As they traveled deeper into the forest, the ravenous snarls of the coyotes ripping the carcass apart slowly faded away.

Now, all Abyss could hear was the pounding of their own heart- their thready pulse a heavy thud against their aching ribcage. It made it difficult for them to draw a full breath- the air felt thick in their lungs- as if an invisible force was squeezing their organs. Their vision was still fleeting too- everything looked distorted- colors bleeding into each other, shapes reforming into dizzying patterns that worsened their nausea. It was all so…. suffocating. Frightening. Maddening.

They were safe for a moment. But it didn't last long.

They couldn’t have traveled far when the autumn rain started creeping in, falling in torrents at the forest's edge before it made its way inward. A slow drizzle reached the pair first- but the droplets were growing heavier, pushing the rain into a harder rhythm. A sudden gust swept through the trees around them, carrying the scent of earth and the nearby downpour. Urging them to safety before the storm settled in.

Abyss’ pelt was becoming damp and matted from the rain, chilling them to the bone. They trembled as they rode on Iskandor’s back- not from the cold, but the fever that raged within, and the pain festering in their untreated wounds. “W-where,” They had to pause as they struggled to keep their teeth from chattering. “Are we g-going.”

"Abyssinica"

Iskandor didn’t stop, even as the drizzling rain made the earth slick beneath his paws. His muscles burned, the wind whipped past his face, but maybe it was the weight on his back that made him press on harder with every step. His strides never faltered, even long after he’d carried them far from the snapping of jaws and snarling coyotes.

It was only when he heard their trembling voice that his ears flicked back, trying to tune into his passengers' questions. Where were they going? Gods if he knew. "Somewhere safe," he answered curtly, softly, despite his growing fatigue. Blinking as he took notice of how weak and sickly they sounded. What could he do? "Are you cold? We can stop—I know how to make a fire." The boy assured them, deciding right away that this was the best course of action. Iska looked over his shoulder as he began to slow, taking note of their condition before his skull turned to look for a place to rest. He didn’t have to look for long. There.

A cluster of trees with a fallen log in the empty space between, perfect to block the wind. He adjusted his stride, keeping them as stable as he could, every tremble of their body against his back sending a pulse of determination down his spine. The fevered heat radiating from their body was concerning, and he had never been responsible for another wolf’s safety before. It was anxiety-inducing, but he was a boy on a mission. He’d see it through.

"We can decide what to do next after we rest." He said, mumbling out the words as he reached the trees, padding slowly to the log and shifting his weight to his haunches carefully. Trying to slide them down gently, not wishing to unceremoniously dump them off. "We’ve still got some fight left in us, don’t we?" A lighter tone this time, as though he was trying to rouse their resolve. They had given that tiger hell, after all. There had to be a strong will somewhere in that fragile exterior.

His chest heaved with the exertion he finally allowed to wash over him, his limbs shaking from strain as he turned to face them—awaiting a sign that they would be okay if he stepped away to look for some fire starting materials.


"Speech"

Somewhere safe. In their mind, an image of safety appears.

Their den that sat at the edge of The Polar Sound, bordering the Sparse Pines and tucked away from the prying eyes of the pack. A burrow nestled between two ancient pines- a sanctuary that was quiet and comfortable. And beyond that, was the space they shared with their parents and siblings- a place they were welcomed into, despite their growing age.

The image of home.

But their reality was far harsher than that- this boy did not know of The Syndicate. He couldn’t have been heading in its direction. Somewhere safe must mean a place out of the elements- a temporary sanctuary they could hunker down in until the storm passed.

They would have to accept the circumstances. There was nothing else they could do.

“F-fire.” They echoed his words and nodded their head slowly, agreeing with the notion. They needed to dry their fur, and get the chill out of their bones.

Finally, Iskandor found their refuge- a canopy of trees that would shield them from the elements. As he slipped inside, the rain stopped soaking Abyss’ body, but continued to fall in drones just outside of the makeshift shelter- a reminder of the danger looming just beyond the trees.

He slid Abyss off his back with ease, their body resting against the fallen log, shielding them from the howling wind that shook the mile-high woods.

He was trying to rouse their resolve with light banter. Abyss couldn’t help but smirk, their eyes fluttering open to follow Iskandor. He was searching for supplies to make a fire, determined to help them. A wave of unease rushes through their body. Why was he doing this? He had to have an ulterior motive.

“Who-" They murmur, their voice weak, but steady enough to be heard. “Who are you?” A simple question really, but there was weight behind it. Why was a stranger helping a wolf like them? A Syndicate wolf at that?

“You d-don’t know me.” Their teeth were chattering again, their gaze distant and hazy, but locked on the boy’s face. “Why are you doing,” Their eyes fluttered shut for a moment, their breath catching in their throat as they fought through another wave of nausea. “This?”

Abyss would never go to these lengths to help a stranger. They were focused on self-preservation, a concept taught to them by their Mother. Survival of the fittest. And their survival- the survival of their bloodline, of their family- was far more important than someone else's.

They would have left the boy for dead if the tables were turned.

"Abyssinica"

Iskandor worked fast. He gathered fallen branches, some dried pine needles, and scraps of bark. The rain had soaked much of the forest floor, but still he searched for anything salvageable, picking out dry materials under the canopy of trees they were under. It was the sound of the other pup’s voice that cut through his focus, halting his movements. He glanced back, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he listened to their soft tone—laden with doubt. Who are you? Right. They hadn’t exactly had the chance to introduce themselves, huh? He didn’t answer right away, not because he didn’t want to, but because his mind was still fixed on ensuring their survival first. The boy knew what to do, he’d practiced, he’d learned from all those books; and by the Gods would that not go to waste now.

He knelt by the log, setting the tinder in a crude pile, his attached dew claw knives scraping a stone until a faint ember flickered to life. He crouched lower, shielding the fragile flame from any wind on this side of the log with his body, beckoning it to grow with careful breaths. He was intent in his task, bright blue eyes gleaming as he watched his creation come to life. Success. The fire’s light began to grow, consuming the kindling and offering them the beginnings of warmth. Only then did Iskandor look at them fully, his gaze softer now. Ready to answer their questions. “My name is Iskandor Fatalis, son of Ignita and Basilisk, a prince of the Armada. And I just… couldn’t leave you behind.” he said plainly, his voice calm, carrying no pretense or hesitation, as though the notion of abandoning them hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“But I guess you’re right,” he added, his eyes flicking back to the fire to adjust the growing flames, carefully adding in a small branch to see how it fared. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But I couldn’t watch you get torn apart back there—I couldn’t stomach the thought of letting that be it for you.” The boy said, thoughtful, unguarded, and maybe a bit more naive than he meant to be. The fire crackled as he added a thicker branch to the flames now, its heat finally enough to begin drying both their damp fur. He straightened slightly, stretching upwards in an attempt to ease his own discomfort and fluff up his coat at once.

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as though something humorous had just occurred to him. “You know. I’m not very good at letting things go. I didn’t know that also went for living, breathing things, though. You’re alive, and I mean to keep it that way—until we go our separate ways at least.” He sat back on his haunches near the fire, his expression turning lighter as he tried again to lighten the mood. He didn’t have such trouble with his siblings, that happy lot. “Besides,” he said, flicking an ear toward them, “you’re pretty strong. Might be weak now, but I saw it. That tiger didn’t know what hit it. And I think I like the idea of you owing me a favor.” His grin widened, as though daring them to prove him wrong. Maybe that would make them more comfortable with all this, if he put a price on it. This kid didn’t seem all that used to a friendly face, afterall.



"Speech"