Of Wolves And Foxes

Author's note:

"There's no sex in this particular chapter. Figured I'd start this off with some story-driven background. Maybe read a paragraph or two to see if it's your thing? It's a bit of an oddball so I'm hoping it's worth your time.

Consider headphones -- maybe a snack -- and enjoy."

______________________

"Gentlemen!" A booming baritone rang. "This will serve as your last reminder! Let down your guard, even for half a second, and you're dead! Break formation, and you're dead! Lose your horse and you're dead! Stray from any sliver of information this briefing has taught you, and you're

dead

!" The Lieutenant regarded the fresh greenhorns before him with a grim look. "The name of the game here is

evasion!

You will not - and hear me clearly on this - you will not... get another chance."

And thus, it began. The grinding...

The mechanical clamor of gears and levers setting the night sky ablaze with the metallic sound of northern engineering. Chains rattled and cogs clanked. Steam fumed throughout various chimneys and surged into the stars as enormous Iron gates were hauled upwards into stone walls.

"My duty to our king is to ensure that within eighteen hours, you all arrive within these walls,

breathing

." He told them, mounting his saddle. "I will fail. Not everyone gets to see their brothers again. You already understand this though, otherwise what the hell are you doing here?"

An icy gust burst through the open gateway, alarming the horses. A recruit dashed for his mount's reigns only to find himself yanked airborne.

The lieutenant didn't pay him any mind. Instead, he turned his armoured beast to face the wilds. A dark and massive forest that stretched into distant horizons. "Let it go on record that this marks Gama's forty-fourth resupply mission into the badlands!" he roared.

Forty horses. Thirty recruits. Two caravans. One Commander. This was Gamma's Hundred and fifth platoon. Wolves in the making. But even pups bare fangs.

"

Advance

!"

Their leader didn't even bother waiting for his recruits. He didn't have to. Thunder couldn't be louder. Twenty pairs of hooves stormed out of Freyols outer gates. They quaked across the long stone bridge and thumped onto forest floors; clouds of dust left in their wake. Birds ditched their nests while rodents found a hole.

Torches lit up the northern marsh as horses galloped along the beaten path at a blistering pace. Trees flew by at a blur as grit found the air. The pace was set, and no one was waiting for anyone else.

"Hey! Bryce!" a recruit called out. The said Bryce looked back to see a fellow rider draw up beside him. "What's going on with your steed? I saw it try to toss you into next week."

The greenhorn's expression instantly changed. "How is that even a serious question, Clause?!" He turned his head forward with barely enough time to duck under a low hanging branch. "The hell are you thinking bringing a mare in heat to the party anyway?"

"So, Marlin's just horny?" came the inquiry.

"Marlin was fine 'till you and your horse showed up,'' Bryce snapped back while hurling his horse over an overgrown root. The riders that followed did likewise, quaking the forest floors as their beasts landed. "Now can you get the hell away from me? You're screwing with my mount by just being there!"

The platoon broke out from the tree line and sped into a clearing of tall moonlit grass. A single file was maintained. Lieutenant up front, caravans at the rear. The greenhorns made up the middle. This should have been a standard resupply mission for them. Get to the outpost, deliver, and fuck off. But a full moon changes a few dynamics...

"Alright boys! No lights beyond this point!" The Lieutenant bellowed against the wind. "Initiate longbow formation with spotters

at least

two hundred metres up front! Vanguard units stay within visual distance of the caravans at all times!" he barked. "Should either wing encounter the enemy, notify with a flare! You know the drill from that point on!"

Lamp by lamp, the night went dark. Trails were drawn into the grass fields as the mounts broke from the line, spreading out towards their respective positions. By the time they hit the next tree line, they were so far apart that no rider could discern the next.

There was no beaten path here. Everyone was weaving through the trees, bushes and shrubs off instinct alone. A black stallion galloped through a shallow stream, splashing water as it raced through.

Bryce, scouted ahead of the pack, eyes sharp, ears trained for the slightest anomaly. Just like in drill runs, he thought. They'd done this multiple times.

Do not ride out of cover.

Do not engage the enemy.

Announce not your presence.

But most importantly: Don't. Break. Formation.

But how can one be confident of their position when you can't even see the next rider?

As if jinxed, the answer came about three hundred metres to the left. A bright yellow flare pierced the treetops and shot into the night sky.

Shortly after, another followed a few hundred metres beside it. And then another, and another, all tinting the forest in a bright yellow hue.

'Why so many?' he wondered, watching the lights rocket from the tree canopies. Were all those really indication of enemy contact?

This was way too soon, he thought. Should any of the scouts fall, the longbow formation would be compromised up front. There would be nobody to relay the enemy's position to the caravans.

Just as the thought passed, a green smoke signal took to the skies, curving towards the southeast. Bryce adjusted his course accordingly, heading in that same direction.

The private cracked the reigns and his stallion stormed through the flare lit marsh. Trees were a smudge in motion as he shot past. The beast made it look easy, swerving and blitzing throughout the greens.

More bangs echoed as yellow light flooded the scenery. Row by row, burning smoke broke from the leaves and decorated the night skies, with each flare emerging hundreds of yards apart.

In response, the commander fired another green flare away from the yellow, effectively shifting the entire platoon's direction away from the hot zones. This was the objective of the longbow formation. Announce the enemy position and reroute accordingly. More soldiers survive by avoiding confrontation rather than indulging in it.

But something was off this time around. Why so many flares? And if the danger was this saturated, why hadn't he encountered any resistance? Where were they? The terrain was so lit up with flares, it was damn near daylight. So

why

hadn't he seen anything?

His pulse was audible, his breath visible. From the hooves on solid earth, trees swaying in the wind, the bangs in the distance, it all registered. It's amazing how the senses come alive when you're on the edge.

Those sharp ears picked up something else though. The gallop of his horse was off... almost as if it had grown an extra set of legs...

Then it clicked. That wasn't his horse. He instantly grabbed his pistol and sent burning yellow smoke crackling up, just as an arrow whizzed by, chafing his left ear.

"Shit," he cursed. "Shit, shit, shit!" Reigns cracked as the hunt began. And with a glimpse over his shoulder, he saw his natural enemy emerge from the shadows on a white horse.

Startled hands scrambled for a shield as another projectile followed, slamming into the wooden barrier just as he swung it around. Another arrow whizzed past, brushing his cheek with the fletching.

Time stood still as he watched it pass. This wasn't an ordinary arrow. It measured in at over four feet. This bastard had the audacity to bring a long bow to a high-speed chase. That gave him at least nine tenths of a second between shots.

Bryce unsheathed a dagger and flung it back with a grunt. The rider dodged it and instantly returned a ballistic of their own. The shield caught it, shattering shards and splinters all around.

Two blades broke through the debris, slicing through the atmosphere. The white horse faltered as its rider tugged hard at the ropes. A sharp clang rang out as the bow barely managed to whack both knives mid-air.

"Oh, come the fuck on!" cursed the soldier. "What will it take!" Anxious hands pulled Marlin's reigns to the right. The dark horse complied, storming into the thick undergrowth. Muscular legs hauled ass over fallen logs and in between boulders, ducking branches and skirting vegetation. Hooves thundered as projectile weapons rained back and forth across the northern woodlands.

Millions of splinters scattered as an arrow completely tore the wooden shield off his arm. "damnit!" he cursed. This wasn't going to pan out. Not without a shield. And while trees limited the longbow's scope, daggers still had a much shorter trajectory. The boy needed to get in close, but this asshole clearly knew how to hold the distance. They were both aware that the second their horses hit the next clearing, he'd be a sitting duck. Yeah, he wasn't just waiting for that to happen.

In a flash, Bryce wrenched the reins and Marlin put on the brakes. A dirty cloud of dust shot up to his rear as hooves ploughed skid marks through the forest floors. Taken off guard, the enemy did the same, choking the white steed as they tried to maintain the gap. A split second was all it took for the hunter to regain composure.

But in that moment, Bryce had already leaped off his steed. And while falling through the air, he launched two daggers into that same dust cloud. The blades gave the opposing arrow their regards before breaking out the other side and slamming into their target.

The impact threw the hunter off the saddle. Bow, quiver, shield, and all. Dust and grit flew as both bodies smacked dirt, skidding and rolling with the momentum, into the next clearing. Bryce drew his short sword and slammed it into the grassy plains, scrambling to break the slide.

And while it worked, he remained a bruised and battered version of himself, lying in his own agony. God, that smarked... Badly. Lungs coughed repeatedly, stunned by the sudden impact. He just knew he must have broken something.

As the dust settled, Hydra's constellation came into view spanning the northern skies. The sound of the forest became more and more apparent. The crickets chirping, toads croaking, distant cayotes howling... but no flares. Why couldn't he hear the flares go off anymore? Had he strayed too far from formation? Or had they simply left him behind?

Damnit. The self-examination would have to wait. A pained grunt rang out as he rolled himself over onto hands and knees. "Marlin!" he screamed, still coughing breathlessly. But the horse was already way too far ahead. The last vibrations of hooves on earth could be felt beneath his hands.

What was it the commander said? Lose your horse and you're dead? With a grimace, the trooper pushed scraped palms against earth and attempted finding his feet. But that's when he felt it. A sharp throbbing ache within his right thigh.

Brown eyes trailed down to observe rivers of fresh blood seeping through the fabric. And in the centre of it all, stood the responsible weapon. An arrow wedged deeply into flesh. The sight invoked a series of light chuckles despite the hurt.

"Touché," came the remark. "You just couldn't let me have this, could you?" A burning sensation started up his thigh, moving through his bloodstream as the poison set in.

"It simply wasn't enough for y'all to torch the Rhease valley farmers or..." he winced as the damaged leg took a step, the searing pain cutting through his line of thought, "... or when ya'll turned the Merdith river pass... into a genocide spree."

A crimson trail marked god's green earth where he dragged his injured limb. Those bloodied markings ended just short of the enemy's abandoned shield. Distracted, he practically dumped himself on turf for a closer look. The fox emblem dominated the scratched-up face while inscriptions decorated the circumference.

"Nah... Nah, you psychopaths won't be satisfied 'till you make a bloody mess everyone and everything in between too," he sighed dejectedly. "Well, If it's of any consolation... I'm now a dead man walking," the deceased was informed.

The rookie turned the construct over and tried it on for size. "I've lost my platoon, I'm out of daggers, Marlin is AWOL and with this wound, I'm more likely to die from an infection if your toxin doesn't get to me first. And that's all before we count the rest of you death worshipers rampaging through our lands."

The enemy's white horse came forth from his rear, passed him and approached its master's corpse. A touch of guilt visited his conscience as the beauty nudged and pushed the hooded form to no avail.

How ironic was it that; Even in death, the one who didn't need the ride, possessed one loyal enough to return. His, on the other hand, would toss him aside at the mere prospect of reproduction.

The mare huffed and snorted on the deceased, begging for some sort of feedback. Rather futile, the scout thought. There was more blood on that corpse than a butcher at an abattoir.

But then something happened. Something bad. The so-called corpse reached out and grabbed the white steed's front leg.

Bryce froze, doubting his vision. He knew he didn't miss. There were the blades... right there! One buried under the collar bone, and the other deep in the rib cage. There was no possible way the bastard was still breathing!

Alas, his eyes lied not. The hooded rider grappled with the horse's leg, and then reached for the harness, desperately fighting for a somewhat upright stance. The figure barely managed to find it's feet while leaning against the horse, albeit not convincingly. A look of murderous intent was shot down his way.

Sheer witchcraft, this was. The greenhorn observed this drained warrior reach up for the horse's saddle and, with effort, haul out a long sword.

"Hell no. No, no, no, no, no, no!" the recruit swore. There was no reason to wait another second.

Hands and feet uprooted grass as they scrambled backwards across dirt. Blue eyes shot back to where his short sword remained stuck in the ground. If he could only reach it, then he could at least have a shot at dying with a shred of dignity. But the hunter denied him measure. Leaning on the horse for support, the pair charged forth side by side.

Bryce desperately rolled around and put everything into hopping the remaining few feet. It wasn't enough. He could practically feel them close in from behind. The loud hooves, the pained grunts, the whistle of a spadone as the blade sliced through the air. The rookie whirled around just in time to block the strike with the enemy's own shield. But the torque was more than enough to knock him airborne.

Bright sparks flew all around, escorting him through the air. Then his body hit the ground. Earth flew everywhere. He saw red, tasted copper and heard a high pitch noise ring through his ears. Air was brutally ripped out of his lungs as he skid across the open veld.

The asshole stuck with him the whole way through, driving him forward with the sword pressed right up against his defense. "Get off me!" he bellowed as his good leg shoved at the warrior.

A gloved hand grabbed onto his boot and pulled it aside before the steel descended heavily on top of him. Metallic echoes rushed throughout the forest trees with the assault.

More followed, each louder than the last. Leaves quaked with every reverberation. Wild deer in the distance scattered while primates swung to safer heights.

"Shit!" the boy cursed as a particularly savage swing came from the side, slashing through earth before smashing into the shield.

Not a split second after, the horse rose up onto its hind legs before dropping 800 kilograms of sheer weight on his position. He rolled aside as those metal clad soles rocked the land.

This was hardly even a fight anymore; this was a tag team beat down. Again, he deftly dodged the hooves stomping where he lay. With each evasive maneuver, the mare followed, thumping down on his position.

White teeth grit tight as the sword took its turn. Blinding sparks flew and ear drums rang when the next assault dented the shield. The next strike came from the left, then from the right, and left again, and then another from above.

Bryce battled to parry the blows as they landed in earnest. For every deflection, came a counter. For every block, came another assault. There was no end to this. An armored boot came up and stomped down hard on his stomach. A series of coughs escaped but he couldn't draw back his breath.

Warry eyes watched his enemy raise the sword with both hands and take aim. No way he could dodge like this. The bastard speared it down, piercing straight through the shield.

Sparks burst out as the giant blade ground loudly through aluminum, stopping just shy of his neck. The rookie grit his teeth, putting every last kilojoule into holding the tip there. Then the foot shifted from his torso to the shield, adding weight for extra measure.

The enemy coughed up blood that spluttered onto his face. Weight piled on as the blade closed in. So, this was it, huh? This was how it ended.

But why was he trying so hard in the first place? It's not like he'd make it far even if he won, right? So why bother? What did it change in the end? Why in the hell was he trying so hard to live?

With a last-ditch war cry, Bryce forcefully twisted the shield off to the side, ripping the sword from his nemesis' grip.

In one swift motion, he tore the arrow from his bloodied leg - screamed in crippling pain - and speared it into the opposition. His good leg backed up and with a hurl, sent the invader reeling.

In those final seconds, all Bryce could do was hyperventilate. It dimly registered that a short sword existed somewhere on this battlefield, but he couldn't be arsed.

The sound of staggered footsteps vibrated through the earth. Of course, the demon was still alive and so was that cursed horse. A feeble hand reached for his boot strap and pulled out his last dagger. It would have to do.

An eyelid cracked open and observed the enemy do the same, extracting one of Bryce's own blades straight from the perforated rib cage. Liquid poured out in droves.

With an agonized grunt, Bryce forced himself into a sitting position. Blue eyes looked up and regarded the cloaked warrior with an expression of apathy. "I just... have one question," said the boy, still catching his breath. "You know... seeing as we're both dead at this point anyway, it probably wouldn't hurt for us to know... Was my life worth it? Was any of this?"

The said warrior paused a moment as if to take in the words. Then another moment passed while the rider took stock of the battlefield doused in their combined blood. More crimson tainted the grass as a series of bloodied coughs broke loose. No doubt that last arrow was playing its role. The white beauty approached and offered its shoulder as support. In that instant, clarity won. There would be no winners tonight.

A thud echoed as the hunter dropped the soiled dagger. Bryce did the same. "My sentiments exactly," he continued, more to himself than to an actual audience. He raised a knee and rested an elbow on it. The horse snorted, blowing visible steam from its nostrils. For a moment, that was the only sound that permeated the night air.

Another sound soon followed though. Like a distant whistling. It went unchecked. Instead, blue eyes tried kicking up some conversation. "What's your name?" he asked.

The response wasn't given a chance to vocalise. Remember that whistling noise? It got loud, real quick. Then Bryce saw it, moving right above him.

"No..."

The hunter's scream could be heard a mile away. Blood splattered as the enemy stumbled back, losing grip of the horse. The next scream was even louder, followed by uncontrollable coughing.