooden bowl with hot broth and hurried back inside, handing the bowl to his mother. Slowly he lifted Evan up. Much to the shock of the two, the old rabbit began coughing violently. They tried to sooth him, but he shook like a frail leaf. After a while, the coughs lulled in intensity. He tried to sip from the bowl, but promptly wretched it back up. Marcus looked at his mother, and she looked back with barely contained fear.

"I've got him, just get the sheets and spread them out." In the opposing room, all of the paltry furniture was crammed into a stack. The bed had been moved in, dragged as close to the fire as possible without risk of scorching the straw. Hurriedly reassembled, it still lacked sheets. In the midst of the excitement, the pot full of potatoes had been upset, the water steaming into the coals and seeping through the cracks in the floor.

Marcus waited with his father in his arms, the body unnaturally light, trembling with weakness. Mother laid the sheets on the straw, and beckoned him to lay Evan down. Mercifully, the coughing fit seemed to be over and he lay motionless, his breath coming with difficulty.

"What do we do?"

Mother shook her head "I don't know, he's very sick. I'll do my best, but if he can't swallow..." She fumbled on the barren shelf, relieving a small box from the corner, hands shaking. "He told me he didn't feel well, so he went to bed early. I should have known something was wrong." The box slipped from her hands and fell on the floor, contents dumping everywhere. She burst into tears: "A lot of good that would do thanks to my slowness!"

Marcus began feeling very uncomfortable. A pit grew in his stomach as he watched, desperate for ideas. Only disbelief flooded him. Had he indeed woken up that morning, or was he still asleep, lying cold? Surely it must be a nightmare. He desperately wished it was. But there sat his mother, crying on the floor, while in the background his father gasped for breath. "Mother?" he tried again: "Rhea?"

She gave a small start at hearing her name spoken. He never called her by name. Slowly, she looked up at him. "What?"

Marcus swallowed, his throat dry. "I'm going."

Rhea stared back with tear streaked eyes, not understanding.

"I'm going out there to ask for help."

"Marcus you can't do that!"

"But I will."

"Don't! You know what will happen!"

"If I don't, then exactly what else are we going to do?"

"Anything else. Those people out there, they hate you. You know it!" She was beside herself, but tried to calm down as much she could "Look, Marcus. I love your father very much. I care about him too. That fact alone cannot change what anyone will think of you when you tell them your story!"

"I don't care. If something isn't done, Dad is going to die."

"You will too! Our kind won't help you. They might even kill you out of fear. You'll be gone and so will your father! Can't you understand that no one knows us, we can't offer anyone anything, that we're completely alone? And you-... you're-... You're a wolf"

The hair started to raise on Marcus's neck, and despite himself, he grew angry. "What importance is that? I've lived with you almost all my life. I've never set foot in a wolf city, I've never beaten the defenseless, I've never raped a peasant, I haven't murdered the weak."

"That doesn't matter. You are all the same creature to them, the desire to hunt flowing in your blood! The only reason you don't realize this is because you had no one to learn from!" Rhea stopped, shocked at her own emotions.

"Fine, that's it. I'm going. Maybe I'll steal some medicine or kill a few beggars if they refuse to help me. Just why didn't you leave me out in that woods? You could have had a normal son! Imagine it, you could still be living with your friends. Evan wouldn't be laying there with his legs crippled, drowning slowly in his own breath!"

With that, Marcus opened the door and stormed out. Rhea sat in shocked silence, the wind whistling in the background. After a long time, she started crying again.

"Goodbye, son."

Chapter 2

In the twilight of the previous day, before the first snowflakes flew, a squirrel hurried toward his home. He came to the door and passed the little ones who opened it for him. "Thanks, boys," he said, smiling at the two children " now who wants to help me get the fire started? I'll need some twigs."

The children ran to the tinderbox. They grabbed huge handfuls and presented them to their father.

"Now, now, that's too much. We don't need all that. Put some back."

The smallest boy let some drop to the floor, and held up his paws again.

"Basil, please put those back in the box," chided Father. He took some logs from the corner, and picked up a scroll of birch bark. These he arranged together with the rest of the material. Taking a bit of flint and steel from his pocket, he searched for a good striking edge. With one loud click, a bright spark shot directly into the waiting fireplace.

The children pressed close, eagerly wanting to blow on the flame. "Not yet. You don't want to put it out" said their father, holding them back with his paw, "I'll tell you what. Go help your mother carry some of that water. Hurry along, a storm is coming and it's getting dark out there."

She was struggling against the weight of the buckets and water was splashing out onto her. The two little figures ran towards her, paws scampering on the path.

"Am I glad to see you two," she said as they came, "is dad home?"

"Daddy!" the biggest one replied, stopping and looking earnestly at her.

"So he is home?"

The boy nodded.

"Can you two help me with that last bucket? Take some of the water out, that will make it less heavy. We'll be having soup tonight, maybe even a little bit of candy since you have been so good!"

The two boys fought over the bucket. After taking several awkward steps, the oldest boy allowed himself to be helped by the smaller one, and they hurried behind their mother. She looked back and laughed at them. The two made a valiant struggle, but most of the water was splashing out.

By the time they reached the house, the bucket was nearly empty and the boys were drenched. "Thank you both, " their mother said, opening the door "now go inside and sit by the fire! I don't want you to catch cold." She watched them go in, and was just about to go in herself, but something made her pause.

She looked around, buckets still dangling from her hands; and shuddered. The forest in the background was terribly eerie. It was the way the trees swayed in the wind, their dark bodies surrounding the village. The breeze played through them, animating their limbs, making them look all the world like living giants, their presence sending shivers up her spine Her paw trembled a little, and she backed into the house, wanting to shut out the frightful visions. She set down the buckets and closed the door.

Silent under the swaying trees, the auxiliaries of Atellus gathered in loose formation. Most lounged around, happy to be off their paws, disinterested in anything but comfort. Others, officers; awaited the commander's words, their armored figures shadowed against the dark fringes of the evergreens. Atellus nodded as he passed in front of them, barely hiding his anger at those who didn't find it worthwhile. He cleared his throat and began: "This village is sure to have a substantial amount of less than threatening denizens; women and children, or elderly grandfathers. They will not be harmed unless it is necessary. It is critical to our cause that they be unspoiled." He paused, letting his eyes track over each listener. "They march with us unless they are too old, too weak, too young. But you don't make that judgement, I do. All you need to do is bring them to me alive."

A stern looking wolf spoke up : "What of the males, what if they fight back?"

Attelus stared at him. "Well, I hoped that was obvious, Vitellius of the second cohort. If they pose a serious risk, kill them. If not, bring them outside. That's all you need to know." Atellus let the soldier free from his gaze, and spoke again to the entirety. "No more questions like that. You all heard the plan. It was discussed at length as we disembarked from the legion." The dark haired commander motioned to those nearest him. "Make ready the fire materials. Keep everyone as low down and quiet as possible. I don't want a single creature to be ready for us in that village. Await my signal when the sun is gone, when the darkness closes in."

Ahead, the houses sat in crude order, the light beginning to flicker from the windows as cooking fires were lit. Low plumes of wood smoke fought out of squat chimneys, blowing downwind toward the mixed group of soldiers. Atellus waited, enjoying the lull before the storm. He gave the signal.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What was that?" The squirrel sat up in her chair, dropping the fire poker, ears and tail erect.

"What was what?" replied the husband, without looking up from sharpening a woodcarving knife.

"It sounded like a wolf."

"Now come on, wolves don't go this far south. There's no reason for them to."

"I'm certain I heard one."

The squirrel let his paws fall to his sides and turned to face her, growing a little irritated. "Don't be silly. Why, if I listened every time-". He stopped mid sentence. There was definitely something going on outside. Someone was yelling. Dropping his work, he looked out the window and exclaimed in surprise: "The Ecclesia house is on fire!" Stepping over the two children playing with pebbles, he wrenched open the door. The breath caught in his throat.

Standing outside, image framed against fire and smoke, was a grey wolf. His sword was drawn, the red emblem shining. He grinned toothily and said quietly "Going somewhere?"

The squirrel stumbled backward over the doormat. He tried to kick the door closed but the wolf simply broke it in two. In utter terror, the squirrel scrambled backwards, frantically searching for anything resembling a weapon. His paw met a stout piece of wood. The weight slowed him down and he wielded it with difficulty. The wolf snatched the block of timber away from him in a move of maddening ease.

Acting out of desperation, the squirrel jumped back, paws closing on the knife he'd been sharpening. He held it out in front of himself.

The wolf chuckled: "Oh, please don't insult me. You don't want to be a rude host."

"Sta.. Stand back. One step more and I'll... I'm warning you!" Stammering, the squirrel got to his feet, still holding the knife out.

The wolf moved forward, a deadly glint in his eye. "How frightening you are, tree dweller. I wonder, what is it like to be a squirrel who can't climb?" He swung the log and viciously smashed the outstretched hand. Without pause, the wolf delivered another blow, this time to the exposed shoulder, popping it sickly out of place. "Don't even attempt a fight. You're insulting your heritage. Preserve whatever dignity you have and be still." With a final blow, this time to the left knee, the squirrel collapsed on the floor.

"Just don't hurt - my family" he sobbed, voice cracking pathetically.

"I won't promise anything. The female might be useful for a while, if only for the shortest of uses. Are you sure you really want the little ones around to see that?"

"No, but can't you... Won't you... W... Why?"

The wolf stooped down low and rested the pommel of his sword on the squirrel's head. He nuzzled up close into the other's furry ear. "Why not?" He breathed, his hot exhalation tickling with rude intimacy. Too frightened to utter anything understandable, the squirrel beneath him simply groaned.

It was then that the wolf felt something hit his head and furious sharp claws dug into his flesh. He bolted upright and the piece of wood fell from his left paw. He grabbed savagely and caught onto the scruff of a neck. Bringing his quarry to face him, he saw it was the panting female squirrel. "Nice and feisty. That's the most tempting. But even though you two have given me a tough decision, I think I've made up my mind." He placed a foot on the neck of the prostrate male. "There's just too much fight in this family."

He began to press down, causing the figure to thrash around and cry out. The female in his paw growled viciously, and the children on the floor cried. The wolf decided to press down a little more. "I hope you realized the price you'd pay when you decided to betray us. You're about to find out just how powerless you are."

With no warning, in a quick act of brutal speed and strength, he flicked his heel. The children screamed and after a single thrash, the body of their father lay still. Only the arm twitched spasmodically. Weeping, her body shaking against the merciless arm of the wolf, the girl hung her head.

The wolf wasn't yet satisfied: "You must have really loved him, is that so? Are you so sure he cared for you? I've never loved any of my bitches." He threw her down savagely against the wall. "I'm sure you also care for your children." His sword point lifted the chin of one of the crying little ones. The metal tickled into the child's soft fur, drawing a thin line of blood. Not able to watch anymore, the mother closed her eyes and hoped...

"What's going on in here, what consumes this inordinate amount of time?"

The squirrel tentatively opened one eye. Another wolf walked through the broken doorway, his legion armor shining in the fire, dark eyes deadly with menace. He distastefully sidestepped past the dead body and shoved the sword aside, fur bristling with authority. Although far shorter, he showed no trace of fear, standing toe to toe with the soldier, glaring piercingly upward.

"Has this been approved, soldier?"

The tall wolf had to look away.

"Killing Attelus's objective for your amusement isn't a private right. His orders are not flexible."

"Yes sir, but I was attacked."

Voice dripping with sarcasm, the senior wolf circled, again forcing the perpetrator to lock eyes. "Oh, I can see that your intentions are justified, crude plebeian that you are. Those children are clearly a threat! Killing them is only an act of self defense!"

"No sir, I never had intention to harm them. I merely used them as a bluff."

"I can see that it worked very well," the officer potently replied.

He made a show of stepping over the body on his way out the door, eyes never leaving the grey furred soldier. Finally, he spat contemptuously on the floor and snarled "Bring them outside." Turning his back, he ran off into the battle lit night.

The soldier made a vulgar gesture at the retreating figure, and snatched up the children in his paw. He passed the body of their mother and gave it a playful nudge with his foot: "Don't play dead with me. Look at the trouble you caused. Your little ones might have survived, but I'll be back once you're forgotten. That should be between when they think to look for stragglers and when they march out. Try not to die before then."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Attelus stood before the flames of the meeting house, impatiently awaiting the remnants of his soldiers. It had taken far too long to enact this plan. Only a few had returned with bound captives, and many of those captives were badly injured, even dying. Maybe it could be excused as the eagerness of green troops, but Atellus didn't like excuses. He grated his teeth and remembered how few had actually been listening to him. It was definite inability to follow unsupervised commands. That couldn't be excused, green troops or not. Especially not with this mixed unit of northern wolves. If they wanted citizenship through battle, well, there would have to be changes. Whether by example or punishment. Atellus wasn't in a friendly mood.

An officer stopped and saluted, not lowering his paw until his salute was returned.

"Report."

"Yes sir. Overall no casualties to us. Troops are brin-"

He was cut off sharply: "Just tell me what I want to hear. You're a member of the first cohort, you have served beside Vitellius, you have seen battle. Is this unit not ridiculously unable to conduct itself?"

"Ahhh, now that you say it... Yes there are a few problems, sir."

"Well there's been a change of plan because of this. Make sure that everyone can find their way past their own stupid noses. Hurry. I'll make them deal with their mistakes."

The officer sprinted off, happy to oblige. He hated working with the foreign auxiliaries. Whatever punishment Atellus was going to enact, he hoped it would be good.

"You think you can slip through the cracks, but remember, the power of Fenris will be there to catch you, to show you your terrible mistake. Even as you ran, our imperium stretched into your abysmal refuges, crushing insurgence with absolute dominance! That is a final lesson before you leave this place." The words hit with resounding silence

"Now, I hope you understand symbolism. That burning house yonder is a symbol. A symbol of your past, present, and future. Your fate burns with agony." Atellus nodded, and the male captives found themselves restrained. The remaining women and children were dragged forward, any strength or will to fight back diminished by the binds on their beaten bodies. Each was roughly thrown down in succession, right at the very brim of heat and flame. Atellus smiled grimly, and uttered a simple sentence, the callousness of it stinging like cold air: "Put them in."

Struggling was useless against the tight straps. One after another, mother, daughter, son, were hurled forward by inexorable pushes of gleeful soldiers. The flame drove high and smoky, hungrily peeling the flesh off of furred bodies. Chorusing screams ripped the still air. On the ground, still held fast, the male captives swayed in shameful abandonment. They felt a soft touch of falling ash and light snowflakes, and unable or unwilling to acknowledge reality anymore, they did nothing.

In the span of a few minutes it was nearly over, much to the chagrin of the jeering soldiers. They continued cackling amongst themselves, unable to control their amusement. A few of the more clearheaded ones caught something foreboding in Atellus's manner as he stood motionless, watching the fire. Eventually though, he turned to them, giving the last fatal signal. For every male captive a sword was drawn, and each enjoyed his final breath at the edge of a blade. Renewed merriment erupted as soldiers kicked the bodies into the fire, saving the heads for last.

The officers distanced themselves from this. They stood around whispering to each other, stealing looks at their commander's reaction to the behavior around him. Attelus was never one to second guess himself, yet it was he who ordered this. It was a shocking deviation, seemingly manifested at the spur of the moment, out of a motive that none but Attelus could comprehend. Maybe it was the soldiers that changed his mind. The new soldiers. They were wolves who laughed at the sight of blood and grew drunk on the act of producing it, completely losing self control in a frenzy of primal madness. They fancied themselves unstoppable, ending life as they saw fit, brutishly thick skulled to the finer points of battle. Atellus was different. He enjoyed battle and victory as they did, the officers knew, but of a very different kind. Above all, he followed orders to the last.

Armor clad wolves stood, discipline of the army forgotten. They bragged to one another raucously. Some made snowballs out of the light snow that had fallen and threw these at their companions, who dashed them in half with their swords, pretending it as the heads of the vanquished. A lone figure fought into their midst, going largely unnoticed, shoving and jostling through the oblivious throng. It stopped at the back of a large grey auxiliary, who was busy telling of a female squirrel that struggled against him. He felt a tap him on his back. The grey wolf waved his paw to shoo the other off, and didn't turn around.

"I want to talk to you."

Again the grey wolf waved his paw insistently.

"I mean NOW!" A voice roared and there was a kick from behind.

"I hope you like having your face bashed in" the wolf hissed, prying himself off the ground. He spun around to look at his attacker. "Attelus, uh, sir!" He stammered, searching for words to indicate his sincerity "If I had know that was you... I never, ever would have..."

Attelus drew his sword in a flash of steel. It whipped toward the soldier, stopping a fraction from his face "I don't want to hear it. Action speaks louder than word. Prove your diligence and MOVE!" The wolf stepped backwards, sword point hovering in his face. He stopped with his back at the edge of the dying flames. A sudden hush filled the crowd.

"I would like it if these filthy dogs could combine their actions with their words! I expect my direct orders to be carried out. Not cast asunder on whims of pleasurable conquest!" Keeping the sword level, Attelus turned to face the gaping onlookers "You are members of the army now. Free will is something that will be exercised by me. I had planned to keep some of these fugitives alive and able to march, you all knew that. You directly, willfully, sabotaged the mission. There are no court martials here. Only me to do as I see fit."

"Bu-"

Atellus snapped back around. "Did you say something?"

"Yes sir. We had to. They fought us!"

With a gleam in his eye that the soldier recognized and feared, Atellus did something puzzling. He stepped back, withdrawing his sword. "Can you tell a real fight? I think not. Here is a fight. Arm yourself!"

The grey wolf could barely believe this was happening. He pulled out his sword shakily.

"Ready?"

There was no time to be ready. The wolf barely fended off the attack, his crude blade chipping against the polished surface of the commander's weapon. Desperately he parried, head still reeling from the suddenness of the fight. The two wolves locked swords, and the soldier used the opportunity to try and clear his thoughts. This was how he could win, using size as his advantage, since he was far larger and stronger than Atellus! It seemed reasonable. All he had to do was keep this as a contest of strength, not allowing the blades to break apart, forcing the commander to the ground. But before he could rationalize further, the sword gave way in his hand, and a sharp pressure was in his side.

Attelus pulled his sword out. "No time for thinking in battle. You should know your moves by wrote. Hopefully you can do me one last favor though."

The stricken wolf looked down at the blood running from a hole in his ribs.

"Tell everyone what happens when you fail Attelus!"

His mouth opened and shut repeatedly, the edges red with blood. There was no sound except for a slight gurgle. Attelus nodded approvingly, and swung hard.

Chapter 3:

The early sun had broken out of the clouds, leaving the new day cold and sparkling. Wind carved snow drifts rested against tree trunks and filled frozen streambeds, the frosty splendor disturbed only by a single set of wolf tracks that lead parallel to the winding forest trail.

Marcus ran quickly at first, but soon the intensity of his anger faded. He continued onward, bare paws sinking deep. Drift after drift, the pace grew harder to maintain, muscles growing weary from the constant struggle against pervasive snow. All around, doubled up trees were shedding the heavy weight off their branches. A large pile landed directly on Marcus's head with a muffled thump. He wiped it out of his ears and continued gamely on, the path ahead obscured by snowy boughs.

It went on in much the same way for a good several miles, twisting in the evergreen foothills of the mountains before turning sharply northward, towards the closest village. It was commonly used as a route of exchange with other settlements in the south. Marcus hadn't ever been to the south villages, and hadn't seen the north one since his childhood years.

Once, when Rhea needed linen, she invited him along. The adults in the shop refused to serve her until she made the boy wait outside. As he stood beside the door, kicking at gravel, several rabbit children skipped by. They were carrying gardening tools. "Want to help us?" they asked.

The wolf boy shook his head and looked at the ground.

"Oh come on, it'll be fun!"

Reluctantly, Marcus followed them. They stopped at a small plot of land in the backyard of a cottage. The two smallest children gave Marcus a handful of seeds and showed him how to plant. All together they began sowing neat little rows, the rabbit children making the hills, and Marcus pressing in the seeds. In no time at all, the work was done. Suddenly a voice yelled out from the house:

"Children, who is that with you?"

"Our new helper!" The children replied, leading Marcus behind them. They walked up to the house and Marcus tried very hard not to look up as they approached. He saw two large rabbit feet, and a gruff voice curtly said:

"Go inside! Now!"

Without even looking up, Marcus could tell what the problem was. He tried to mumble something, but despite himself, all that came out was a small growl.

"I don't know who you are or how you came here, but leave my children alone," the voice from above said, "and get out!"

Freshly sown dirt flew in all directions as Marcus ran, his little paws carrying him past the fence, through the blooming clover field, and into the dirt road. He didn't stop until he was back at the shop. Rhea was just coming out. She looked at him. "My, my, you look frightened. Did something scare you Marcus?" He shook his head, and ran up to hold her paw.

Birds flew past, and Marcus turned his head to shake away the memory, looking instead at the woods A large tree was growing on the side of the path, arms tall and bare, trunk wider and grander than the rest, little pockmarks on the sides where villagers tapped it for syrup. It was the great tree he had climbed on the way home, so many years ago. The village could only be a few more miles. In newfound vigor, he plowed forward, tired legs temporarily strong again.

The cold forest seemed to take on a different quality as he ran through snowbanks and leapt over logs, his tongue lolling out in happiness. There was a new smell in the air, carrying on the wind and tickling the nose. Although strangely familiar, there was something about it new and - what could he call it? Disturbing. He stopped again as that thought crossed his mind. What was disturbing about it? It could only be the scent of woodsmoke, and... Something else.

Before he even got there, he knew it was wrong. The bad smell had grown overpowering. There were no footprints anywhere on the trail, and it was odd that no one should of at least come to the woods by now, even if it was just children to go play in the snow. Over the top of the next hill, sudden plumes of smoke rose into the air, texture alien and foreboding against the blue sky. Marcus paused at the crest of the slope, and the source of the smoke met his eyes.

It came from the foundation of what used to be a large building, a skeleton of wood now sitting in the middle of the village, the entirety reduced to haggard, fire swept ruin . Few of the other surrounding structures looked better off and the violence of forced entry tore its mark upon the homely structures. Broken doors, smashed windows, hacked apart walls, the aftermath of a frenzied orgy of destruction. With a shocked expression written all over his face, Marcus walked down through the remains.

Marcus approached with his paw over his nose. That powerful smell had grown oppressive, the air around the foundation pungent with its stench. It was as the scent peaked in intensity that he saw it. Bones. Hundreds of them at least. They lay, broken, charred, almost indistinguishable from the wood ashes. Some small, others large, their rough shapes mingling together in a tangled culmination of loss.

A feeling of despair came crashing like a behemoth wave over his head, drowning and exhausting his will. Not only was he out here, miles from home, but the hope was gone. All of the villagers were in those ashes or laying buried by the omnipresent snow.

Sitting on the ground with a paw to his forehead, the wolf rocked back and forth in a melted patch of dirt. His tail was crimped uncomfortably against the frozen soil, but he paid it no heed. He looked up from time to time, half expecting to see someone watching him, but there was nothing. Only a few solitary crows circled overhead, attracted by the smell of roasting offal, caws sounding out tastelessly. They dove and tried to pick up the largest bones with greedy lust. Offended, Marcus shooed them away. He knocked a large one to the ground and was just about to let it have a piece of his mind, when he heard a sound. He straightened up and listened.

It sounded like a faint groan. Very quietly it came, dull and colorless, almost inaudible against the angry sounds of the retreating crow. Marcus turned every which way, hoping to hear it again. Finally. There it was. He whipped around to face a small cabin that stood perhaps several hundred feet away, its door broken in two, the top hanging off flimsy hinges. Cautiously he took a few steps until he could see some of the inside. It was dark and difficult to make out the interior in contrast to the brightness outside. The sound came now more consistent, albeit so weak and indistinct that he couldn't tell exactly what was making it. Ears straight forward, nose sniffing the wind, he fervently advanced.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The squirrel lay, groaning compulsively. She hadn't been able to move since being thrown there. Little spasms ran up and down her broken spine as more of the wispy snow drifted off the roof and through the window. It was light outside, very bright, and her eyes ached as she looked out the busted door.

All she could see was an intense plane of white, dotted with black stick trees in the background, crude shapes stretching far into the distance. The brightness faded a little as her eyelids fluttered, and eventually the brightness faded enough to make the scene soothing. Something changed in the binary panorama; a little dot was moving. It stopped and dropped to the ground, only to move quickly the other way, until very soon it was out of her field of vision. She wondered what it had been.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dot again, only it was much larger now. It had limbs and a torso. Realization dawning slowly, she opened her eyes a little more. Someone was out there! She tried to yell out, but the pain was too great. All that she managed was a strangled grunt. The creature seemed to hear her, and it began approaching over the featureless distance. The time stretched agonizingly slow and difficult. At last, it reached the cabin and the bright light faded as it entered. It was a wolf.

She wanted to yell. The best she could do though was look on in fright, with nothing but her eyes moving, tracking the wolf as he came toward her. When he got to within a few feet, she tried to pull her paws away from him. They wouldn't move. His eyes studied her closely, his face seeming misplaced among the other dreadful canines she had seen. Very gently, he spoke:

"Are you alright?"

She shook her head a little.

"What happened, who did this?"

So he didn't know. Or perhaps he was lying. Neither one would make much a difference anymore. She tried to say something back, but stopped as pain stabbed through her. Slowly, she tried again, this time managing a hoarse whisper: "Wolves came. Last night. They killed eve.. Everyone."

"Everyone?"

She nodded at him.

"Where did they go?"

She shook her head, trying to tell him she didn't know. Burning agony rose through her neck, and she grimaced.

The wolf came slowly over and sat down, taking care not to startle her. He turned his head, and their eyes met. She oddly felt no fear as she stared into his lupine countenance. Maybe all her strength was gone. It didn't matter. The light faded to dark again and she could barely see him now. His voice came, this time from a distance, and the tenderness of his words warmed her:

"I won't hurt you. Please trust me."

She did trust him. There wasn't even pain anymore as she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Marcus stayed with her resting on him, fighting back his own tears and gently stroking the fur of her head. The limp body slumped harder, cold cheek nestling against his. Her back. It was bent in a most unnatural way. Daring to look, Marcus wished he hadn't. That feeling started to grow, a burning hole of anger and sadness that tore away all the fleeting good things. There was left a hollow a pit that only consumed light and congealed with hatred. Not able to move with the same volition anymore, Marcus leapt up. The body fell to the ground, back nearly twisted in half. The sight made him seethe deep inside. It was a berserk fury that welled up and moved his limbs. He kicked a chair against the wall and ran out into the sun.

Standing in the thigh deep snow, Marcus threw back his head and howled. The echoes rang out long and clear into empty space above, majestic reverberations carrying far into the woods. The startled crows flew away, still clutching onto the bones of their meal.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The auxiliary marched with a newfound discipline. Rest had been deliberately foregone overnight, but none thought to complain about it. Booted paws crushed a southward path, staying in the meadows and bright glades near the foothills of the mountain range. The soldiers took turns at the front, each dreading his time cutting the trail. Atellus marched in the back, feeling a bit more encouraged by this performance. Sometimes all it took was a little fear. Fear was a powerful teacher. Only the officers were coming to him to request things now, but Attelus denied them whatever they asked. There were other places that had to be reached, and they could not wait.

Forty days out from the city, the half legion had divided itself into separate groups. The aim of these groups was to sweep the countryside, taking out or capturing as many settlements as possible, until at the end of the mountain chain, the groups would re-conglomerate. Rumors of rebellion had reached the Wolven city and were most likely centered around the largest of the insurgent towns, the one that was to be discovered and dispensed of, the one reported at the end of the mountains. Attelus had heard it was growing to impressive size, sitting un-oppressed, with no one to disturb it, conquer it, or tax it.

The high up powers had been forced to notice it as fewer and fewer taxes were collected. Not only taxes either. There were hardly any workers anymore. Projects weren't completed on time. Finally the small numbers that had slipped away started to add up, and there was no one to do anything.

Just leave it to the nobles to let such a thing go, thought Atellus. They were too busy posturing at eachother and other wealthy foreign power mongers. If you asked him, Atellus would say that the foundation of the empire was crumbling away from underneath it. There would be no support without the lower people. Half of them were harder workers, maybe even tougher than this lot of green troops. He had been handed these foreigns, most of them coming from the far north countries, to try and fill that gap. No other commander would take responsibility of training them as soldiers. Under him, though, he was confident he could transform the unit into a real auxiliary, one that could march proud into the city of Fenris as a honorable part of the legion.

"Hey, do you smell that?" One of the soldiers at the front turned to his comrade quizzically. He sniffed the air. "Smells like smoke."

"What's that?" The voice of an officer asked from behind.

"Smoke, sir. I think someone is having a fire."

"Well, they had better share it! Attelus has to stop soon, or we'll run into the ground!"

The two soldiers exchanged looks at eachother, the officer's words effectively admitting weakness. They lowered their voices. "Huh, some soldier. Not a bit of northern blood in the bunch. So soft. Remember last night? 'don't kill the woman and children'. What a pile of soft sacks!" He said that last bit loudly, causing his companion to shush him.

"Quiet will you. I don't think I'd call Atellus soft. Last night he ran through old Nils pretty easily. I knew Nils back home. He could take anyone. Atellus chopped him down just like that for disobeying a trivial thing."

"That just proves how soft he is. Nils didn't know it was coming. It was over the pathetic lives of those barbarian children and bitches!"

"Pipe down in the front!" The officer yelled. He sniffed the air, and smelled smoke too.

Atellus had smelled it a while ago and immediately wondered where it came from. As he walked with the troop, there grew into view a large pile of logs. It looked like someone had been there splitting that morning Little flakes of bark were all around, and a large patch of snow was trampled. A line of tracks led away, crossing over a distant, partially frozen brook. Atellus called a stop and jogged past the soldiers.

Bending down, he scrutinized the prints with the attention of an experienced tracker. The edges were notably filling in, outline growing soft with blown snow. Some of them led away into the woods, beyond the brook, but there were others that lead onto another path. These were newer tracks and it looked like the creature had been in a hurry.

Atellus called out to the troop "Vitellius, what do you think?"

Vitellius took a moment to run over and study the pattern "Looks like another one of us," he started, and Atellus nodded at him to go on: "Bare pawed, probably in a hurry, young and not very heavy."

"Well done. And what do you make of it?"

Vitellius squinted his eyes at the question, trying to deduce what his commander was really asking. "I don't know sir. I've never seen a wolf alone like that, and why was he running?"

"Probably because he wasn't alone. The smoke in the air is probably from the rest of them camped out here. I doubt they are with the army, or ours at least."

"What does that mean?" Vitellius looked at him, wondering what he meant.

"It means that they might be outcasts," said Atellus, unsheathing his sword, "or traitors. Let's find out!"

Chapter 4:

A grouse wandered close to the thicket, its feet sinking among shoots of goldenrod and tangles of blackberry, the brown feathered head dipping slightly at the little patches of seed scattered in the snowfall. The bird looked up. A sound was coming through the woods. The lavender eyes of the avian opened wide with fear, and its feathers puffed in alarm. It flew away as fast as its wings could carry it.

The cat watched the grouse fade out of sight, and plucked an arrow from his limp bowstring. Placing it back in his quiver, he listened to the last echoes of a wolfs howl die out in the distance. He climbed from his vantage point above the thicket, and jumped down to land in a graceful crouch. So the wolves have returned, he thought to himself, I wonder why?

Yesterday he watched them, the heavily armored creatures of war, approach the village. The black wolf commander had passed in shining regalia, his fur almost invisible in the waning light. He was so close that the cat could hear him planning with his officers. Their words floated easily on the wind.

"This village probably has a substantial amount of denizens with less than threatening status," he said, "women and children. They aren't to be harmed more than is necessary."

That couldn't be how it played out. The soldiers had waited in the trees, and presumably anticipating the cover of darkness, moved in as the last streaks of daylight faded to the west. For a while, all was quiet. Then the screaming started. The cat pinned his ears flat against his head at the horrific sound. Dying voices and horrible wails pierced the night, their genesis apparent as a giant fire cast great shadows into the woods, dark shapes reaching the staring eyes of the cat. Time passed and the killing ceased, simply because there were no more victims or the urge of the wolves had been satisfied, he didn't know. Late in the night the soldiers moved away, heading southward, lost in the whiteout conditions of the storm.

As he watched the last few recede into the night, he turned away and slipped back to his shelter. The new snow crunched underneath his pawpads. His mind thought bitterly on the doings of wolves. Why did they say one thing and do another; why did they kill so needlessly, the nasty canines, why did they do anything the way they did?

And why did one still linger in the village? That howl ruined his chance of a good meal, the obtrusive nature of it scaring away carefully stalked game! Why indeed do they do anything they do, the cat thought as he ran on a deer trail, Well, I'll try to figure some of it out this time. All the worthwhile hunts have been scared off for miles around! The least I deserve is an explanation. He effortlessly sprang over a brook, his nose twitching at the scent on the wind. He knew where it came from and what it was, but why he was going there, well it was just curiosity if nothing else.

Marcus sprinted in the direction of the crows. They rose, scared into flight by his furious howl, their caws tumbling mockingly down as they ascended into the sky, still clutching ill-gotten bones. Forgetting himself for a moment, Marcus picked up more bones from the fire. He hurled a few volleys with all his might, only to have it rain back down on his head. They had gone too high.

In frustration, Marcus yelled and continued after them, going until they pulled away as fading specks on the horizon. He kicked snow into the air, trying to find an outlet for his anger. Abandoning this, he ran over to a young tree, shoving it, gnawing it, breaking its springy branches. The tree collapsed quickly under the punishment, and Marcus threw it away into the underbrush. In a fugue of malice, he stomped back to the village and tried to ignore the wood splinters in his gums.

The cat was very close now and he could see smoke rising in the clearing up ahead, but there was no sign of a wolf. He couldn't hear anything remarkable, and the only smell was that of the putrid fire. Slinking through the edge of the woods, most of the ruined village became visible, all except what was directly to the side. It wouldn't be a wise move to enter the premises without first getting a glimpse of the entire situation. His feline claws scraped bark as his lithe body propelled upward into sprawling forest canopy. Stopping at a sturdy branch, the cat looked out into the field, attempting to pick out any variation in the landscape. There was nothing to be seen. He waited for a moment, listening and watching, biding time until his precautionary senses had been satisfied. Once certain that no movement was forthcoming, he jumped down in a single leap and began crossing the field. Only to stop dead a few short paces later.

At first, Marcus didn't notice the figure that stepped out of the treeline. Suddenly there it was in his peripheral vision, very close, and he snapped around with shock. It was some sort of strange animal that he had never seen before. It had a bow and quiver full of arrows. They were snug on its back, bound with leather straps over stone colored garments. The dull cloth and fur blended in perfectly with eachother, the both being a shade of blotched grey, hiding any defining feature of the animal. All Marcus could really see were two yellow eyes, and the yellow eyes were staring at him.

Marcus took a few steps back and spluttered "Uhh, who are you?"

There was no response. Marcus stepped back a few more times. The creature made a hissing noise and Marcus felt his foot slip. His ankle twisted in a hidden pit, and he stumbled into the snow. Before he knew what was happening, the creature was on top of him.

They rolled around in a mess of hair and claws, snow flying everywhere. Marcus felt something sharp hit his face and he yelped with pain as the blood spurted in his eyes. More blows hit him and the deep wounds immediately began staining the snow red. It couldn't end here, it shouldn't end here, not like this, bleeding to death at the paws of this savage assailant. The creature had no motivation, no right, no excuse for doing it. Marcus's anger re-emerged as the shock of the sudden attack faded.

He ignored the claws and forced himself into close quarters with the savage creature, sinking his fangs deep into the unexposed neck. The animal struggled and cried out. Marcus closed his eyes and growled a warning, clamping down hard enough to taste blood. The form below him squirmed and mumbled something strangled. Finally, Marcus relaxed a little, and a raspy voice reached his ears

"Please, let me go."

It was so small and pleading that a twinge of doubt cut through Marcus's anger. He loosened his grip for a split second. That second was all the cat needed. A paw flew in too quickly for him to see it. Marcus pulled away, clutching his face in agony, and the creature bounded out from underneath him.

Unable to see, blinking against the pain, Marcus yelled out. "Why are you doing this? Who are you? Why are you fighting me? I don't want to fight you!"

"Yes, I'm sure you don't want to fight alone against a real challenge, you filthy scavenger! You want to go back with the others, make them come and hunt me down, pay me back for what I've done to you." The cat fit an arrow to his bow as he spoke. "Your kind is all to predictable. Where is your pack? Are they waiting for you to drag back the bones, hanging from that disgusting mouth of yours? They must have been too caught up with killing and raping to remember to gorge themselves last night! Well I'm not going to stand for it."

Marcus opened his one good eye and saw the arrow pointing at him. "No, no. You don't understand! I come here only for help. Please! Just let me go!"

"You came for help? Why would a wolf come here for help?" The cat's paw started to shake at the tension of the bow. "Wait, Wait, don't tell me yet. Let me guess. Oh how wolves like to lie! Hmm, let's see: maybe you're a mouse dressed up in a wolf skin? Not likely, as a mouse wouldn't skin a wolf! What else? Maybe you're not really a wolf, you just look like one? I can't believe you think I'm so stupid!"

"No, no, no" Marcus choked "I don't think you're stupid! Look, the wolves that did this, I don't know them. I have no idea where they came from or why they were here. All I need is help!"

The cat eyed him coldly "Well let me refresh your memory. Wolves always come south from the Wolven city. They kill whatever they feel like, whenever they feel like it. Although why they have wandered so far south this time is beyond me. Maybe you could fill me in before I kill you? Or do they not tell the lowdown thick heads about their plans?"

Marcus didn't pay attention to the insult. His vision swam. Finally he croaked in barely less than a whisper "Always south?"

"Yes, they always go south. Cut out the act already."

"But it means that... I have to go."

The yellow eyes narrowed to mere slits "Try to run, and I shoot you dead."

"Listen: I have to leave. Those wolves are going to ki- you wouldn't believe me. If you really have to shoot, then do it. I've seen so many things today that I didn't think were possible for one creature to do to another, that it wouldn't surprise me. You'll never have an easier shot." Marcus stopped talking and turned around. The blood was drying in his eyes, making him shift on his twisted ankle. He could feel the cat staring. With every step, he expected to hear the sound of an arrow coming to end his life. That sound never came.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atellus leaned against a tree, watching the burning cabin in the middle of the clearing. He shouted at one of the figures around it. "Vitellius, come over here for a moment."

The officer ran smartly up to him "Yes, sir?"

"We march out by noon. Until then, everyone can do as he pleases. I'm going to take a walk, see if I can turn up any more tracks, or anything else that might explain this situation a bit."

"Yes sir."

Atellus took off his helmet and walked away. He brushed through the branches of hemlocks and pine, following what he supposed was a deer trail. The talking of soldiers faded into wintry silence, growing fainter and fainter until it died out altogether. It was so sleepy under the bright sun. Atellus wondered how long it had been since he last slept. Coming upon a very large log, he decided to sit for just a while and gather his thoughts. He rested his sword on the ground and hopped up. The wood was smooth, and soon, he found himself laying down, watching the branches dancing in the sky.

He was snoring by the time the sun started toward its zenith, and even the brilliant rays were unable to wake his weary body from the first sleep it had seen in days. At first it was peaceful and uninterruptably lethargic, total blissful unawareness. Then a light started to build, invading the sanctuary of peaceful repose, words and images becoming unfiltered by conscious thought.

There were three knocking sounds, like someone striking wood. "Octavius, sir, you have called for Atellus and I?" said a voice from next to him, still cloaked in blackness.

"Yes Fenris, come in."

Atellus realized he was standing outside a chamber door, and there was a large white shape next to him. He looked up to see who it was. It was a wolf, a white wolf, his paw waiting on the doorknob. After a moment, he sensed Atellus's eyes on him, and turned his head. It was Lord Fenris. Different though, from the Fenris of the present; younger, leaner, less regal and more militaristic. No, it wasn't Lord Fenris, it was Legatus Fenris, commander of the legion armies of Lord Octavius. He mouthed something that Atellus didn't quite catch, and motioned him to follow into the chamber.

Inside was a royal looking bedroom that Atellus knew as Octavius's private quarters. Standing lined against the walls were various centurions and legati, their armor shining brazenly in the candelight. In the center of the room was a large bed, and in the bed, laid Octavius. He watched them enter: "Stand beside me, my faithful Legates, Fenris and Atellus."

They both solemnly walked to his bedside without acknowledging the others in the room. Stopping and saluting, they waited for him to return the salute, which he did with difficulty. Fenris went first "Sir, your matters are in order. The battlefield has been swept clean of enemies, and the senate is consolidated. Soon our final offensive against the vulpines will be initiated, closing the conflict forever."

Octavius smiled weakly from the bed: "I would not expect less from you Fenris. And what report does Atellus bring me of my troops and borders?"

"All is well sir, the borders are safe, the troops are well prepared. Our legion grows strong with new soldiers who are eager to serve the republic." Atellus said, not able to meet eyes with the figure in the bed.

"Atellus, does it trouble you to look at me, to see my frail condition?"

"No disrespect sir, but yes, in fact it does."

"Then let me hurry along, and bring out the reason for calling you here. It is no secret that my health has failed terribly in recent times. I am so unwell I cannot leave this stuffy room and again look at the greens of my city. I cannot command my armies or see my lands. You have both done well in my leave, but I fear that soon a greater importance will be placed on you, matter that I trust only the two of you with."

Fenris kneeled down beside the bed "Whatever it is you ask, it is our duty to perform."

Octavius let his breath out in a slow exhale, and spoke again. "I will not be around for much longer I fear. The days give me warning that my time for departure is rapidly drawing forth. You have both been my most faithful generals, with whom I trust my life and republic. Now I must give you the new burden, and no matter how difficult it may become, I ask that you honor it in my remembrance."

"What is this matter of such importance, my lord Octavius?" said Fenris expectantly.

"First, I want Atellus to be in charge of all training programs, to remain as he is, in the position he most desires. His knowledge of weapons and tactics is formidable and greatly empowering to us. As for you, I expect the perpetuation of our current state of power, bestowment of prosperity upon us, stability to our rule, and sharp defeat to our enemies. "

Fenris looked up at the dying wolf "It is with great honor that I accept. Rest comfortably knowing that I will proceed; standing tall, seeking what is truly best for my... Your republic."

Octavius looked at Fenris, kneeling there at his bedside, helmet in hand, pledging himself openly. He closed his eyes and sighed "Fenris, that is not what I am asking."

"W.. What?" came an uncharacteristic stutter.

"I am instead appointing the both of you as regents to my heir. I want you to guide his decisions until he is old enough, until his wisdom and knowledge have grown by the grace of your expert stewardship. Please do this as my final order, show young Octavius the same respect and diligence you have shown me. You are both great commanders, and I know you will not fail."

"Yes, we will follow your orders until the last. But sir, the young Octavius, is it really a wise move?"

"My mind is made up Fenris. He will be a great leader one day. For now you must listen to me, trust me as you do on the battlefield. Promise that you will do this, it is my dying will."

Fenris looked back at Atellus, his blue eyes meeting Atellus's dark ones. He turned to Octavius "Yes, we accept."

"And you, Atellus?" questioned Octavius.

"Yes sir, I honor it with my life."

"Then it is settled. I trust your words. I have given both of you much to concern yourselves with, and you are already tired from many months of commanding the legions in my stead. Go now to your rooms and take rest. I will see you in the morning."

Fenris closed the door and turned to Atellus "So what do you think about that, friend?"

Atellus shifted uncomfortably "I think that it is a big responsibility for the boy to have, and it's a good thing he'll have us to help him."

"Oh come now, you are always the one I can trust to give the politically correct answer. Is it really a good thing, you think, putting that boy in charge of us? He is barely old enough to speak, let alone rule."

"He has us."

Fenris, who had been walking down the torch lit corridor, suddenly whipped around with a look of extreme anger on his face "Atellus, we have paid the price time after time. Don't you understand? Always kept down, never reaching the potential we deserve. We have more experience with fighting than anyone ever will. It is a detriment to the republic that we are not at its head."

"What are you saying, Fenris?"

Fenris turned back around and kept walking "There are difficult times ahead, my friend."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back in the clearing, soldiers dragged logs up to the fire and sat with their boots off, paws almost touching the flame. Some broke out dried strips of meat, and the savory bits blunted their appetite until more substantial things finished cooking. They laughed and sharpened swords, reciting old verses or stories. One tale interested them more than others, and soon, they all fell silent to hear it:

"In the hall, the fire burned low. Even so, it was not until the wee hours of the morning that Roth slept. But soon he reawakened to a great snuffling outside the door. He looked to his companions, and though they made the sounds of sleep, their eyes were open with fear. For minutes they waited, until the sound became distant, and many felt that the danger had passed. One warrior ventured to rise from his place on the floor, his movement making only a soft rustling sound, yet he stopped lest the creatures hear it and return. All at once, the great door was hit upon by a force equally great, and it was torn down with ease. The creatures rushed in. They were hard to see, but their sounds were terrible, and their burning eyes pierced through the darkness. They fell upon Roth and his warriors, buckling armor and shattering swords. Roth lept to the ashes of the fire, taking up a torch and igniting it swiftly. The scene was ghastly. The blood of his comrades covered the walls and the floor, spilt unscrupulously by the horrible beasts. They gnashed their teeth in the light, and the warriors felt their constitutions sway by the horrible sight. Roth came down, holding the torch, and he stood facing the largest of the beasts, his valor undiminished. He cleaved the head straight off, and it landed on the floor. All became quiet, until the creatures realized what Roth had done, and then they bore away the fallen body, running into the night."

Vitellius listened to the tale as it ended, and give little nudges to the other officers with a sardonic smile on his lips. "an interesting story, auxiliary, but have these creatures ever been proven to exist, or do they instead reside only in the loosely moored mind?"

Everyone remained quiet. All of the northern wolves knew the story well, it had been told to them since childhood. The words of Vitellius insulted them. Someone broke the silence, spitting in annoyance.

"The proof is in the duration of our blood. Roth was our teacher. His ways are our ways, his word is our word, and our word is always true."

"Really," said Vitellius, "you talk as if you are honorable. Our kind, our legions, have been proven in battle and in conduct, time after time. You are not able to follow our ways."

"That is a lie," shouted another soldier, "your empire is corrupt and treasonous! We follow an unbreakable code of honor. It is our own, not handed to us by some nobility."

"Then let me remind you that you are now under the command of Fenris! Was it your honor that guided you to disobey Atellus's orders last night, and squander so heinously the objective? Let me also remind you of what cruel jokes you made when creating this," Vitellius indicated the bonfire with a sweep of his paw, "out of a mere shed, the two old coneys inside unable to do anything to stop you."

"It is of no importance. A wolf has been here anyway, and would have returned for them. His unclaimed food is ours. We need fire, and fire can only be made where there is wood, so we burn this building."

Vitellius said nothing. They had come here fully expecting to find more wolves; traitors. Instead, all they got was confusion as they bashed down the door, weapons at the ready. The only creatures inside were two old rabbits. Everyone, even the officers, were ready for a good fight, but instead got nothing. Well, almost nothing. Despite himself, Vitellius eyed the cooking rabbit meat hungrily, wondering if Atellus would approve. He tried to hide his drool "Fair enough. I hope that you understand though: that wolf, the one who made the tracks, whoever he is, isn't going to show himself now, not once he sees us and our fire. He'd have to be either really stupid, or really hungry."