Krog was exhausted, having ran as fast and as far as he could away from the group; away from the female. She had filled his head with times he no longer wanted to visit, in a way that he could not understand...and yet it all made sense. As if some higher power had sent Lera to him, to reawaken the memories he tried to surpress...he felt relieved.

Finding shelter beneath the canopy, the black male collapsed onto the soil and delved into his own thoughts. Worried that she might still be there, but humbled by it all the same...her company up there, where no one else could enter, made him feel warm. Someone understood him in the world, and that lone would help him forgive those who injured him in the past and move on...

*Warning*: Written about two years ago...

'Brethren, Brethren Krog, please awaken--I hear another about.' came a whine from within the shadows of the wood. There was a rustle in the tree's, uncommon to the harks of the youngling and as darkness thickened, the terror it brought awakened. They were of youth, these two teens who shuddered beneath the underbrush, cowering in fright. 'Krog, brethren Krog awaken!' there was a push, rough and boney, that came from Krogs young sergeant sibling who, with his hind leg, kicked against his side; A desperate attempt to stir the heavy sleeper.

'What--What is it Termite?' came a groggy response, after a quick and loud yelp. The voice was hoarse and had an Australian accent to it, thick and heavy. 'Krog, brethren Krog! I hear someone about, someone is out there! They are coming closer, can you not smell them.' The skies bellowed, thrusting quick and sharp gusts of winds to blow straight into the two young teens, throwing off the scent of the travelers who scurried down wind. The gail was followed by a drizzle (which soon turned into a storm) of rain, which clouded any left-over drifting smells, in turn causing the fatigue driven pup to rustle angrily. 'I smell nothing of the sort, now shut your trap aye?' Krog's body shifted until he had managed to roll onto his back, muzzle pointing upwards. The other pup took this opportunity to get right in his face, his breaths heavy and distressed. 'Krog, get your body up off the ground and open your nose! They are coming; I can still hear them through the rain and winds! Please brother, please!' Krog, still of course uneasy and enraged with his younger sibling, shifted over again, rolling onto his belly and finally thrusting up on his paws; of course forgetting they rested under a heap of thorns and coincidently jabbing his head, neck and back with the prickly plant. 'Damned thing!' he hollered, his grunts and whines auditable by the approaching two-legged.

'Krog, listen--' Termite hesitated, freezing suddenly as feet were visible through the shimmering silver pelts of water. Krog spotted the drops of cream too, and instinctively froze with Termites words. There was a long silence, the feet of the two-legged circling the bush and shifting this way and that, stopping and continuing as if in desperate search of something. After a while of motion coming from outside the bushes, the cream colored feet disappeared into the storm, their inhuman grunts and clicks of the tongue audible still. 'K-Krog, are they gone?' whispered the youngest, terrified at the moment. 'Shh--shut up Termite before I'm--'

Caught. There was a loud call, the two brothers had mistaken the footsteps disappearing as the only ones about, and found their bodies torn away from one another and separated from the bush. Krog had little time to look to his brother, for another human came hurriedly, took up Termite and brought a sharp, rock made blade to his neck, finding the soft tendons in-between the apple of his throat, and punctured a deep wound into his flesh. Dropping the body, the human then approached Krog, who instinctively took defense. His tail hung over his back, hind legs stretched and muscles tensed. His neck found its safe-haven between the shoulder blades of his back and his spine became ridged. Hackles became a bristling clump of fur as he made vicious attempts at the humans by snapping and growling. The humans lowered to their knee's slightly, almost in a squatting position, and drew out their daggers, hopping from one foot to the next in an almost dance-ritual act. They then looked to one another, finding their attacks futile.

'Shall we take him back to the tribe?' spoke one, keeping his eyes on the black male. 'K'kabuka will be most pleased with this one, he is a sure winner' the first human who spoke at this time bore no hair, his head was shiny and tanned with red tattoos along the top and sides. The other, who spoke just a few moments after the first one, had a head of black hair and no tattoo's, yet his eyes were deep green while the others was black. 'Yes, let us take him back, the tribe will make great earnings off of him.' suddenly, they nodded to one another, Krog still looking to both, foam flooding from his jaws and eyes blazed with anger. They approached him and with out hesitation grabbed onto his jaw's, their grip stronger then expected, and pressed their full body weight onto the teen. Krog, still sleepy and weak fell under the pressure, the top of his maw covered by hands.

They managed to tie his hind legs together on a long stick, which they held on their shoulders. Krog was hurled into the air and hung upside down; his attempts at escape were made futile. His head felt heavy and weak and as his adrenalin rushed, he felt woozy too, eyes fluttering with a growing pain. Before loosing all consciousness, the male gazed to his young brother who laid lifeless on the dirt floor. His blood that leads from his neck to the bush was dim color and looked like a pool of red salmon, all swimming away from the source of the lake.

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It did not take the travelers long to reach the tribe. Entering the scene through a thick array of smoke that came from the large pit-fire created in the center of the circled tents. Krog's head fell limp long before and dangled threateningly from the stick, looking as if it were about to fall off like a bird perched precariously upon a branch. There were loud calls before the two men entered the tribe?s grounds, but once they were visible to the followers, all was silent. The two-legged that held Krog walked steadily to a man seated on a rock in front of the fire. He wore a large, red and yellow head-dress with hanging beads and feathers that were long and thick. He watched the flames flicker and spark, watching the smoke dance into the midnight air, and then he turned his head to peer to the men, who with a nod lowered Krog onto the earth with a thump. 'Careful boyssss.' the man hissed, his brittle voice cracking and his hands beginning to stroke the black fur on the wolfs side. 'We do not want the child harmed.' his lips spread, wrinkled and rigid, and bore lines of yellow teeth, many were missing, but a majority of them were there. His eyes were sunken into his face, sags all along his cheeks and chin and neck. He lowered his gaze to the wolf, silent all the while, and curiously asked the men a question. 'How old do you think he is?' The men looked to one another and shrugged. 'We do not know.' The elder man nodded slowly, a low 'hmmm' coming from his throat. 'And, was he alone?' the man took Krogs hind leg and lifted it, reassuring himself it was a male. 'There was--.' 'Ahhhh' cried the elder man softly, bringing his hands into the air and shaking them, the bangle like items on his wrists ringing out, silencing the group once again. 'This wolffff, is but a young boyyyy. A juvenile....You have brought me a CHILD.' the mans hand struck a wooden table that rested beside him on the opposite side, a mug of clay filled with red paint spilling on the floor. 'Look what you have dooooone. What will I be able to do with a childdd?' his voice calmed dramatically, his hand stroking the fur on Krogs belly now. 'We do not know--' 'You do not know you know nothing!' the elder became enraged again, his patience obviously growing weary.

At this moment, with the noises striking away at Krogs head, he awoke and grumbled, lifting his head and blinking at the elder man. What--who are you? Were his initial thoughts, his crisp blue eyes fluttering, surrounded by thick black fur. The elder man brought his hands to his knee's, lowering his torso and head down to face the wolfs, nose to nose, his elbows reaching to the sky. He stared at the wolves face for a long moment, Krog to tired to realize who sat before him and were he sat and why he was here. Then, the man took the back of his hand, and struck Krog like one would a disobedient child. The wolf's head fell limp, as did his body, black and still. 'Go, take him to Huntoaa'sh, he shall schedule a day for this dog to be tested.' The men nodded, feverously, and lifted the stick once more, carrying it to another hut near the back. The tribe had fell silent with the commotion, but as the elder man watched the men walk off, and then turn about with stern, heavy eyes, they busied themselves once more. He stared at the cluster of people for brief moments, before slowly casting a glance at the fallen paint. He brought his forefinger and his middle finger to the puddle of red, already seeping towards the fire, and slid them over the paint. Afterwards, while bringing the paint to where he could see it he rubbed his thumb against the two painted fingers and stared at the scarlet coloration, bringing down his fingers slightly and flicking the loose droplets of it into the fire, watching silently as the flames exploded into the sky, but not outwards. He stood, bringing himself up with a smile and looked into the fire, the logs at the bottom visible. There, spotted on a charred piece of wood was an evident sign of red, sliding deeper into the pit. There was a low, satisfied grunt that escaped the mans throat before he turned on his heels and stepped into his small tent, disappearing into the silent darkness.

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There were curious thoughts bubbling within Krogs head while he went through the 'wake up and get hit' event. He saw images of turmoil, or at least he thought they were images. They could easily be presumed as images of the word turmoil, but all that didn't matter. He felt a twisting in his stomach and as he was lifted off the dirt ground and taken to another part of the tribes land, he felt awkwardly uncomfortable. He didn't belong here, he knew he didn't, and with this knowledge he fought against his unconscious state, forcing himself awake in a dreary, dream like sequence that lasted until they reached the other human, who this time hid within an even bigger tent, yet it was hidden away from the pack and less extravagant then the other elder mans. The three pressed through the flap and entered into the room which was lit with a small pit of fire in the center of the room. Because Krog was awake and upside down, he was able to see that at the top of the tent was a large hole, allowing all the smoke to escape the tent instead of flood it out. Krog was pushed once again onto the ground, and this time there wasn't a hand that pressed against his side. There was nothing, the only things touching him were the bounds on his feet and the ground under his body.

He had quickly learned something within the last few hours of his life as a free wolf: Do not trust a humans hand with touches. Later, this rule may be broken by his sheer mentality of the humans and their easily pierced skin, but at this moment that was all he could figure. He whined, the pain from the other elder mans whack beginning to sting; the cut that had blistered, then swollen open began to pulse angrily. Krog began to wonder if ever forcing himself conscious was a good idea or not.

'Come' came another brittle toned voice, this one hoarse and low, yet rich with something Krog couldn't pin. 'Set him on that cloth, there.' There was a finger, pruned and sore that pointed helplessly (or so it seemed) towards a purple colored, square cloth splayed on the dirt floor. The elder man sat with his back to the men, and never shifted the rest of his body, only his arm and finger. Krog was dragged over and plopped on this fabric, his teeth baring and his eyes widening with the same rage and instinct he felt before. 'Now,' came the voice again, and with it came a soothing vibration that seemed to ease Krogs worries. 'Untie him.'
'Excuse me, Huntoaa'sh, but we are handling a wolf here, not a bird. It is one thing to untie a bird but another to untie a wolf. He will surely kill us all!' the first man, the bald one, spoke hurriedly and gestured with his hands at the wolf. The elder man, whose hair was pale white and long, tied with some leather, nodded. The second man who had carried Krog too showed his fear. 'Huntoaa'sh, we can not do what you ask of us--' 'What has your leader told you to do?' questioned the elder man with white hair softly. The men stayed silent. 'Welllll' came the voice, brittle as ever, as if you could break it with your pinkies. 'What has your leader instructed you to do?' 'Bring the wolf to you, you shall--' 'I know what I shall do, now you must do what I tell you.' snapped the man, his back still facing the men. They staggered, weary of Krogs jaws, but untied him nonetheless. Jumping back towards the flap of the entrance, they breathed. Krog was still lying on the ground, yet on his belly rather then his side, his eyes looking around in bewilderment, yet fear and anger still stung the core. 'Now, leave.'
'Huntoaa'sh, we can not! You shall surely--' 'LEAVE.' Huntoaa'sh's voice cracked, and with this he coughed upsettingly. The two men approached and each grabbed at Huntoaa'sh's arms, but he pushed away. 'Oh leave me be, go you two, get out of my hunt!' and with that, the two men fled, their bodies calm while exiting the room, but ecstatic with fear when outside it.

Huntoaa'sh sat still for a long moment, and now that Krog was able to at least shift his body slightly, though still too weak to stand, he made an attempt to sneak a peek at the mans face. 'You, what is your name.' Krog sat silently, unable to understand what he was saying. 'Answer me boy. You need not feel scared.' Krog wondered if the two-legged actually thought he would know what he was saying, eyes fixed on the long pipe that extended from the mans lips, smoke drifting from the top. 'Well.' he muttered, his hand flicking back to where it exposed his long, yellow finger nails and silver rings. 'If you wont speak to me, then leave.' At this, he turned about, his face apparent to Krog in all its colors. His eyes were silver and wide, he didn?t look at Krog, but around him, as if he couldn?t see the black hound in the room, his cheeks were thin and wrinkled and his hair was white. There were colored beads dangling in his wired follicles and as he looked to Krog, his lips were parted and appeared, to Krog, as if he would drool a thick bundle of saliva all over the dirt floor. Krog wrinkled his nose, but found it difficult to tense up in the presence of this man, no matter how harsh his tone may sound.

The man grabbed at a cane, dragging it over to where it sat right in front of him, and pushed upwards to stand. His wardrobe was of dark, dim colors. Mainly purple and black and deep reds. His body stood hunched, both hands clutching the top of his cane. 'I said' his voice trailed, 'Leave.' Krog wrinkled his nose and curiously shook his head. He wasn't all sure how, but he had a feeling the man wanted him gone, yet he didn't want to leave. It wasn't all that strange of course, being that Krog had no where to run to or run with. He had lost his only friend and was left lonesome in a world so new to him. His fur stood on end as the man swiveled to gaze at him. No words were said, but the wrinkle in the elder's face seemed to say it all and he released another, haggard cough. After clearing his throat, he hobbled over to a stand where he took a bowl and a rag like cloth, carrying it towards Krog. Instinctively the male wolf forced his body to rest on his rump, giving the man room to fall to his knee's and place the bowl and towel down. He was silent and slow, working masterfully at the paint within the clay interior. Krog was curious, but fearful all at once and craned his neck slightly to peer over the mans shoulder.

Huntoaa'sh grumbled, feeling the heated presence of the black males body looming over him, and shot a gaze at Krog that instantaneously caused him to lean back. It took no longer then a few more minutes with the mixture for the elder man gradually brought the bowl into the air, and shut his eyes, mouth opened agape and twitching, as if speaking to himself. Krog watched, baffled and terrified. His teenage mind not coherently gathering the information as it should, he supposed. Within a moment though the man looked to Krog, the bowl lowering slowly to were it rest comfortably in the mans hands near his lap. He smiled, hacking a few cough like chuckles before placing the bowl down and dipping his hand in its liquid. The paint barely rushed over his hand, only leaving a surface touch of blue that neither dripped nor appeared runny. He then looked to Krog, not exactly looking at him, but looking in his general direction. 'Listen here boy, don't you fumble.' He shut his eyes, body cooling in temperature and feeling, and tapped into Krogs mind-set.

It was an odd sensation, having the man's body move in him, even when Krog knew he wasn't actually. He felt instant pressure, his own eyes shutting and his ears flapping back. There was a rush of pain, scolding of sorts that brought him to rest on his belly, putting his head in-between his front limbs, preparing to wrap his paws over his muzzle. He winced more then once, darkness closing in on his vision and mind and body as a whole. He whined, but a coaxing word whispered into his ear, as if it were in his head. 'Relax--' the voice hissed like the old mans, but he knew all to well it couldn't be, and instead chose to follow the anonyms voice by relaxing.

Don't worry Huntoaa'sh, he's calmed. He will not harm you nowww.... whispered a voice in the elder Shamans head as he lifted his hand from the paint, eyes still loosely shut, and followed the gentle sounds of breaths to the male wolfs head. His other hand worked the side of Krogs neck, feeling his thick fur run down towards his neck. He smiled, and grabbed a chunk of Krogs fur, holding it firmly in his hand, and palmed the males head, stamping a blue hand print in his fur. Krog continued feel the presence of another, but couldn't make out the image. There was a dancing figure, a calming one, and he breathed in heavily when his fur was grabbed, but shook it off by extending his talons into the cloth beneath him. The shamans hands moved away, his eyes opening as he broke the contact between the two, and shuddered slightly, taking in a gasp of air before shaking his head and grasping onto the towel he had brought along. He then looked towards Krogs body, or at least where he knew Krog was, and felt for his head, tapping the space between the male wolfs eyes and smiling. There was no moisture, the paint had dried, and would stay for good.

Krog shuddered as well, feeling the pressure immerse from within his mind and body as a whole. Shaking his head, he awoke, brilliant blue eyes shinning dully in the dying light. He felt so dreamy, so airy, as if nothing ever bothered him before. His body felt cleansed in every way possible and even the painful memory of Termite was but a glimpse of a brutal past, he looked to the Shaman, his tail thumping the dry earth happily. This man, the second human to whom Krog set eyes on, had shown the most kindness then any other creature before. Even Termite never gave Krog this feeling. His tongue slowly pushed out from his jaws, lounging at the side of his lower jaw, and he prepared to let out a bark of approval but was interrupted by a harsh stroke with yet another hand. This time, the pain was even more grotesque for the mans rings had jabbed into his cheek as well as the hard, boney knuckles. Krog grunted, whined, and then fell to his side once more. Breathing was staggered, but he wasn't knocked out. He could hear the mans voice call out to the tribe, and yet again the two goons came to speak with Huntoaa'sh, followed by the first man, the tribe leader, K'kabuka.

'He shall be made to fight in twelve-weeks. Be prepared on this day, when the sun gives the earth an eerie glow, signifying Day-break, with the tribe of Water's mound. They shall bring Zuzi, their largest female, to fight this here boy.' spoke the Shaman elder, and silently looked towards the fire, his eyes capable of seeing the flames shadows which in turn gave him the answers he needed. 'And what shall we call this boy, Huntoaa'sh?' spoke K'Kabuka, his hands clasping together while he hunched over slightly.

Huntoaa'sh gave the air a whiff, and shut his eyes briefly, the room silencing for a moment. The shaman was lost to his world with his element the only other speaker about. What shall I name him? His name is Krog, Huntoaa'sh, name him that. But, don't we wish to cause him pain? He shall be our strongest warrior! We must show him pain! Huntoaa'sh, are you defying my whim? Name him Krog. DO IT. Now. Huntoaa'sh winced, his hands clasping across his chest so they grabbed at both arms and shuddered, before fluttering his eyes open and staring down to the fire. 'His name--shall be Gui.' A grin of satisfaction spread across his lips, the feeling of liberty and freedom reigning over his body. The grin sparkled in the fire as K'kabuka and the two men stared, silent, waiting; as did Krog.

Huntoaa'sh you've shown defiance! You shall pay for you're misjudgment!