Blood of the Ancients

Scylla simply responded to his concern of her inevitable death with a sultry chuckle and a remark of how he would be free of her swiftly. Well, yes... he supposed that was true. The wintry gale picked up around the pair as they hunkered beneath the bison hide, and by then it was too late for Scylla to attempt to seek shelter. She was along for the ride now. Through the night the storm raged, and during their silent snuggle session, Nero drifted in and out of fitful sleep. His body was weakened from the loss of blood, but he was still a hardy brute, built for snow and ice and weather far worse than this. This little flurry was nothing compared to the blizzards of his homeland.

It was strangely isolated though, and every so often the mammoth brute would wake to hear the howl of the wind around them, unable to even hear Scylla's breathing next to him. Only the softness of her fur and the warmth of her body entwined with his reminded him of her presence. More than once, Nero would peer down with molten aurelian eyes to where Scylla lay, realizing that in the heart of the storm, no one would ever know if he chose to dispose of her. It would be so quick and silent. One quick twist of her neck or a savage bite to her skull to cleave her head from her body. It would be over in seconds and he would be free again. But he was still weak from his fight, not enough to fear perishing any longer, but enough that he doubted he could so easily overcome the lithe femme. So he would play nice... for now. Bide his time.

Eventually morning came, and Nero opened his eyes to find the world beyond the bison hide caked over in fresh snow and ice. Despite some crystals clinging to his fur, the pair of wolves had survived the blizzard unscathed. Scylla greeted him chipper as ever, asking about his condition. Nero simply grunted, a guttural response as he tested moving. Moving hurt. "Stiff. Sore," he grumbled in reply. But he was alive. Scylla's stitches held and some of the wounds had even begun to coagulate. Something in the dire wolf's Paleolithic DNA that allowed him to recover more quickly perhaps?

Whatever it was, Nero began to shift, pushing the snow around him while he got his paws underneath him enough so he could stand. It was slow going, but eventually he was upright, truly towering over the tiny Sovereign for the first time up close. She was so small, he could snap her in half with one good squeeze... "It seems I belong to you now, Scylla. So what would you have of me?" Many had tried unsuccessfully to ensnare the ancient behemoth before, but only Scylla had ever been successful. What did she want him for?