The memory of the last few seconds fade dizzily away… Falling down a well of stars, smashing into a glyph like an eye, spilling out into what looks like white all around. The wind bites into the young wolf's fur worse than any winter she has felt before, and the ice crunches beneath her feet.

Wyn holds herself close, cold in spite of her fur. She stumbles on the slick ice and flikfliks her ears angrily.

No one else around. There was a red fox just a minute ago, the wolf is sure, but he's not here anymore. Maybe he got lost in… The jump? The fall?

The wind gusts through Wyn's fur, coating her in snow lightly.

Wyn shouts, "Hay! It's _cold_! Where'd you go?"

Wyn wufs to herself, "_Somefur_ else was here."

Wyn scents the wind, sneezes. "Are we there yet? It smells different," Wyn says to no one in particular.

Nothing… Except some looming shapes half-visible through the sleet. They look large enough to be bears of some kind, and they're snuffling as they approach.

Wyn skritches one ear, out of habit.

It's really cold. Much colder than Wyn would like, even with her winter fur – she has a feeling that if she didn't have a nice comfy cave home, she'd be pretty miserable tonight… Wait. Where ARE those caves now?…

The snuffling grows louder and louder until a largish animal appears. It has four feet, a long neck and heavy fur. It's eyes are bright and intelligent.

Wyn turns around to scan the edges of the glacier. She shakes her head. "This can't be right. I'm lost."

Wyn smiles and swishes her tail. She waves.

The animal starts a bit at Wyn's waving, and hesitates a moment. It's head turns from side to side as though it was thinking.

Some other of the strange animals trot by. They swat at a tree to dislodge the heavy covering of snow, and then begin to nibble the leaves off. Food. If one can digest it.

Wyn wufs, "Hiyas! I had a friend here. A dog, or mebbe a stoat. Have you seen him? I think we were playing Stalk and Pounce, and he forgot to search for me. It might have been the other way around… do you have a blanket? Or a coat?"

Eyes blink slowly and the animal shakes its head. Apparently it's not sentient… or maybe it doesn't choose to answer. Moving quicker than its shape looks to allow, it trots up and nudges.

Wyn trembles with more than cold. She fights to keep her legs still. She loses her balance at the easy nudge, and sits down hard on the ice.

Shock. The cold ice begins bleeding Wyn's heat away, where it is no longer insulated by the thick pads of her paws.

A soft neigh escapes the animal and it almost looks embarassed. It shakes its head again, and then bows its neck down to gently nudge again. Trotting a little away, it turns back to look.

Wyn winces. "Ow. Ah. Blanket? Or mebbe some water? I'm awful thirsty," she wufs plaintively.

The winter fur helps, but it's still not a good place to rest.

Wyn gets up and follows.

Neighing again, the animal trots slowly through the ice. It seems sure of where it's going and leads the way confidently.

Wyn walks slowly, testing her footing as she goes.

The wind sleets Wyn's fur practically sideways, making it difficult to walk straight. It seems to be calling her name. "Wyyyn… WyyyYYYyyyyynnn… " Only, she can't tell which way the call is from.

Wyn politely wufs, "You know, it'll be very nice here when Spring comes, and all this ice melts and the grass grows up."

Wyn pauses and looks around.

Slowly, slowly, as if waiting for the other, the thick-furred animal leads the way. Eventually, in the distance, a soft light appears. The animal snuffles in response to the comment, but that is all.

Wyn says, "Wyn? Wyyyyn!"

Wyn heehees. "Echo."

"Wyynnnnn… " It sounds like an omen. A bad one.

Wyn blinks.

There are legends about banshees that call your name so they can lead you away to die, the wolf remembers… It was in some of her romance novels.

Wyn says, "Ut oh."

Wyn turns around and begins to walk in the direction she came.

Shaking its head, another neigh escapes the friendly-seeming animal. It picks up speed a bit, heading toward the light.

Wyn shakes her head. "No. I'm not s'posed to die. I can't just walk along with you 'cause you ask… "

The wind blows through Wyn's fur like a jealous lover's spite, clawed hands (?) pulling at her tail.

Wyn loses awareness of her surroundings as she freezes. She walks until her body refuses her, and does not notice when she falls. Collapse is welcome when it comes.

Stopping to turn and look at her, the animal's eyes glow with reassurance. It neighs again, almost sounding like 'Food… water… ' If the animal spoke Wyn's language… and if it spoke at all.

The wind seems to be gloating as it calls out "WyyyNNNn!… Wyyynn… "

Suddenly, close by, voices can be heard. Small lights bob up and down, coming closer.

Wyn thinks . o O { It's warmer than I thought. I guess Spring is here. }

Neighing loudly now, as if encouraging the voices, the animal bounces up and down. The lights change direction, heading toward the fallen wuf and her protector.

Suddenly, out of the cold, strange figures appear. The look almost reassuringly familar… feline, with feline bodies and eyes… but over their shoulders arc large wings, pure white, blending with the snow.

Wyn closes her eyes. The rough wind tugs at her, but she does not move.

A group of about 5 winged felines surround the silent figure and her animal protector. They seem to know it, because them speak to it in an unfamilar language. Then gentle touches brush against the cold fur.

"You there, are you injured?" asks the tallest of the group… but the question is in an unfamilar language. His wings flip fallen snow off of them with a soft *flicking* sound.

Wyn mumbles something, though it doesn't seem to be in answer to the question.

Repeating the question, the group leader speaks louder this time. "I ask again, are you injured?" He gently taps Wyn's shoulder.

The wind almost seems to die away… Then blasts again full force as if screaming for Wyn to run. "WYYYnnNNNNNnnn!" Bits of ice thump against fur and feather.

Wyn's eyes open and she lays her ears back in terror. She cringes away. "Banshee… ," she wufs.

Wyn shows her teeth and claws. Now that she's not resting, it's clear that she's suffering from exposure at the least.

The group leader exchanges glances with the others, and says "Perhaps she is delirious… let us take her to warmth." Gentle paws lift Wyn's arm and legs, raising her above the snow. The animal follows behind, neighing softly.

Wyn struggles weakly.

The wind despairs, breaking against their backs, then starts to die away into a stutter of murmuring. "RoooOOOooo… "

Wyn's ears perk forward. "Aroo," she says, puzzled.

"Do not struggle, we are trying to help." says one of the figures. "Brrath, I do not think she can understand us." says another. The group gently tighten their grip and continue to move forward.

"Rooo… " agrees the wind. It spitefully continues to pepper the way with snow and ice, but against those who know where they are going, the wind can do little.

Wyn's instincts speak to her. After fighting for her life, there is only one thing left a wolf can do.

The small group comes up a number of cozy looking houses, built to keep out the cold. The warm light beckons invitingly.

Wyn goes limp in the arms of her captors, and waits for the end.

In a dark haze, Wyn is swept into one of the houses by the group. Warmth envelopes her as she is placed on a hard surface in front of a roaring fire. A soft blanket is put around her, and a cup placed in her paws.

Wyn stares vacantly into the cup, drinking as she's told. Warmth chases away frostbite with stabbing pain that returns some strength to her. Her mind begins to retreat from delerium.

The wind beats against the outside of the Solu house, but to no avail.

After a short while, the winged feline called Brrath returns to sit next to the frostbitten wuf. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asks in a still unfamilar tongue.

Wyn examines her surroundings with her ears and nose. "Where am I? I've not died," she wufs.

Wyn halfsmiles uncomprehendingly at Brrath, and reaches out a shaky paw to touch her arm. "I'm thankful you didn't leave me out there. You wouldn't happen to know who I am and where we are? Please?" she asks quietly.

A voice out of Wyn's sightline says quietly… "A stranger in these parts, she is." Another, more feminine voice says… "A Exile? Could it be? We've not seen one in many cycles." Brrath looks carefully at the wuf, and nods thoughtfully.

A babble of voices rise up now, talking in sounds unfamilar to the cold-stricken Wyn. They are not threatening, just… overwelming. Suddenly, out of the din, an old-sounding but firm voice exclaims… "There are tribal rules that must be followed!"

Wyn sighs softly. "I didn't think you could tell me. I hurt. Mebbe I'll remember what happened with rest."

Wyn tenses.

Wyn stands.

The babble dies away as Wyn stands. Worried eyes fall on her, concerned and willing to help.

Wyn wufs, "What is it? Why is everyone excited?"

Wyn's ears flikflik as she tries to glean understanding from the unfamiliar sounds and scents.

A short, grizzened figure pushes through the others. She is small, and obviously seen many cycles. Looking into Wyn's eyes, she says gently… "We will help you. It is written. A signal will be sent, when the snow clears. Until then, here… "

The female refills Wyn's cup, and pulls the blanket close… "Come by the fire." Patting the bench, she sits down herself.

Wyn relaxes, and sits down. "I'm sorry," she wufs, splaying her ears. "I don't understand a thing you're saying. Thank you for the blanket."

Wyn snuggles into the blanket and mrrs softly.

The female gestures and figures scurry around in the background, returning quickly. The female must carry some power here. They make a small pile of goods next to Wyn: A leather to wear, some food, a waterbag… and on the very top, a small knife.

Wyn laplaps at the water.

The old female gestures to the pile, pointing to it, then to Wyn. "These are for you. Our laws are clear: help Exiles and many ke'nai will come to you. We help you."

Wyn looks at the pile of things. "You're sending me back out there. Where will I go?"

Wyn puts a paw on the pile and pulls it closer to herself. She nods and smiles. "You want me to go. I understand. But where?"

Wyn thinks.

Shaking her head, the female looks frustrated, then suddenly, her eyes light. She points to a drawing on the fireplace wall, showing an airship and a signal fire underneath. She points to herself and the group.

Wyn shakes her head and shrugs, trying to convey her lack of understanding.

Sighing softly, the female points to the wuf. Then to the bench. The bench. The wuf. The bench.

Wyn sits obediently.

Wyn splays her ears.

Chuckling a bit, the female now points to the drawing, then to herself and the other winged felines. She points to what looks like a timepiece, a simple hourglass.

Wyn nods.

Wyn says, "Sandglass."

Nodding happily, the female puts a gentle paw on Wyn's shoulder. "Wait… we will call the airship for you." she says, though she knows Wyn can't understand.

Wyn pats the bench and lifts her mug to her muzzle. "OK," she wufs.

Looking at Wyn for a long moment, the oldster nods in satisfaction. Reaching out, she gently takes Wyn's paw and covers it with one of hers. She looks at Wyn questioningly.

Wyn thinks . o O { They're going to take me to a bonfire. I hope they're being really nice to me, and not planning ill. Though if they were, they probably wouldn't give me a knife. }

Wyn tilts her head and smiles. "What is it?" she asks.

Wyn swishes her tail.

Nodding again, the female draws her paw back. In Wyn's palm sits a smallish white stone, polished and smooth. "So others like us will know you are helped by us." she says quietly. Settling down on the bench, the female is soon snoozing by the fire.

Wyn looks at the stone in her paw, and at her benefactor, and puts the stone with the pile of gifts.

A few days pass with startling swiftness. The Solus are solicitious about Wyn's well-being, helping her to regain her energy, lending her sleeping-furs to stay warm during the nights.

One crisp and clear morning, however, Brrath comes with the news that an airship has arrived. The clan gathers to wish Wyn well, and sees her off with a pack carrying the gifts that she will need to survive in the world. Her necklace – reminding her of someone she can't quite remember right now – hangs around her neck still, but has been joined with another thin necklace from which hangs the white Solu-friendship stone.

They lead her down the slope of the mountain to a less treacherous clearing, an outstretch of the side where a large airship is docked. It is not as well kept as airships that Wyn remembers having seen, a world away, but it is sturdy, with several gasbags bulging the side of its envelope and patched sails hanging from its downward- and side-pointed masts. Mooring lines connect it securely to pitons banged into the ice here, and the captain stands waiting for the Exile to be brought to him, along with two of his trustworthy sailors, all armed with cutlasses at their sides.

Wyn has no idea what to make of the ship, and the furries there have a look about them that makes her uneasy. She wufs questioningly to Brrath, asking if she really must go. She hugs the old Solus nervously.

The tradeship captain – a gray fox, Wyn thinks, from the muzzle that protrudes from the heavy fur-lined oilskin jacket – waits with folded arms while the wolf makes her farewells. "Good. Don't worry. She'll be in good hands," he says to the Solus, and then with some surprise as one presses a small bag of money, adds, "All right. Luck-offering, eh? Don't worry. We'll get her there." He pockets the coins and holds a hand out to Wyn.

Wyn says, "Brrath," she wufs quietly, "I've never seen anything like this ship before, or balloons like these either.""

Brrath and the other Solus give Wyn hugs and then wave to her. "Good luck," Brrath says in the Solu language. Which can't be understood by Wyn just yet, but it's the thought that counts.

Wyn steps up onto the ship, nodding politely to the Captain.

The Solu guesses Wyn's nervousness, from the glancing of her eyes. "It is an airship from Rephidim. It is here to bring you there, by treaty. You are safe," he promises.

Wyn turns and stands at the railing. She waves to her friends.

The captain nods. "Very good." He waves to the others, before clambering back up the rope ladders with Wyn and his crew.

Wyn thinks . o O { This must be a theme building. Where am I supposed to go? }

The airship casts loose, and begins to drift upward before re-rigging its sail to catch a biting wind. It seems that the wind is calling Wyn's name again… But there's no time to worry about that, because the captain is pulling on Wyn's hand, to show her where to go.

One of the crewmember has Wyn's pack and is putting it away. For safekeeping?

Wyn's eye go big and she gasps. "We're going UP!"

Indeed, the Solus are already the size of dolls and growing smaller by the minute. The crag of the mountain slowly dwindles to become a black flint arrowhead…

Wyn closes her eyes tight and tries to dig her claws into the deck. She deathgrips the Captain's arm.

Suddenly the Captain no longer looks friendly. He slaps her, growling in some different language than the Solus used when they spoke to the traders. His first mate comes forward bringing… Manacles!

The Captain growls orders to have Wyn manacled tightly and thrown below deck, with the rest of … them.

And on the crag, the Solus, unaware of all this, extinguish the fire that was to have called a Rephidim airship to observe the Treaty…

Wyn yelps! at the blow. She opens her eyes and puts her paw to her face. "Please… I didn't mean to… what? Manacles?"

The Captain holds Wyn while the First Mate starts chaining her. First the legs, so she can't run…

Heavy, brutal black manacles of some wood almost as dense as rock. They itch.

Wyn's dreams flash about her out of nowhere, hissing green, striking out at the First Mate and the Captain, curling around the manacles.

The Captain screams! He calls to the others, then slugs Wyn again, trying to knock her unconscious.

More crewmen swarm toward the Captain and his suddenly magically-active victim, their fists and claws flying.

Wyn falls to her knees, struck suddenly ill. The Captain's blow sends her reeling. Her dreams brighten and the air tenses as if something deadly were about to happen… and then the light dissipates all at once, morning fog in the sun.

The Captain gasps for breath, and then snarls. The medical officer goes below deck…

And returns with a long glass cylinder filled with a viscous green substance, tipped with a deadly looking bone needle. As the crew of gray vulpines scramble to hold Wyn and make sure she can't move, the medical officer advances on Wyn.

Wyn gasps for air as the world drains of color in a few moments, settling her vision in what seems like a distorted grayscale.

The medical officer grabs Wyn's arm and injects the needle into her vein, savagely pumping the liquid in. As he finishes, however, the needle breaks off. Cursing, he throws the cylinder away and pulls the rest of the slender bone away.

Wyn holds out a paw to fend off the doctor, begging. Sharp pains wrack her frame, as if her very life were being taken from her.

The Captain growls as he watches, fists ready.

The crew watches for another resurgence of magic, ready to beat any struggle out of Wyn.

Wyn doubles over, whimpering. She sits down curled up, in obvious distress.

The medical officer nods. He says something to the captain, who nods andthen barks more orders.

Manacles. Prison. Long days in the bare, lightless hold of a slave ship.

Wyn spends her time halucinating, arguing with the darkness that grass is green, and the sky blue, she's certain.

Visions of reproachful figures. There is a human with blond hair, stretching his hand out accusingly to Wyn. Why didn't you help, his face seems to say. Another human, older, turning his back on her as if she had disgraced him somehow. A vision of herself, somehow dressed in royal raiments… Dissolving into fragments of cloth that she can't seem to hold onto, that dissolve away like blown dreams.

In rare moments of lucidity, Wyn is aware of others in the hold, unkempt, starved or fighting against each other for the gruel that gets poured through the hatch once a day, the water twice a day. Mange and mold sour the air.

Wyn curls up in a corner of the hold, not moving or talking or getting up to eat. The thought of food makes her nauseous, though she is famished when she is awake. Her lucid moments are a terror to her, especially when the hatch is opened, and there is light to see. The sky has truly gone gray. Color has fled the world. Her best comfort is in exhausted sleep.

Five days in a slave ship. Ravenous with thirst, crazed with the aftereffect of the drug, weakened horribly with hunger, the wolf barely notices when the slave ship docks at Rephidim and the crew begins offloading the slaves, dragging them, hitting them when they struggle feebly. It is only when the world floods with light that she realizes she is being brought into the daylight.

Wyn sits up in the straw and waits for the rough deckhands to come.

Wyn raises her arm before her eyes, surprised at how bright and painful the daylight is.

The slavers drag Wyn over the side, two of them holding her arms as they clamber down the rope ladder. Beyond sprawls the port of Rephidim… And the city, which creeps out like mold growing up the side of the hill. In grayed vision, Wyn sees people crawling like bugs over the ground, bumbling over each other in the nest that has sprouted around the walls of the city proper. Some kind of gathering…

They are bickering back and forth between each other, and though they are normal size by the time the slavers march her past them in file with the rest of the captives, all manacled and many of them gaunt-ribbed and mangy of fur, they still manage to remind Wyn of bugs – particularly the clever-looking, rapid-talking ferretoids on spindly legs.

Wyn growls softly in her throat.

The march goes on and on… Until it ends in a large clearing of some kind, in an area that looks as if it were made out of packing crates, large boxes and small and ramshackle posts from which canvas awnings stretch.

There, cages hold slaves already brought in. Another cage opens its door like a skull's toothy grin, welcoming in the newest lot.

And beyond that, as the crew shoves Wyn to make her get in, she sees what is happening to the other slaves… They are being sold to people that make her skin crawl, with their appraising and cold looks – it is as if those furs going on the auction block were no more than so much meat. And perhaps the slaves without visible charm are being sold as just that. Perhaps to that black-cloaked lion, they are prey for his future live-hunts.

Something feral and desperate awakens in Wyn, moving her from complacent to desperation in a flash. She lashes out at her nearest captor, throwing her weight at him to put him off balance.

The guard cries out in surprise, and then the other guard slams his fist down on Wyn's head hard.

Wyn screams, "Not a cage! Anyth… "

Wyn falls to the ground.

The guards, embarrassed, pick up Wyn and then throw her into the cage. The black-cloaked lion's eyes rest on the young wolf who showed a little fight… Assessing.

Wyn growls softly, "I know your scents. If you don't kill me now, you'll wish you had, someday."

Wyn spits blood at her captors.

The two guards laugh spitefully. They bang the door shut behind them, and then turn to open a new cage for the next set of slaves.

A few hours later, it is Wyn's turn on the block. Battered by the sun, she can barely think; even so, it's disconcerting to hear how few bids there are. One by a heavy-set ferretoid who seems to be bored by the proceedings. One by an equally bored vixen whose dress and jewels seem overly fine for the setting. And one by the lion.

The ferretoid drops out quickly. Another two bids later, so does the vixen. The lion bares his fangs… Showing their red stains.

Wyn realizes where she is suddenly. She turns on her captor and curses a blue streak of blasphemies at him. And then, while he's still shocked, she leans over and inhales deeply. She savors his scent, and smiles toothily at him.

Wyn steels herself for a blow.

The captor looks surprised and then strikes Wyn, ordering the guards to hold her tighter.

The lion roars a command. The auctioneer blanches and then nods.

Slowly, deliberately, the lion comes forward and drops three metallic coins onto the podium. They ring.

Wyn struggles. The indignity of the whole affair is a flame beneath her, and her anger drives her past her limits.

The guards grapple with Wyn, holding on as she flails about. The lion watches with some detachment… And approval?

Wyn fights until she can no longer move, and all she has left is hatred and breath to growl.

The auctioneer is screaming imprecations at the guards now… But the lion appears to take it calmly enough. He signals for some of his own warriors, large – ack! Insectoids! – Zelak bugs with hard chitinous armor and blank eyes. They take charge of the wolf.

Turning about, the lion walks away with his new property. The slave block dwindles away as Wyn watches.

Wyn thinks . o O { Bugs. Big ones. I must still be halucinating. I hope I'm still halucinating. }

The starving wolf is brought to a carriage, richly appointed, with lizardlike riding beasts to pull it. The lion gets in; the Zelaks sit on both sides of Wyn and keep firm hands on her manacles. Hours pass as they ride swiftly through the city… And the outlying countryside.

Wyn walks quietly for her new captors, assessing them as strong and probably competent, though not very bright.

Wyn sits with her head lowered and her ears splayed, looking at no one in the eyes, as if she were cowed.

Wilderness. Here, the island of Rephidim is untamed as yet, and there is a great amount of forest which may be converted into the estate of rich and spoiled nobles. To one such does the lion bring Wyn, and in a cell there he confines her, one that offers only a barred window looking out onto the wilderness. The servant lifts the three-inch tall hatch every morning and night to slide in a fresh hunk of meat and bread, and water. The meat tastes freshly killed…

Three days pass this way, as Wyn hears Zelak warriors pass on their daily inspection rounds. Time undrugged. Time in which she can recover a little of her reserves, her repair muscles so cruelly damaged. And on the morning of the fourth, she hears the din of a procession approaching the cell.

Wyn stops pacing her cell and stands before the door, ears forward.

The lion noble stands outside the cell, looking in it. He rumbles something that sounds vaguely like approval.

Wyn softly wufs, "I want to leave." She does not look her captor in the eyes.

Wyn softly wufs, "The birds were good to me. They used a word for me."

The cell door rattles open. Inward. Zelak guards walk in and grasp Wyn's hands and begin lacing leather straps around them; others begin doing her feet as well, making her unable to move.

The Zelaks do not seem to be paying attention to Wyn's mutterings.

The lion licks his muzzle and smiles at Wyn.

Up close, it's obvious what big… claws the Zelaks have. They look like they could gut a running deer with them; their hands fit beneath the shield of the claw backings.

Wyn lays her ears back and shows her teeth. She growls softly.

As a last step, at the lion's command, a Zelak warrior blindfolds Wyn.

The Zelak warriors lift Wyn easily, and begin to walk out. She is trussed up not unlike a moa bird… A phrase that Dame Nitanya used once occurs to Wyn: "fattening the bird up for slaughter".

Wyn keeps her thoughts to herself, going quietly.

The lion laughs and compliments his warriors; he bids them after him, and then the group begins to walk out. Light soon impinges on the blindfold, and the smell of the forest. An hour of walking later… The sound of creaking wood and the feel of passing beneath an arch, and the smell of old moss later, the lion brings Wyn to his… private compound.

With a curt command he orders the Zelak to slice off the bindings. The blindfold falls away to reveal light forest in all direction. Far away are walls easily twenty feet tall, topped with what look like jagged pikes or perhaps slivers of broken crystals that would cut jumping hands.

Wyn thinks . o O { They could not know that I don't trust my eyes, and this new way of 'seeing'. They ought to have blindfolded my nose and my ears. }

The lion has stripped naked except for a loincloth. He rumbles something to Wyn as the Zelak warriors bow and begin to walk to the edge of the compound, standing guard.

Wyn looks for escape.

The lion watches the wolf with a glinting pleasure in his eyes. Then sprouts claws from his hands… He advances on Wyn slowly.

Wyn lays her ears back and foofs out her fur, growling as she backs away.

With a sudden bass thunder, the lion ROARS! as he leaps.

Wyn runs and dodges, calmer now that she's free. In her new sight the lion is dark gray, and puts her in mind of a half-remembered adversary from her past.

The lion grins to himself. He gives her a little bit of a head start… Then begins to stalk after her, nose and ears alert for scent and sound.

The lion's tailtip twitches…

Wyn runs off in the direction she guesses she arrived in, following the track of the carriage. The walls indimidate her, and she's not sure what to make of the bug-guards.

A sudden thud indicates a rock thumped against a tree, to Wyn's left.

Heavy footsteps run up against Wyn's right, evidently the lion's attempt to frighten the prey into dodging into him.

Wyn ducks instinctively to the right, zigzagging as expected. She realizes her error too late, and tries to correct by leaping backwards.

The lion jumps! He bares his fangs in a growl as his loincloth flutters in the wind.

Wyn is spun by the blow when it lands. She tumbles in a controlled fall, rolling to her feet and dashing off toward the wall.

Wyn struggles for breath and reminds herself not to accept a hug from her new 'friend'.

The lion has a lot more strength than might be expected. He swats at Wyn as she scrambles away, drawing first blood in the form of three scratches on her leg, lines of pain, and then recovers his feet.

The lion begins to run after Wyn again, not giving her much respite.

Wyn thinks . o O { All I've got is speed and tricks. He'll crush me quickly or wear me down slowly. Wait… probably slowly. He doesn't want a quick kill. Let's see how close he'll chase me to the wall. }

The lion isn't as fast as Wyn… But he looks like he's done this a lot before, and isn't even panting yet.

Wyn paces herself a little under her runner's average, going to within inches of the wall before turning parallel to it.

The lion lopes behind Wyn, letting her get increasingly far ahead. Wait – there is a turn coming up ahead, perhaps a hundred feet. And the lion sees it too, because he is veering to the side, to intercept and corner the wolfess.

Wyn runs to the inside corner of the compound and stops there, facing the lion, with the walls within easy reach on both sides and behind her.

Wyn leans over, apparently catching her breath.

The lion appears slightly puzzled, but slowly closes in again.

Wyn listens carefully.

Wyn thinks . o O { Here, kittykitty… come and get your back scratched. }

He's no more than fourty feet away now. Thirty… Twenty…

Wyn tests her injured leg, as if the wound were worse than it looked.

At fifteen feet, the lion roars, running straight for Wyn, leaping with claws extended. Now that Wyn has guessed his intention of a slow death, she has a feeling that he's aimed off just a little… Perhaps to attack her leg again.

Again the thunder shakes the air, louder than any animal yell should be.

Wyn drops at the last minute, pushing away with her injured leg, which is isn't so strained after all. As her adversary goes past she strikes at his feet, trying to trip him headlong into his own razors.

The lion roars with surprise as he crashes into the corner. Blood rips down his own legs, a deeper cut than the scratches. He turns about, trying to grapple Wyn within reach of his darkly strong arms.

Wyn bounces out of the way. "Mew," she taunts mockingly as she runs off, again along the wall.

The lion snarls, then stops long enough to rip some of his loincloth off and tie a bandage around his wound.

Wyn thinks . o O { Can't afford to fight fair. He outmasses me at least three times. That trick won't work again. What, then? }

Wyn runs until she's out of sight, knowing she'll be tracked.

After a minute of wound-licking, the lion begins to cautiously pad after the disappeared wolf. He still looks strong enough to beat a wolf into the ground, but his leg will probably keep him from making any fast runs soon.

The lion turns his head slowly side to side, looking for any moving signs of rebellious wolf-girls.

Wyn thinks . o O { I need a weapon, and a place to hide. A long weapon. }

Wyn scans the ground for makeshift weapons as she lopes, not wasting time with laying much of a circuitous track.

In the dead of winter, branches litter the ground here and there. Some might be strong enough to be used as spears… Perhaps not as staffs though. Most of the trees have kept their leaves, and some are needly, pristly things.

There are rocks as well, and even an occasional bug scuttling along.

Wyn thinks . o O { I need something heavy. A club, mebbe. }

Nothing quite so hearteningly heavy. Maybe several sticks together might serve, or perhaps it might be possible to make some kind of deadfall trap.

Somewhere in the wood far away, Wyn hears heavy breathing and the footsteps of a lion intent on doing her in.

Wyn flikfliks her ears, desperate. Her ears lay back on her head. "I hate 'no way out'," she wufs to herself.

Wyn growls softly. Claws and teeths will have to do.

The wolf passes not far from a Zelak who shows no reaction. Apparently the Zelaks have instructions not to interfere with the hunt.

Wyn takes off on a curving path toward the center of the compound, running flat out to put some distance between herself and her foe and to hide her true intent in the trees.

The lion follows slowly. He snuffles at the trees now and then, as if confirming that Wyn passed this way.

Wyn heads into a thickly wooded area, leaving clear tracks through the light snow. She chooses a dark copse and 'falls' there, taking care to leave the snow bloody. She crawls out through a hole in the thicket just large enough for her foe to follow her on his paws and knees.

The lion walks slowly through the woods, his discontented rumble making his presence amply obvious to Wyn. He's still a long distance away from the 'Wynfall'…

Wyn runs straight for about twenty yards and circles around tightly, keeping low and under cover. She finds her way back to the thicket by the scent of her own blood, worming into the trees so that she can strike her enemy in the thicket unawares.

The lion approaches the copse cautiously. He snarls with sudden pleasure as he sees the blood. She must have fallen here; she can't have gone far. He begins to stalk close, his nose focused on the blooded area…

The lion peers through the thicket. She must have gone through here… He crouches, wincing at a sudden pain, and begins to crawl into the torn passage.

Wyn holds her breath while she waits, not trusting her silence to the lion's ears.

The lion snuffs. Ah! The wolf's scent is heavy. Growling with approval, he begins to shinny through.

Wyn leaps silently from her hiding place and uses the best weapon she has. She goes for the lion's hamstring on his good leg, planning to end this chase here.

Wyn slashes, using alla her polished white teeths.

The lion yelps with pain! He struggles around, trying to jackknife back and pull his savaged leg away from the wolf's muzzle.

The lion yells some kind of command in his language as he thrashes, hands ripping out of the thicket, writhing around to try and catch the wolf. 'stop' perhaps?

Wyn doesn't let go until she can feel the tendon snap free.

Wyn dodges away immediately after she's free, looking for rocks the size of her fist.

The lion curses as he whips his pain-maddened eyes about, searching for the wolf. This chase is at an end, it seems. Nearby as Wyn finds a few rocks, she sees one of the Zelak warriors loping into sight.

Wyn returns to the lion with rocks to weight her blows and death in her eyes.

The lion looks up with sudden fear. He bares his teeth…

Wyn softly wufs, "I'll be quicker with you den you meant fur me."

The lion braces, shifting his body to a sitting stance. He rumbles something in the language that Wyn doesn't understand, some kind of plea. Maybe promising release, wealth, whatever.

Wyn finishes her adversary as quietly as possible.

*splut*

Two Zelak warriors arrive over the hill to stand near Wyn now, looking down at their erstwhile master. A third enters the copse.

They stare at the corpse. Some look at Wyn behind alien eyes.

Wyn stands redfurred and glares at the bugs dangerously.

The Zelak warriors almost seem to shrug in an insectoid way. Their master is dead. Thus, they no longer have a master. They clack to each other, and then go to spread the word to their brethren.

Wyn howls the last of her rage and triumph at the Winter.

Wyn bolts off to find the carriage she arrived in.

Wyn discovers the stables and notes with some satisfaction that the bugs all seem to be leaving.

There are some cries from the manor, and exclamations. Perhaps they have surmised that their master is dead.

A surprised stableboy turns and runs from the red-dripping wolf. He screams loudly as he runs into the house. Perhaps he's claiming that he saw some kind of monster…

Wyn washes the worst of the blood off of her fur in the trough. It's clear she'll have to get a proper bath soon.

There's not a great deal for the taking in the stable, it appears – there are some knives meant for trimming hooves and the like. There are some expensive looking saddles and tack for the riding beasts. A number of the lizard-like creatures look at Wyn resentfully from the stalls.

It seems, from the spilled grain, that she interrupted their feeding time.

Wyn listens for sounds of pursuit. She takes one of the hoof knives, and opens all of the stalls on her way out.

The riding beasts trot out of their stalls, brightening up and perikng their not-quite ears – flaps of scales that focus sounds, more or less. They guzzle the grain happily.

Out the corner of Wyn's eyes, she catches some of the servants abandoning the manor with bits of jewelry, fine dresses, bags of coins, and other bits of booty that have come to hand.

One, more practical than the rest perhaps, has also seized up a good amount of good including a chain of sausages that flops over his otterish shoulder.

Wyn goes into the manor and looks for the bedrooms.

Some of the servants still inside and looting the place scream at Wyn's appearance. Others try to greet her in quavering voices.

Wyn brandishes the J-shaped hoof knife and smiles dangerously. "Jus' wan' a change of clothes, an' a blanket, an' coins. And a better knife. Where's the kitchen?"

They don't seem to understand her… As she advances, the weaker servants back away, then flee, throwing down what they held – expensive cloth drapes, furniture, other bits of portable wealth.

Wyn peeks inside the Study, and eeps! at what she sees on the walls. She puts her free paw to her neck and acks. She backs out and shuts that door tightly.

Looting of the house produces plenty of food for the taking, in the kitchen's pantry. There are clothes in the dressers, blankets aplenty, but as for money, just about all of it that Wyn can recognize has gone already.

What's left is in the form of furniture that would probably be too much for a light-footed wolf to carry about.

Wyn makes a light blanket into a bedroll and stuffs it with food for two days. She ties it with a rope on each end so that she can carry it over her shoulders by the ropes, and leaves the manse in simple leather pants and tunic. She keeps the hoof knife, having found everything else looted before she arrived. Word travels fast, apparently.

Wyn sets off, travelling out of sight in the woods along the road, with no idea of her destination.