This story and all characters within are copyright 2003 to the present to the author.

The sun had not been long in rising above the horizon but already it seemed like it had been a waste of effort. Thick clouds ruled the sky on this day in a manner that suggested it would be some time before the sun returned. The leaden masses of moisture laden cloud drifted slowly over the tops of the squat stone buildings of the city. A heavy, wet, snow spiralled down from the grey skies to coat the town below in a layer of melting slush. Nothing much moved down there; the weather kept most sensible people indoors where the warmth from a fire was never very far away, but then again, not everyone is sensible.

A lone figure was discerned through the drifting snow. He jogged down a narrow alley, leaving a trail of meandering footprints in the slush behind him. An exhausted figure, his breath came in deep gasps and he paused momentarily to lean one shoulder heavily against the wall of an adjacent building. He stayed there for a moment, trying his best to catch his breath. He straightened up and a grimace of pain contorted his pale face. He clasped a hand to his side and stumbled as he tried to take a step. He reached a hand to the wall and bent over at the waist, teeth bared in pain. When he recovered a bit, he glanced apprehensively back the way he came. When no pursuing figures appeared through the snow, he turned his back against the cold stone wall. Each breath hung in a cloud around his head for a moment before being lost among the snowflakes.

The figure slid down the rough wall to sit in a crumpled heap in the slush. He didn't even feel the cold that began to seep through the seat of his pants. He forced his head back against the stone and closed his eyes. The features on his face drew tight, determined. He exhaled slowly through his nose and his shoulders sagged. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth and he bounced the back of his head off the wall a few times. He opened his eyes and turned them up to the grey sky.

There was intelligence that showed in those eyes that were the colour of the great northern glaciers, but it was almost lost in the sea of hopeless fear that was all too evident in those pools of blue. Snowflakes clung briefly to the stranger's unkempt hair and beard before they melted into tiny drops of water that glistened on each individual hair.

The stranger was a human male. He reached up with a grimy hand and pushed a tangle of wet blond hair out of his eyes. He left the hand on his forehead for moment before passing it down over his face, trying to wring some of the water from his beard. He sighed and his expression became empty, as though his face belonged to a dead man.

He was not old, this human, but neither was he young. His age was hard to pin down exactly as his beard made him look some years older than he really was. Fine wrinkles marked the corners of his eyes and ran across his brow that even now was furrowed as thoughts churned away behind his blue eyes. At best guess, his age would be somewhere in his early to mid thirties, a fine age for a human in a world where few of his race indeed lived to see their fourth decade.

The stranger's clothes were stained and threadbare from months of hard times and hard travelling. A tattered dark grey cloak, possibly made of wool, was tied about his shoulders and draped down to just below his waist. Moisture beaded on the cloak as it tried in vain to keep the heavy flakes of snow from penetrating the coarse wool. Beneath the cloak, just barely visible, was a shirt that may have at one time been white but had been stained to a patchy shade of brown over the last few months. His dark brown trousers were tattered and had been patched several times in a crude manner. A sizable hole in the right knee exposed pale skin to the elements. His boots were near unrecognizable lumps of mud. The soles were visible as he slumped against the wall and they were heavily worn. His hands were grimy and calloused and they were getting very, very cold as he sat motionless in the snow.

He was soaked to the skin. He was miserable and he was exhausted from spending the better part of the last five days on the run.

Five days, he thought, as he leaned against the wall. The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Those five days felt more like five years to him. Five days of sustained effort, of running and hiding. Five days of nearly constant fear. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tight. He wondered when he last slept. He stared dismally across the narrow alley, wondering what he should do.

His options were rather limited. He understood all to well that to run would be to get caught. To stay where he was would be to get caught. There was no hiding from his pursuers. Even if he could hide his footprints in the treacherous snow, the Others would still be able to find him. With their sharp noses they would follow his scent trail and with their sharp ears they would hear his terrified breathing. Despite that, he had to run, that was really the only choice left to him. He kept a tiny flame of hope alive that in running he would somehow find a way to escape those that hunted him.

What he would give for a horse! A wry smile crossed his lips as he realized that he wouldn't be in this position if he still had his horse. Sadness suddenly flowed over his features and his smile quickly faded. His horse, his beloved travelling companion, was dead, shot out from under him five days ago at the beginning of all of this madness. He had been very lucky to escape the same fate. The Others had pursued him relentlessly after they had killed his mount and he had managed a very narrow escape under the cover of night by jumping into a quick flowing river that fortune must have made sure was flowing near at hand.

He had lost everything that night except his riding cloak and the clothes on his back and he had very nearly lost his life as well. The icy waters of the river had stolen away nearly all of the heat from his body before he managed to crawl ashore. Staggering away from the waters in a hypothermic daze, he had lucked out and come across a small farm. The summer's last cut of hay had been stacked in piles at the edge of the field and it was under one of these piles that he had crawled. There he had spent the remainder of that horrible night, shivering uncontrollably and hoping that his pursuers thought him drowned and had given up on the chase. When his shivering had finally died down, he had been unable to sleep. He'd spent the long night hours listening to mice squeak and rustle through the hay and praying that the farmer didn't choose this particular night to check his stores of hay.

The next morning he had been jolted awake by the sound of approaching voices. Frozen in terror, he could do nothing but listen as the voices got closer and hope that the sweet smelling hay would mask his scent. He had waited in agony for the moment of discovery and found it hard to believe when it never came. The voices passed by his hiding place without incident and didn't return. He had waited for nearly an hour before he dared stick his head out from his sanctuary and take stock of his surroundings...

The stranger looked up sharply as a faint shout reached his ears. He sighed and forced himself painfully to his feet. It was time to run again. He limped away down the alley.

He rounded a corner, keeping his body pressed close against the stone wall. He tried to keep his thoughts on the problems at hand but he found it difficult to keep them from wandering back over the last five days.

After spending the night in the stack of hay, he had carefully found his way back to the river that had nearly killed him. He was at a total loss as to what he should do as he stood on the bank and stared at the flowing waters. His pursuers lay upstream and were likely heading down this way to find out what had become of him. He could either follow the river downstream or he could strike out and try to find his way across country. Neither path was particularly appealing to him. He had nothing left that would help him to survive. All of his travelling gear, his weapons, his tools, everything, even his flint and steel had been lost with his horse. He knew that there would be settlements along the river, and that with a little bit of luck he might find help and new supplies there. From what he had seen those settlements would likely be full of the Others, but there was a small chance that he might come across other humans if he followed the river. If he struck out on his own and fought his way across country, through the forests and swamps, there would be next to no chance of finding help. Starvation and death lay down that path. He understood that as well, but still, he considered taking that uncertain trail. There was little left for him in this life and some small part of him longed for the release that death would surely provide. However, the stronger, more dominant part of him fought tooth and nail against it. He knelt down beside the roiling waters and cupped his hands, drinking deeply of the cold waters. He stood up slowly, water dripping from his beard, his eyes lost in thought as he stared into the distance. He would follow the river. The instinct to survive was a difficult thing to fight.

Four days he'd spent following the twisting path of the river, four very hungry, very desperate days. He had found a few berries clinging to the bushes that lined the banks of the river and he had eaten of the ones that he'd known weren't poisonous. That was the only food he had been able to find the whole time. He had narrowly escaped another encounter with one of the Others on his second day, and had plunged into a deep, icy cold pool and hidden among a pile of floating driftwood and overhanging bushes at the edge of a steep bank. The Other that he had been hiding from, a tall and lanky feline, had stopped on the bank of the river scant paces away. He could hear the Other sniffing questioningly while the cold water stole his precious body heat away. He had closed his eyes and prayed that the background noise of flowing water and the overpowering smell of rotting vegetation would hide his terrified breathing and his fear scent from the acute senses of the one on the bank. When the Other had finally departed, he'd crawled soaked and shivering up on to the bank. He'd staggered blindly into the trees and found a hollow next to the trunk of a tree. He'd curled up into a ball on the soft moss under the overhanging pine branches and had spent a horrible few hours shivering and trying to get his teeth to stop chattering. He'd nearly died that time too...

The stranger paused for a moment in the shadowy recesses of an overhanging doorway. The building he pressed his starving body against was old; mortar was crumbling away and several stones had loosened and fallen away. The ground was littered with them. The door behind him had been boarded over and briefly he thought about tearing the boards away and hiding somewhere within the dusty and forgotten rooms of the ancient structure. He shook his head. It would be foolish to attempt it. He knew that his only hope was to keep moving. He crept to the corner of the building and slid into another narrow alley.

He's come across this city on his fourth day of stumbling along the river. His first thoughts had been to avoid it and give the place a wide berth but for some reason, he'd gone against his better judgement and approached the city.

He had seen horses there, and his heart had soared at the possibilities that suddenly presented themselves. If he could get his hands on a horse, it would be a lot easier for him to get away from the Others that surrounded him on all sides. It had been a foolish idea and one that had led to nothing but trouble, but it had seemed like a great idea at the time.

He had watched the stables for the better part of a day and had memorized the patterns of the Others that frequented it. Night soon fell and a nearly full moon rose with the stars, flooding the city with a pale light. It wasn't much but it was still enough for some of the Others to see quite well by. He cursed his luck and waited. Around midnight, clouds scudded across the sky and the stars winked out one by one. When the light from the moon was sufficiently dimmed by the intervening cloud, he had taken his chances and crept to the stables. Silently as he could, he had opened the door a crack and stolen into the dark interior. The warm animal odour welcomed him and he had stealthily crept among the darkened stalls, searching for a suitable animal...

A dark look crossed the stranger's face as he recalled what had happened next. His plan had been sound except for one small detail that he hadn't thought about. Those horses weren't familiar with humans. Raised and broken to the saddle by the Others, to those horses humans were just another animal, and a potentially dangerous one at that. The stranger sighed and turned a wary eye over his shoulder as he moved down the alley. He had been so close...

When he had found a suitable animal, the damned thing had spooked when he approached it. His heart almost stopped when the huge animal reared and kicked at the sides of its stall. Questioning voices called out into the night and he heard the rattle of a lock being opened. He hadn't waited around to see who it was. He fled, tripping in the darkness and ran out into the night. Shouts were raised behind him and a swath of light shone through the door that he had hastily exited. Something whizzed by his ear and threw sparks where it clattered off of nearby stone. The moon was a dull glow through thickening clouds and the first of the snowflakes had begun to drift down as he desperately tried to get away. He had darted out into a street and almost collided with a wagon pulled by two horses. The horses had spooked and there was a startled outcry from the driver of the wagon. With his escape route blocked, he had done the only thing he could do. He'd ducked into an alley that was close at hand and run down it, trying desperately to distance himself from the steadily growing uproar behind him...

The stranger stopped and thumped a fist against wet stone. Fleeing down that alley had been his second big mistake. He'd had no choice but to go deeper into the city after that. Every time he thought he'd found a way out of the maze of streets, it was either a dead end or he would find that the way was blocked and there were Others there waiting for him. He was a bit surprised that they hadn't made a move to catch him yet. The Others were taking their time. Maybe they thought he was armed and they weren't going to take any chances, it was hard to say. Slowly but surely though, he was being surrounded and the trap set up. He doubted that he had much time until it snapped shut.

He slowly crept to the end of the alley and found himself facing one of the city's main streets. He would have avoided such a place if he could have, but he had little choice in the matter. Shouts rang out in the distance and he suspected that the trap was beginning to close behind him. His pursuers would likely be showing up in the alley behind him in minutes, if not seconds. The stranger eyed the wide street suspiciously. It was deserted, probably because the local equivalent of law enforcement had told everyone to stay away or inside. He was still suspicious though, the Others were a crafty bunch and this was as likely a spot as any to spring the trap.

He gathered his legs underneath himself and darted around the corner and up to the wall of the next building. He hardly had the time to gather his thoughts before an angry shout echoed from an alley across the street. He ducked instinctively and a shot rang out. Chips of masonry erupted from the wall behind him barely a hand's breadth from his head. Splinters of bullet and stone stung his ear and his cheek. There was a high pitched undulating whine as the projectile ricocheted upwards into the spiralling snowflakes. He jumped sideways, sliding on the snow covered cobbles. His heart was hammering in his chest and his eyes were wide with terror. He spun around to see a large puma dressed in red and black armour running directly at him from barely fifty metres away, ghostlike through the veil of snow. In mid stride, the huge cat stuffed a smoking flintlock pistol into his belt and drew another one. His ears were back and his teeth were bared in an angry snarl. He raised the pistol and pointed it in the stranger's direction. In his other paw he gripped a curved sword that glittered darkly in the dull morning light.

The seconds eroded like granite. Out of the corner of his eye, the stranger saw two more guards come running out of the alley he had just exited, swords in hand. There was a loud curse from one of them as he slipped in the fresh snow and went sprawling. The stranger looked around frantically. He was running out of options really fast.

There was a doorway a scant few steps away, and in the space of a heartbeat he sized it up and knew it was his only chance. He gathered his breath and charged right at it, just as another shot smacked into the wall behind him and deflected into the ground by his feet, kicking up a spray of slush. He didn't break stride and as he turned his shoulder to the weathered wood he fervently hoped that it would be the door that gave way instead of his shoulder.

It did. With a great splintering crash, the aged door was torn from its hinges and he went sprawling inside. He thought he felt something go 'pop' in his shoulder. He quickly sprang to his feet and a horrible grimace distorted his face. Pain lanced like fire up his left arm.

In his panicked state, he was barely aware of his surroundings. The fire that crackled cheerfully in the hearth barely registered in his mind before he fled deeper inside the building. The frightened and confused voices that filtered through an open doorway off to his right were ignored. He turned a corner and in his panic nearly collided with a startled fox that was coming to investigate the uproar. The stranger brushed him aside and kept on running. He found a stairway that led up to the next floor and bounded up it three steps at a time. He slid to a halt on the wooden floor, breathless. A long hallway stretched out before him, and three doors were scattered along its length. He paused for a moment and tried desperately to pull himself together. Voices echoed up through the stairwell. One that sounded frightened and questioning and several that were loud and demanding. The sound of running footsteps reached his ears.

He ran for the nearest door and twisted the knob. It was locked. He swore. He ran to the next one and tried it. It swung open with barely a touch. He stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him. He leaned his back against it and breathed deeply for a moment. He had better come up with some sort of plan and quick or else he was going to get a very close and personal tour of the local dungeons. He turned and fiddled with the lock on the door for a moment and then dragged a convenient chair over and wedged it under the door handle. He turned his attention back to the room he had entered. It appeared to be a study or a library of some kind, the sort owned by someone who was fairly well off in the material world. A desk of some dark and expensive looking wood sat in one corner and rows of bookshelves lined the walls. A large window was directly opposite him and he saw much to his relief that it was partly open. He ran over to it and peered out. Snowflakes spiralled down past his head. The window opened up onto an alley and it was only a two and a half metre drop to the snow slickened cobbles but there was one small problem. A figure clad in red and black armour was making his way up the alley towards him. The stranger groaned inwardly and pulled his head back inside. His situation was not getting any better. His eyes flickered around the room until they landed on the ornate pair of marble bookends that rested upon the desk. They looked good and heavy. He picked one up and weighed it in his hand. After a moment of hard thinking, he returned to the window. He was no soldier, and he had never liked hurting anyone but he figured that this time at he would have to make an exception. After all, those that were pursuing him had shown no qualms about trying to hurt or even kill him. He took a deep breath and settled the bookend into his hand. The guard that that been patrolling the alley had taken position just below the window and a few metres off to one side. The stranger drew back his arm and after offering a silent prayer to whatever Gods may be listening, he threw the bookend at the guard with all his might.

The stranger's aim was true and the bookend impacted on the side of the guard's helmet. The guard dropped to the ground, stunned. His sword clattered to the cobblestones and his helmet rolled from his head. The stranger felt a little guilty about having to knock the guard out but he knew he had no choice. He was halfway out of the window when he was distracted by a heavy crash from down the hallway as his pursuing guards kicked one of the doors open. With precious little time to spare, the stranger jumped.

He landed heavily on the slick cobblestones about three metres from the stunned guard. As he regained his bearings he saw that the guard was beginning to stir. In an adrenaline driven blur of action, the stranger jumped up and ran towards the guard's sword but the guard reached it first. The stranger kept right on running and bowled the guard over before he had a chance to regain his feet. The sword was knocked in a glittering arc across the alley. There was a pained yelp from the guard as he and the stranger went sprawling in the snow. The stranger's shoulder shot fire through his body. He cried out in pain but nevertheless, he managed to regain his feet at the same time as the guard did. His mind barely registered the lethal shape of the sword lying in the snow a few scant steps in front of him. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped the blade from the snow and lunged forward to pin the guard to the cold stone wall, pressing the sharp edge to the guard's throat. He drew the sword back, preparing to strike, but stopped cold. The guard whimpered fearfully. Terrified blue eyes met his, and the realization dawned on him that the guard was a she! Those terrified eyes stared out at him from the white furred face of a canine. A trickle of blood dripped down from a patch of red stained fur behind her ear to splatter on her shoulder. She whimpered again, shaking in fear and the stranger's brain turned to mush. He lowered his arm and the sword fell from his suddenly numb fingers and clattered to the ground. He slowly released his grip on the guard and he backed away a few steps. He was so shocked he could do nothing but stare at the canine guard he had so nearly killed.

For a brief moment, their eyes stayed locked on one another's and all else was forgotten. It was a terrible mistake. The stranger knew it as soon as he saw the guard's wide-eyed stare snap upward towards the window that he had jumped out of. He spun around just in time to see the deadly shape of a musket barrel protruding through the open window. Panicked, he tried to run but couldn't gain any footing on the icy cobblestones.

The shot took him in high the left shoulder. He felt the bullet hit and heard the blast of the musket loud in his ears. The impact of the shot spun him around and he crashed into the wall. A cloud of sulphurous smoke drifted down with the snowflakes to blanket him has he slowly slid down the wall, leaving a streak of red on the stone behind him. He was vaguely aware of shouts from the window above. He came to rest on his side in the snow. He moved weakly for a moment, clutching at his wound. His hand came away sticky and red with blood. He began to feel light headed and his vision swam in and out of focus. The cold seeped into him, draining away his last remaining vestiges of strength. Through the haze of pain and shock, he was barely aware of a figure that had come up to kneel next to him. He fought to raise his head and found himself looking into the wary blue eyes of the guard he had attacked. The stranger managed to force a weak smile. "I'm sorry..." he choked out as his consciousness faded.

The last thing he felt before everything faded to black was someone putting a hand on his shoulder.

Dulam Hagarth liked his job, and for good reason. He knew that he was one of those rare individuals who was perfectly suited to the role that they played in society, and that made him happier still. He grinned to himself in the waning evening light, a harsh, toothy grin, and leaned back in his exquisitely tooled leather chair. For a minute or two he stared up at the oaken beams over his head before sighing heavily. The tip of his tail flicked lazily back and forth as he sat deep in thought. His job was not one that required a high level of intelligence, but it was one that required such things as a lust for authority, a desire to intimidate, a certain tenacity and a desire to see justice done. All of those things Hagarth had in some measure, and he knew that as well, for Dulam Hagarth was Captain of the City Guard.

Hagarth leaned forward and arranged some papers on the expansive desk before him. Despite his sharp feline night vision, The rapidly fading light forced him to dig around amongst stacks of papers, boxes of evidence and other paraphernalia that made up the paper trail of law enforcement until at last he found his small oil lamp. He snagged it with a claw and dragged it in front of him. After fumbling with the lamp for a brief moment he finally managed to light it. He grumbled irritably at the stacks of work that sat in front of him as the lamp's feeble glow revealed the full extent of the clutter on his desk. He was in no mood to do paperwork.

While Captain Hagarth may have liked his job, he was, for the most part, just like any other individual. In other words, some days were better than others, and now that he thought about it, this had been most definitely not a good day. He liked to think that everyone under his command worked together as perfectly as a well oiled machine. But in truth, as he secretly knew, even the most well maintained machines will eventually break down. He muttered something under his breath. When that happened, that's when his job held the least amount of appeal for him. He prided himself in the carefully contrived network of patrols and informants that he himself had devised and set up, and he was not a happy person at all when his system broke down, and break down it had, and in a big way. He snarled his annoyance and snagged an offending box off of his desk with claws extruded and tossed it to the side. It impacted the wall with a muffled metallic clank.

Hagarth calmed down somewhat and stared at the stone wall for a moment as he thought over the unusual events of the day. A rogue human, who would have thought. The Pale Ones hadn't been seen in these parts in over a century and the memories of them had been fading into legend, as they should have been, until early this afternoon. There had been a disturbance reported at the stables, and by the time his guards had responded to the alarm, the lone human was on the run, leaving a trail of terrified innocents in his wake. Hagarth himself had responded to the alarm and had seen the creature break down the door of a residence. Both of his hurried pistol shots had only narrowly missed the fleeing human. The human had fled up to the second floor of the residence and barricaded himself in a room. When capture had become imminent, he had then jumped out a window in a desperate attempt to escape and assaulted the guard who had taken up position in the alley. A very dicey situation had resulted. Hagarth bared his teeth in a snarl. Somehow, the beast had wrested a sword away from the guard and had her pinned up against the wall. The guard's sword had been clutched in his right paw and his arm had been drawn back, muscles poised and ready to strike cold steel into the guard's throat. That was the scene that greeted Hagarth's eyes when he thrust his head out of the window from which the human had jumped.

For some strange reason that Hagarth had yet to fathom, the human had not struck out at the helpless guard. In the disconnected, accelerated mayhem that followed, He had clearly seen the creature drop the sword into the snow and back away a couple of paces. The canine lieutenant beside Hagarth had thrust his musket out the window and taken aim at the human. Hagarth recalled seeing the human's head turn up towards him in those last few seconds before the deafening blast of the musket brought an abrupt end to the chase. What he had seen in those eyes still loomed large in his memory. He had seen the pure, undiluted terror of one who was trapped in a situation that had spiralled out of his control and that was something he had not expected. He tapped a clawed finger on the desk while staring at the wall. Humans were a violent and despicable species. They had nearly destroyed this world in ages past and in doing so had condemned themselves to a slow, lingering death. Hate and anger were what the legends told him he should have seen in those pale eyes and he had yet to understand why those emotions hadn't been there. Shortly, he shook his head in dismay and did his best to push his troubled thoughts concerning the human out of his mind. He would get his answers later. Once again he rooted through the clutter on his desk, this time extracting an inkwell and a rather battered quill from the mess. These he set down rather harder than he had to, and a frown settled on his features. He despised writing reports to his superiors even on a good day, and needless to say, this was one report he was not looking forward to writing. With a deep rumbling sigh he searched about for a suitable piece of paper.

Questions would soon be asked. Answers must be given, and answers Hagarth would give. He grinned in the gloom of his office. A large part of his effectiveness as Captain of the Guard lay in his ability to tell his superiors exactly what they wanted to hear. This report would prove difficult, as this was a most delicate situation, but as Hagarth knew well, words could be twisted around to make events appear to have happened they way he wanted them to have happened. Fortunately, few people had seen the human as he had tried to evade the Guard. Hagarth knew well that those few witnesses could be bought or... Convinced of the error in their ways. Evidence could get lost or damaged. Hagarth tapped a claw on the desk. A plan was beginning to form in the ordered depths of his mind. What his superiors didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and he doubted that any of those highborn fools would take the time to investigate his report any further as long it didn't contain any troubling information that affected them directly, and he would make sure that it wouldn't. He snickered slightly as he dipped the quill into the inkwell. He stared into the depths of the shadows in his office for a moment, his paw hovering uncertainly over the rough paper on the desk in front of him. A slow smile grew on Hagarth's muzzle.

In the delightful cool of a late autumn evening, curious shadows were cast against the oaken beams and the stone walls in the office of the Captain of the Guard. The Captain himself sat hunched over his desk with only the feeble light of an oil lamp making sense of light and shadow. All was quiet except for the relentless scratching of pen on paper.

"Hmmm. Yes...."

Constable Annayah Genner sat perched on the edge of the cold steel examination table, only half listening to the middle aged vulpine doctor talk to himself as he examined her. Her head hurt, and she was having trouble thinking clearly. At times, the walls seemed to spin around her before snapping back into place. She clamped her muzzle shut, trying to hold back the nausea that welled up. The nearly overpowering odour of disinfectant chemicals that was ever-present in the Hospital certainly wasn't helping her to feel any better. Her vision swam in and out of focus at random. She gripped the edge of the table tightly and closed her eyes, her claws clattering on the smooth surface. Doctor Garen looked at her with concern. He made a small note on the clipboard he carried. With a gentle paw he pushed her muzzle to the side and explored the wound behind her ear with probing fingers. Annayah gritted her teeth. Doctor Garen hummed thoughtfully. He put his clipboard down on the table beside Annayah and rummaged through the drawers of a nearby desk. After a moment of noisy searching that did nothing for Annayah's headache, he returned with a small pair of scissors and a bottle of disinfectant.

"I'm going to have to clean that cut behind your ear. Would you lie down please?"

Mutely, Annayah nodded and eased herself onto her side. The cold steel table sent chilly fingers through her fur. The room started spinning again.

The methodical snipping of the scissors was the only sound in the room for several minutes. Annayah stared at the wall and tried to clear her mind. Once the snipping ceased she felt the doctor's fingers gently explore the area behind her right ear. She tensed as raw nerve endings voiced their displeasure at being disturbed. There was the sound of a cap being unscrewed from a bottle, then there was the sensation of pressure, and a delicious coolness spread through the wound. The pain dulled slightly. There was a thoughtful grunt from Doctor Garen. "A few stitches should do the trick." He went back to the desk and rummaged noisily through the drawers again. Annayah grimaced. She felt something warm start trickling down through the fur behind her ear.

Doctor Garen returned with sutures and another small bottle. "I'm going to use an mild analgesic to numb the area before I put the stitches in. You shouldn't feel a thing." Annayah nodded. There was the sensation of pressure behind her ear once more. As the minutes dragged on, a tingling numbness spread through the area, and she relaxed somewhat. She wished that Doctor Garen could do the same thing for her entire head.

Annayah felt her fatigue catch up with her. Her eyes opened and closed lazily. She very nearly drifted of to sleep. Doctor Garen's voice startled her back to awareness.

"Can you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

The Doctor chuckled. "Good. I'm all done."

Annayah sat up slowly, blinking painfully in the suddenly too bright lighting in the room. Her headache returned with a vengeance and she grimaced in pain. She looked down at the tufts of white fur scattered on the surface of the steel table with distant apathy. It would grow back, eventually. Her paw went to the bald patch behind her ear. Under her finger pads, she felt naked skin and the bumps from the stitches. She shuddered slightly.

Doctor Garen picked up his clipboard. "I should think that you will recover nicely within a few days," He said as he scribbled some note down. "But until then, I recommend that you get some rest. As of this moment, you are off-duty until I give you a clean bill of health." He looked up from his work. "You are very fortunate. Had you not been wearing your helmet, it is likely that we would not be having this conversation. As it is, you have a serious concussion, and the cut behind your ear needed seven stitches to close." He scribbled something else down and pulled a sheet of heavy paper from the clipboard. This he gave to Annayah.

"Take this to Captain Hagarth. It contains my report of your injuries, your treatment and my recommendations for your recovery. He will need it to authorize your medical leave and disability pay." Annayah took the proffered sheet of paper and held it uncertainly in her paw.

"Now go home. Get lots of rest. I don't want you to do any hard physical labour for at least a week. It would also be a good idea to have someone stay with you for at least the first day or two. Your condition could worsen with little or no warning." Doctor Garen held her gaze for a moment. "If you have any problems whatsoever, make sure you come and see me. If not, come back in a week's time and I will remove those stitches."

"Yes Doctor." Mumbled Annayah. She eased herself off of the table and stood unsteadily. Was the floor moving now too? She groaned and bent over slowly to retrieve her armour from where it lay in a pile beside the table. The stone floor was cold under her footpads. She gathered up her armour in her arms and clutched it to her chest, wincing as she straightened up. Doctor Garen handed Annayah her helmet. It had a sizable dent in the side of it.

"Thank you for your help Doctor Garen."

"That's what I am here for." His voice was soft and there was sympathy in his brown eyes. "Remember, don't hesitate to call on me if you experience any strong side effects from your concussion."

"I'll do that. Thank you again Doctor."

Doctor Garen nodded. "Take care."

Annayah wobbled her way out of the examination room and out into the waiting area. Dizziness and nausea stole over her now that she was back on her feet. There were a few other people waiting to see the doctor but they barely registered to her numbed mind as she stumbled blindly past them and out the door.

Doctor Garen watched Annayah leave and sighed once the door closed behind her. He picked up his clipboard and stared sadly at it for a moment. He frowned and slowly walked out of the room. His head was full of conflicting thoughts and emotions as he walked the short distance to his office. Once there, he sat down heavily at his battered and paperwork encrusted desk. He held up Annayah's medical report and read it over carefully, a sad expression overtaking his vulpine features. The Captain of the Guard himself had ordered that there would be no paperwork. Apparently, someone in places considerably higher up the ladder than he wanted the incident covered up and they didn't want a paper trail that could be followed. For a moment he wondered just what the world was coming to when innocents had to be manipulated to cover up the truth, then he leaned forward and held the edge of Annayah's medical report over the oil lamp on his desk. A tongue of flame leapt onto the paper and black smoke curled up to hug the ceiling. Garen dropped the report to the stone floor and watched sadly as it was consumed by the flame.

It was still snowing.

Annayah stood outside the Hospital, a forlorn figure nearly lost amid the falling snowflakes. Buildings of melancholy grey stone rose up on either side of her, blending in with the overcast sky that darkened by the minute as the light faded. The street was deserted, and only the occasional light burning from behind the safety of a window gave any clue that there was life in what appeared to be a deserted town. She made her way down the empty street, ears back and trail hanging limply behind her, heedless of the cold slush beneath her bare footpads. She paused to lean against the corner of a building and let the world spin around her for a moment. She blinked and shook her head in a desperate attempt to force some measure of stability back into her world. It didn't help much. She groaned and sagged against the cold stone.

Hopefully she would feel better after she got some sleep. Her entire being cried out for the blissful respite that only a good night's slumber would bring. Soon, she told herself, but first she had to go see the Captain, and that was a task she was not looking forward to. A piece of her armour slipped of the top of the pile held in her arms and fell into the snow with a muffled clank. She swore softly and bent down unsteadily to pick it up. She almost lost her grip on the rest of her armour as she did so, but managed to catch herself before she dropped everything. She snagged the offending piece of armour form the snow and straightened up painfully. She readjusted the load in her arms and continued her slow pace towards the Guard House, leaving a trail of meandering footprints in the soft snow.

Annayah blundered in through the main door of the Guard House, shedding water and melting snow onto the floor. She dragged herself over to the office that sat against the back wall of the guard house and stood stiffly at attention in front of the long counter, blinking painfully as her eyes adjusted to the lighting. The feline Sergeant behind the counter looked surprised to see her. He looked her up and down with amusement showing in his green eyes.

Sergeant Taemus Lorwin was a rather typical example of his species. Outwardly, he rather resembled a bobcat, and consequently he was rather shorter in stature than many of the other species that inhabited the city. The tips of his tufted ears were about level with shoulders of the large, wolfish looking canine that stood before him. The stench of wet dog almost made his head spin. At first he was unsure what to make of this rather bedraggled looking individual who carried a load of armour in her arms, and was clad in nothing but her fur. He looked up at her quizzically. He could hear water dripping onto the floor on the other side of the counter. It took him a moment to place her scent in his memory.

"Ah, Constable Annayah. You are... Out of uniform."

He received a grunt in reply. Annayah glared down at him from over the pile of armour in her arms.

Lorwin hesitated briefly. Constable Annayah looked more than a little miffed about something. His eyes went to the helmet that sat on top of the pile of armour and clothes in her arms. His eyes widened when he saw the size of the dent in the side of it. He cleared his throat nervously and his ears sagged a bit. Annayah glared at him impatiently.

"Uh... Captain Hagarth left a message with me that you are to see him as soon as possible." Was that blood he saw that stained the fur behind her ear?

Annayah sighed heavily and nodded. Deflated, she staggered past him without a word. Lorwin relaxed somewhat as he watched her go. He always had been a little edgy around canine types, especially the larger ones. He wasn't sure why, but he was able to breathe a little easier once Constable Annayah was past him and heading down the hallway to the barracks. He craned his head over the counter when a metallic clatter echoed out from the direction she had departed. It was followed by a string of muffled curses. Lorwin's ears went back, and he stared wide eyed down the hall.

Someone is certainly having a bad day, Lorwin thought. He sniffed the air, sorting out the traces of scent that lingered after Annayah had departed. The nearly overpowering odour of wet dog was slowly fading away now, and underneath it he could just barely discern the sharp scent of disinfectant and traces of blood. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. She'd been injured and had been to the hospital, he knew that much at least. There was no mistaking the stomach turning scent of the disinfectant that the local hospital was so fond of using. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to her, then he shook his head and shrugged. It was none of his business, he knew that. If anyone wanted him to know, he was sure he would find out soon enough.

Lorwin sat back in his chair and regarded the ceiling with intense interest for a moment. There were few things he disliked more than the monthly rotation that forced him to work a desk for a week. He sighed and leaned forward to arrange some papers that were strewn across the battered desk in front of him. He picked up the note that the Captain had left for Constable Annayah. Lorwin's green eyes flickered briefly over the Captain's angular script, then he crumpled up the note and tossed it towards the wastebasket on the opposite wall. It bounced off the wall, hit the rim of the metal wastebasket and hopped straight up in the air before curving gracefully back to land in the bottom of the basket with a gentle thud. Lorwin grinned to himself and turned back to his work.

In the cool silence of her quarters, Constable Annayah sat motionless on her bunk. The room itself was not much to look at. It was cramped to say the least, measuring barely three metres by two and a half meters. The walls and floor were of grey stone while the ceiling overhead was of some dark and heavy wood, most likely oak. Her bunk was wedged in one corner of the small room, and took up most of the available space. A battered wooden desk was pushed against the wall next to the bunk. Upon it, an oil lamp cast out a feeble light. A small window interrupted the monotony of the stone wall above the desk. Iron bars bolted to the window frame gave the impression that this tiny room was more a cell than living quarters. An old mirror graced the wall opposite the bed, right next to a rather plain wooden wardrobe that contained Constable Annayah's few worldly possessions.

Annayah'a armour sat in a pile next to her on her bunk. She stared dismally at it, fighting the urge to sweep the whole mess onto the floor and relax into blissful slumber. She slumped forward, her paws crossed in her lap. She sighed. Gods, she needed to rest. She blinked tired eyes and yawned, wincing as pain flashed through her head. She stared at the floor for a moment before she started the laborious process of putting all of her armour back on, a procedure that was so familiar to her that she did it without thinking about it.

An image of the human's face flashed into her mind and Annayah brought a trembling paw to her throat. She screwed her eyes tight shut against the memory of cold steel resting menacingly there. She shuddered and swallowed convulsively. So close to death, and she had been so afraid that her muscles had gone rigid and wouldn't let her do anything. She had waited for the human to thrust his blade forward but she had seen some indefinable expression flicker across his pale features. As he suddenly dropped his sword and backed away, she saw terrified realization in his eyes. An eternal moment had passed between them in that brief second before being brought to an abrupt end by the blast of a musket from the window above. She wondered if she would ever be able to forget the sound of the musket ball impacting flesh. She doubted it, for it was something that would forever be etched into her memories. She stood up slowly and looked herself over in the mirror. She straightened out her breastplate and tried in vain to remove some of the dried blood, her blood, that stained it. She looked back up to the mirror and jumped back with a soft cry welling up in her throat as a ghostly image of the human's terrified face stared back at her before fading into her own image. Her own fear wide eyes stared back at her and her ears were clamped flat back against her head. She raised a paw in front of her face and was fascinated by how it was shaking. She tried all sorts of ways to stop it, to no avail. She hesitantly smoothed down a few patches of her fur and tried to force her ears to stay up. Her paw was still shaking. She clamped it into a fist and let it drop slowly to her side. The human's last words echoed in the empty recesses of her head. I'm sorry. Briefly Annayah wondered what had happened to the human. Chances were that he was dead but she wasn't sure. She had blacked out shortly after the human had been shot and had woken up in the hospital. She would have to ask the Captain about him.

Annayah plucked her helmet from the bunk. She was going to put it on but she looked at the dent in the side of it and tucked it under her arm instead. She pushed open the door of her quarters and made her way down the empty corridor, claws clicking gently on the rough stone floor.

The Captain's office was in the far west wing of the Guard house, some distance away from Annayah's quarters. Annayah stumbled her way down poorly lit corridors, one paw never very far from the wall in case the dizziness overtook her. It seemed like forever before she finally stood in front of the heavy oak door that led to the office of the Captain of the Guard.

Annayah took a deep breath and tried to calm her frayed nerves. She didn't like the Captain very much, she found him to be a rather irritating and arrogant individual, and one who had a bad habit of using his position to his advantage. However he was her superior officer and as such, he had to be dealt with accordingly. She ran a paw over her head before reaching out and rapping her knuckles loudly on the door.

There was a brief pause, then a voice heavily muffled by the thick wooden door said "Enter."

Annayah pushed the door open and made her way into the Captain's office. The door swung closed behind her with a hollow clonk that echoed down the empty corridor.

Annayah strained her eyes into the gloom. The feeble light from a small oil lamp sitting on the Captain's desk provided the only source of light. Annayah gulped nervously. Relics from ancient and long forgotten battles adorned the stone walls and cast grotesque shadows in faint glow from the lamp. After hesitating briefly for a moment, she stepped forward, the cold stone under her footpads giving way to luxuriant carpet. She strode forwards purposefully, and snapped to attention before the expansive wooden desk that occupied the center of the room. Polished wood gleamed in the dim light.

Captain Hagarth was busy scribbling something down on a piece of paper and appeared not to notice her. After a moment of silence that was pierced only by the scratching of pen on paper, he put his quill down and looked up from his work. "Ah. Constable Annayah. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts... Sir."

Captain Hagarth looked at her curiously for a moment then grinned a humourless grin. "I imagine so. It is not every day that one catches a marble bookend thrown from a second story window in the back of the head. It is most fortunate that you were wearing your helmet."

"Yes. Sir."

Captain Hagarth regarded her silently for a moment and scratched one of his ears. "At ease, Constable, and have seat before you fall over."

Annayah relaxed gratefully. "Thank you sir." She manoeuvred herself into the single plain wooden chair that sat in front of the Captain's desk, and sat uneasily on the edge of the seat. Captain Hagarth stood up and stalked around his desk to lean against the front of it and regard her with a piercing amber-eyed gaze. His tail swished back and forth idly. Annayah suddenly felt very nervous.

It was Annayah that spoke up first. "Sir, I have the report here of my injuries from Doctor Garen. He said that you would need it." She held out the piece of paper to the Captain.

"Ah. Yes." He took the report from her fingers and his eyes flickered briefly over it. He hummed thoughtfully. He walked back around his desk and sat down. He picked up the quill, dipped it in the inkwell and scratched down a few notes. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, his face falling into shadow as he leaned away from the light. His amber eyes bored into Annayah‘s soul. "The doctor says that you are off duty until further notice, and who am I to argue with him?" The briefest of smiles graced Hagarth's muzzle before fading away. "Your disability pay will be two thirds of your normal salary, and you are to get as much rest as possible."

"Thank you sir."

"Now, on to more important things." Hagarth leaned forward in his chair expectantly. "What do you remember about the incident?"

Annayah shifted uneasily. "Most of it... Sir. I remember Sergeant Juneau ordering me to take up position in the alley behind the house. I remember being stunned by a blow to the back of my head. I remember..." Her voice faltered and her ears snapped back. She swallowed nervously and began again. "I remember scuffling with the human and then somehow he managed to get my sword. The next thing I knew I was pinned up against the wall and he had the blade at my throat." She began to tremble. "I thought for sure I was dead, but he dropped my sword and backed away. Then there was the shot from the window above." She paused for a moment, collecting herself. "I went up to the human as he lay bleeding in the snow. He said "I'm sorry". After that I must have blacked out because the next thing I remember I was in the Hospital."

Captain Hagarth stared at her curiously for a moment before speaking. "Yes, you did black out. We had to carry you to the hospital. We were quite worried about you for a while there. The Doctor originally thought that your injuries were far more severe than they turned out to be. Fortunately it would appear that you will be fine after a week or so." He grinned.

"I hope so sir." Was Annayah's quiet reply.

Hagarth grinned in the dim light of his office. "That makes two of us." He said. He paused for a moment before continuing. When he spoke again, his voice had a dark edge to it. "This incident involving the human has stirred up a veritable hornet's nest of activity and inquiry. A cover story has been prepared that states that you were attacked by a puma who was being pursued for assaulting another member of the Guard." Hagarth paused for a moment and stared coldly at Annayah. "At no time and to no one are you to mention that there was a human involved. Ignoring this order will result in severe penalties. Do you understand me Constable?"

Annayah‘s ears went back. "Yes sir."

"Good. I won't keep from your rest any longer Constable. You are dismissed. I will have someone check on you in the morning."

Annayah stood up slowly. "Thank you sir." She paused uncertainly for a moment. "If I may ask sir, what happened to the human?"

The briefest hint of uncertainty flickered in the amber depths of Hagarth's eyes and his tail gave a sudden jerk. He grinned at her, a toothy warning grin. Annayah gulped nervously. "He is dead. Do not concern yourself further with such thoughts. Now go."

"Yes sir." Annayah saluted hurriedly and turned and fled the office as fast as possible.

Captain Hagarth leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin with a paw while deep in thought. After a moment he leaned forward and picked up Constable Annayah's medical report. He studied it in detail, noting at the very bottom of the page, scrawled in the Doctor's rather poor handwriting, the prearranged code that they had decided upon that meant that the Doctor's copy of the report had been destroyed. Hagarth smiled to himself. Thus far, his plan was going ahead smoothly. He crumpled up his copy of the report and tossed it into the wastebasket beside his desk. He would take the contents down to the incinerator later.

Hagarth flipped open his file on Constable Annayah and leafed through it slowly. She was a relatively recent addition to his force, having only been employed for ten months. She was a newcomer to the city as well. His records showed that she had come from the frozen northern reaches of the land, one of the very few Wolven who made the long journey away from their tight knit clans and well established territories. Hagarth grunted thoughtfully. She had no relatives in the city, or within five hundred kilometres of it for that matter. She had few friends within the Guard and none without. She kept to herself for the most part, a quiet, rather introverted individual who would be missed be very few people indeed, should something happen to her.

A thoughtful frown settled on Hagarth's features.

He would have to keep a very close eye on her. She remembered enough about the incident with the human to pose a serious threat to his plans should she start digging around. He mulled over certain possibilities for that scenario in his head. He could try to buy her loyalty, but from what he knew of Wolven, they were notoriously honourable and would seldom stoop to accepting a bribe. If that were the case, well, being a Guard was not without it's dangers. Constable Annayah could suffer some sort of... Accident. Sure, her clan might be a little upset, but such were the perils of a Guard's life...

Hagarth stood up and moved over to the window behind his desk. He looked out over the quiet city, paws clasped behind his back. It would not do to let this incident with the human get out of the bag, so to speak. Not only would it create an uproar among the inhabitants of his beloved city, it would likely mean the end of his job or even, depending on how upset his superiors in the palace became, his life. He would not let such a thing happen. His eyes went to where Annayah's file lay open on his desk. No, he wouldn't let it happen, even if it meant having to rub out a few individuals who were guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Hagarth turned his attention back to the city before him, a shadowy figure barely seen against the backdrop of dark sky and melancholy stone buildings.

The light from a flickering torch some yards away glistened on wet stone walls. The air was dank and stale, hinting at ages of stagnation in these dark depths. Water dripped from the low ceiling somewhere nearby, punctuating the gloom with rhythmic consistency. Unseen things scurried underfoot, rustling and squeaking away to dark corners.

Grotesque shadows were cast along the walls of the corridor, twisting and writhing with the flickering light. A deep and heavy metallic clank boomed down the passageway, the echoes fading into a silence so deep as to make one question if sound was more than a dream. The sudden rattle of a key in a lock rang out harsh and brittle in the stagnant air.

Two voices were heard from farther up the passageway, magnified and distorted by the twisted tunnels of this gloomy subterranean labyrinth.

"How is your patient Doctor?"

"Unconscious for the moment sir. I have managed to stop the bleeding but its wounds are rather serious and it has lost quite a lot of blood."

"What are the chances that it will survive?"

"About fifty percent, I would think. As long as the wounds do not get infected I believe it should pull through given enough rest and the right treatment. I should know for certain within the next few days."

A thoughtful grunt echoed into the dark depths of the labyrinth.

"Assuming that it does survive, how long will it be until it is well?"

"I should think at least a month sir, possibly even two. Even then it will be quite weak for some time until it regains some strength."

"Fine, fine. That should pose no problems."

"But sir, how am I to keep such a creature hidden? Its stench soon permeates the area where it is kept. People are bound to ask questions--"

"You are a resource individual Doctor, I am sure that you will devise a way to keep your activities hidden without much problem."

"But sir--"

The other voice cut in, harsh and sinister.

"No buts Doctor. Keep the creature hidden otherwise there will be... Repercussions. You wouldn‘t want that to happen now would you?"

The reply echoed down the tunnel, quiet and submissive.

"No sir."

"Good, good. Keep me informed of the creature's status."

"Yes sir."

The clatter of claws on worn stones trickled down the corridor, and the shadows flickered and shifted as the torch was plucked from the wall. The sound of footsteps was loud in the gloom at first, but slowly faded into the distance. The flickering torchlight fled with the footsteps, followed always by the clutching fingers of the darkness creeping along the walls.

A pressing blackness settled over the tunnels, draining away all sense of being and paralysing the mind.

Water dripped, suddenly sounding very loud in the confines of the dank corridor. Something scratched hideously in the black.

An agonizing scream rang out from deep in the bowels of the labyrinth. Muffled by the earthen walls, it echoed through the maze of tunnels, finally trailing into nothingness as the silence clamped down.

Annayah awoke to someone pounding on the door to her quarters. She groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. She was sure that her head would soon split in two if the noise didn't stop.

The thick wood muffled the voice on the other side of the door. "Annayah! Are you okay in there?" There was some more hammering. The heavy door rattled on its hinges. "Annayah!"

Annayah threw her pillow to the side, anger suddenly flaring up. "I'm awake already! For crying out loud will you please stop pounding on my door!" She blinked rapidly as the light assaulted her eyes and pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing as pain stabbed through her head. She stayed in that position for a moment, trying to pull herself together. She yawned and stretched tentatively, trying to brush away the last remnants of sleep that fogged the space between her ears. The pounding on her door ceased abruptly.

Grumbling a bit to herself, she pushed herself to her feet, wondering why the cold stone floor seemed to be moving under her bare footpads. She squinted in the too bright light of morning and stumbled unsteadily in the direction of the door, almost tripping over pieces of armour and clothes scattered about on the floor. She swore under her breath and lashed out with a foot. Metal rattled on stone as her helmet bounced across the room. She limped the rest of the way to the door. After fumbling with the lock for a moment she pulled the door open a crack and glared through, ready to tear a strip out of the unwelcome noisemaker.

The worried face of a young female coyote stared back at her. "Annayah! Thank the Gods you're okay. You really had me worried. The Captain sent me down to check on you. He told me what happened yesterday and when you wouldn‘t answer me I feared the worst."

Annayah exhaled and slumped against the wall. "Kalya, did you have to be so loud about it? I swear that my head's about to split open."

Kalya's eyes widened "Sorry! I didn't realize--"

"Kalya." Barked Annayah. "Don't worry about it." She blinked painfully. ‘What time is it anyway?"

"Almost noon"

"Noon?" Annayah groaned and her shoulders and tail sagged. She stumbled back into her room, tail dragging limply behind her and sat down heavily on her bunk. Kalya cautiously pushed open the door. She closed the door behind her and stood uneasily, tail wagging tentatively and surveying the scene of disarray that was Annayah's room. She looked over to where Annayah was sitting morosely on the edge her bunk, holding her head in her paws.

"Are you sure you're okay Annayah? You look terrible."

"I feel terrible. This headache won‘t go away and I keep reliving the attack every time I close my eyes." She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Kalya nodded sympathetically. "Do you want me to leave you alone so you can try to sleep some more?"

"No." Annayah yawned again and grimaced as pain spiked behind her ear. Her paw involuntarily rose to her wound. She pulled her paw back and examined the flecks of dried blood that clung to her fingers. "No. I need something to distract me from thinking too much about yesterday. Besides, I am getting a bit hungry."

"Well, if you get yourself straightened out in the next few minutes we should still be able to get lunch in the mess hall."

Annayah grunted something and pushed aside some of the mess on the floor with her foot. She bent over slowly and picked up a rather dirty and stained jerkin. She held it at arms length, sniffed at it, shrugged and pulled it over her head.

Kalya's ears wilted in surprise. "You're not gonna go out like that are you?"

Annayah glared at her. "Why not?"

"I mean... It's just that you look you got beat up and then passed out in an alley somewhere."

Annayah barked a laugh and grimaced as her headache flared up. "That's pretty close to the truth." She put a paw to her forehead and screwed her eyes tight shut for a moment. "Believe me when I say that I couldn't care less what I look like today."

Kalya walked over and sat down beside Annayah on her bunk. "Will you at least let me help you straighten out that thick pelt of yours? It looks like you went to bed soaking wet."

"I did." Annayah stifled a yawn. "I ended getting pretty much soaked what with the fight in the snow and the walk back from the hospital. After I met with the Captain, I was so tired that I pretty much fell into bed. Too bad I couldn't get to sleep." Her head hung despondently and she crossed her paws in her lap.

Kalya put a paw on Annayah's shoulder. "You'll feel better after you get some hot food into your belly. Come on, I'll help you get combed out."

"Okay." Annayah nodded, still looking at the floor. Kalya reached past her and grabbed a large silver comb from the desk beside the bunk. She motioned for Annayah to turn to the side. She pulled the dirty and stained jerkin over Annayah's head and threw it back among the clutter on the floor. Slowly and starting with her claws Kalya began to straighten out some of the tangled spots in Annayah's thick pelt.

Once the really tangled spots had been smoothed out somewhat, Kalya picked up the silver comb and began to gently stroke it through Annayah's coat, starting between her ears. Kalya was careful when the got to Annayah's wound. She sucked in a sharp breath when she reached the spot where Annayah had been injured. The sight of mottled blue and black skin creased by an angry red cut made her slightly queasy. Kalya did her best to carefully comb the dried blood out of the fur at the edges of the jagged wound. Annayah winced when she tugged a little too hard at a matted patch.

"Sorry."

Kalya continued on, combing through the thick ruff around Annayah's neck and shoulders. It wasn't long before Annayah's tense muscles began to relax under Kalya's gentle grooming. Kalya smiled and her tail wagged gently. She was happy to see some of her friend's tension melt away. That was the thing about grooming, especially between canines. It helped to relax both individuals and strengthened the bonds of friendship between them.

Down, down, Kalya stroked the comb, working out a rough patch between Annayah's shoulder blades. Annayah let out a groan of what sounded like pure pleasure and her tail thumped against the bed. Kalya giggled.

"Feeling a bit better now are you?"

"Mmmmmhmmmm..." Annayah's tail wagged harder. Kalya's grin widened.

Kalya had always been amazed at how thick and luxuriant of a coat Annayah had. She had never met a member of the Wolven species before Annayah joined the guard, and she wondered if all Wolven had such wonderfully thick pelts. Wolven were rare this far south, most of them preferring to stay far to the north and away from the big cities.

Annayah had never answered her questions as to why she had left her family and clan. Whenever Kalya brought up such things, Annayah would either change the subject or become quiet. Kalya sensed a deep sadness from her friend at those times, and she guessed that whatever it was that drove Annayah away from her home, she wasn't ready to deal with it yet. Kalya sighed as she continued to pull the comb through Annayah's coat. A pain shared is a pain lessened, and Kalya hoped that someday Annayah would tell her what it was in her past that had forced her to leave her old life behind and start a new one among strangers.

Kalya started combing through the wealth of thick fur that was Annayah's tail and tried to concentrate on the job at hand. The next few moments passed in silence.

"There you go, all done." Kalya said brightly as she combed straight the last few tangles in Annayah's tail.

Annayah turned to face her friend and wagged her tail. "Thanks Kalya." She said quietly.

"Hey, isn't that what friends are for?" She smiled and gave Annayah's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Come on, let's get you into some clean clothes and get down to the mess hall before the food's all gone." She handed the comb to the wolf who began to brush out the tangled fur on her chest and stomach.

Kalya stepped gingerly over the chaotic mess strewn about the floor and pulled open Annayah's wardrobe. One of her ears wilted when she saw that there was practically nothing in it. She hummed thoughtfully for a moment before reaching in and grabbing one of the few articles of clothing that lay neatly folded on the shelves. She shook it out and examined it with a critical eye.

"One of these days you and I are going to go out shopping." Kalya shook her head as she examined the plain tan jerkin she held in her paws. "How are you supposed to attract a good looking male when you don't have the right clothes?"

"Kalya--" Annayah began, but Kalya interrupted her with a wave of her paw.

"I know, I know. You don't want to hear it." Kalya shrugged. "I'm just trying to help. I hate to see you spend so much of your time alone." She tossed the jerkin to Annayah.

Annayah caught the piece of clothing awkwardly. She finished combing out the last few tangled patches in her luxurious white pelt before she pulled the jerkin over her head. She ignored Kalya for a moment and began searching through the clutter on the floor, looking for her belt.

"I don't mind being alone Kalya." Annayah said quietly. She located the end of her belt protruding from a pile of discarded clothing and pulled it free.

"I don't believe that, not for one minute."

A pained expression clouded Annayah's face for a moment before she turned away from her friend. She stood up and faced the mirror. She fastened the belt around her waist, smoothed out her jerkin and then brushed a paw over her head. She sighed. "Believe what you will, but there are times when being alone is the right thing to do."

"Do you really believe that?" Kalya asked, shocked that her friend would say such a thing.

Annayah stood silently for a moment, head bowed and staring at the floor. When she spoke again there was a pained edge to her voice. "Kalya, please. Now is not a good time to talk of such things." She looked pleadingly at her friend. There was a sadness that lurked in her eyes that Kalya had never seen before. Her ears wilted and she clenched her jaw.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't Kalya. Someday I'll tell you why I feel the way I do, but not today." Annayah sighed and shook her head. "Let's go get something to eat while there‘s still something left in the mess hall."

Kalya nodded. She pushed the door open and held it for Annayah. "Hopefully we'll both feel a little better after we get something to eat." She wagged her tail.

Annayah smiled, if only for a brief second, but it was enough to make Kalya grin in return. "Actually, I don't know about that. Considering the quality of the food that is usually served in the mess hall, we'll likely feel worse."

Annayah chuckled at her friend's attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah, that's true enough. The slop they serve there is hardly food by any stretch of the imagination."

Kalya laughed brightly as she walked down the hall. Annayah trailed behind her. "Kind of makes you wonder why we keep eating there doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess we must like torture or something."

Laughter echoed down the corridor as Kalya and Annayah rounded a corner and passed out of sight. Silence once again crept back to smother the hallway with a gentle caress. After a moment of inactivity, a short figure detached itself from the shadows of a nearby doorway and stepped out into the hall. It paused, ears twitching this way and that, and sniffed the air carefully for a moment. Satisfied that it was alone it moved purposefully after the two canines.

The mess hall was crowded by the time Annayah and Kalya arrived. There were only a few vacant tables and there were a considerable number of people waiting in line for food. Amid the clank of plates and the susurrus of background conversation, the two canines wound their way through the crowded mess hall and took up position at the end of the line.

After a few minutes of waiting during which the line had progressed barely more than inches, Kalya sighed impatiently and stood on her tiptoes, craning her head this way and that trying to see what was holding the line up. She turned to Annayah, muttering under her breath.

"Looks like it'll be a while before we get some grub. You might as well go grab a table before they're all gone. I‘ll wait here and get the food."

Annayah shrugged. "Ok. Grab me a bowl of soup or stew or whatever they have."

"Will do."

Annayah wound her way through the mess hall, feeling strangely disconnected from her surroundings. The people she passed seemed to be no more than intangible shadows. Fragments of conversation washed up against her hearing like waves on a lakeshore. Dizziness suddenly swept over her and she reached out a paw to a nearby table to steady herself. The two vulpines that occupied the table looked at her curiously but said nothing. She shook her head and blinked. The world twisted and bent around her and she stumbled blindly away, heedless of the questioning whispers exchanged behind her. Spots swam before her eyes as she desperately sought an empty table.

She walked right into one and was almost knocked over as it caught her in the hip. Claws scrabbled on wood as she clutched desperately at the edge of the table. She stood unsteadily for a moment before sitting down hard on the plain wood bench. She breathed deeply for a moment, trying to force some stability back into her world. She almost went over backwards off the bench when the room took a sudden spin. She leaned forward and cradled her head in her paws. She clamped her eyes tight shut and a small, dismal groan escaped her. Nausea welled up and she coughed and bit back the bile. She sat unmoving in that position for several minutes, waiting, hoping that her queasiness would soon pass. The idea of food was momentarily forgotten.

Annayah's nose registered his scent before any of her other senses clued in to the fact that someone had stopped by the table where she sat.

"Hello Doctor." She said miserably. She didn't look up.

There was a pause. "Annayah, you don't look so good." He sounded concerned.

"Really?" She said sarcastically. "I don't feel so good either."

She heard the bench across the table from her creak as the Doctor sat down. Something clanked onto the table and the tantalizing scent of stew wafted over to her. Her mouth began to water despite the way she was feeling at the moment.

"Symptoms?" Doctor Garen asked, taking a large spoonful of stew from the bowl in front of him.

Annayah looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. "Dizziness, nausea, and a pounding headache." She rubbed her temples. "I was so light-headed there for a moment I thought I was going to black out."

Doctor Garen chewed his stew thoughtfully for a moment. "Side effects of your concussion I suspect."

"Yeah, not to mention that I hardly got a wink of sleep last night."

Garen grimaced. "I doubt that has helped your condition much." He put his spoon down and propped his elbows on the edge of the table. He interlaced his fingers and looked at her, sympathy evident in his eyes. "You need rest Annayah. You will recover much faster that way. Stop by my office this evening and I will give you something to help you sleep should the insomnia plague you again tonight."

Annayah nodded. "Thanks Doctor, I'll do that."

The next few minutes passed in silence. Annayah's queasiness began to slowly fade and she felt a little bit better, almost hungry even. Doctor Garen ate his stew slowly and methodically. A few nameless and faceless people passed by the table, unheeded by Annayah as she sat hunched forward, head in her paws. She stared hard at the dark, grainy, tabletop and breathed deeply, seeking to quell the last remnants of her nausea. She coughed a bit and groaned. Doctor Garen eyed her carefully for a moment before his eyes shifted to look past her shoulder.

An arm snaked into to view and a bowl of stew with a spoon poking out of it was plonked down in front of Annayah‘s nose. She stared at it from a distance of a few inches and wondered what concoction of mystery meat and vegetables the cooks had come up with this time. Steam wafted up from the bowl and she inhaled deeply. It actually smelled pretty good. The salty aroma went right to her head and flipped a switch labelled ‘hungry‘. The knot in her stomach loosened somewhat and she felt a bit better. She stirred the mystery stew, releasing a fresh cloud of steam and picked out a sizable chunk of something unidentifiable. She eyed it suspiciously. Kalya sat down on the bench beside her.

"Feeling any better yet?" Asked Kalya.

"A little bit."

"That's good." Kalya took a bite of her stew. She stopped chewing momentarily and a thoughtful expression crossed her face. She shrugged and continued chewing. "I've had worse." She said after swallowing.

A smirk appeared on Doctor Garen's muzzle at that comment. Annayah took a tentative bite of the mystery chunk and chewed cautiously. Kalya was right about one thing, she'd had far worse food served here.

"So, are you going to introduce me to your good-looking friend here?" Kalya asked in between mouthfuls. There was a sparkle in her eyes and a smirk crept along her muzzle. Garen's head snapped up and he raised an eyebrow.

Annayah shot Kalya a warning look. She gestured across the table to the fox who was watching the two canines with amusement. "Kalya, meet Doctor Garen, the one to whom I owe my thanks for patching me up after yesterday's... Incident. Doctor, this is my friend Kalya." She paused and glanced sidelong at her friend. "Watch her carefully. She's a bit excitable at times and is something of a joker."

The coyote wagged her tail and grinned. Annayah glared at her. Doctor Garen chuckled and shook his head.

"Pleased to meetcha Doctor." Kalya extended a paw across the table. "You have my thanks for looking after my friend here."

Garen shook the proffered paw. "Just doing my job." He smiled warmly. "It's good to meet you Kalya."

"Annayah will be okay won't she?" Kalya asked after another spoonful of stew.

"She should be, yes, though I suspect she will suffer from headaches and occasional spells of dizziness over the next few days." He paused and spooned more stew into his mouth. Kalya nodded. "She's quite fortunate." The Doctor continued after a moment. "It's a good thing your guard helmets are as tough as they are. I shudder to think of the injuries that Annayah would have sustained had she not been wearing it." He shook his head and stared into his bowl of stew. It was nearly empty.

"Yeah, you should see the dent in the side of mine." Muttered Annayah as she sat hunched over her bowl of food. Her stomach still hadn't figured out what to make of the mystery stew and was gathering its forces and threatening rebellion.

Kalya glanced at the miserable wolf next to her and her expression softened. "Yeah, those helmets are pretty strong but they chafe like you wouldn't believe, especially around the ears." She shrugged. "Still, that's better than having your skull split by an errant chunk of stone."

"That it is." Doctor Garen scraped the last remnants of unidentifiable goop from the bottom of his bowl and spooned it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and swallowed, a rather strange expression crossing his face. He pushed the empty bowl away from him and leaned back. He patted his belly. "Not the best stew I've ever had," he remarked, "but filling at least."

He stood up and picked the empty bowl from the table. "I apologize for being so abrupt, but I must depart. I have business with Captain Hagarth shortly and I do not wish to be late. I'm sure you now how he is with such matters." He grinned.

"Oh yeah." Kalya nodded, a smile briefly appearing on her muzzle. "He's a bit picky in that respect that's for sure."

"Remember to stop by my office at the hospital this evening Annayah and I'll give you something to help you sleep better."

"Thanks Doctor." Annayah mumbled around a mouthful of stew.

"Don't mention it. My door is always open."

"See you later Doctor." Kalya smiled.

With a friendly smile and nod at the two canines, he was gone, weaving his way through the crowded tables. A short figure a couple of tables down paused in the midst of gathering up his empty plate and utensils and let the Doctor to pass behind him. He turned and followed, empty plate in hand and deposited his empty plate on a cart near the door before wandering out into the hallway behind the Doctor.

"A good looking male that one, don‘t you think?" Kalya said thoughtfully while staring at the ceiling. "Even if he is a few years older..."

Annayah didn't hear her. She was staring fixedly back in the direction the Doctor had departed, an expression of confusion plastered on her face. When the doctor had passed by her on his way out, she had caught just the faintest hint of a familiar scent, an odour that jarred her memory. She sniffed carefully, but the scent was long gone, swept away by the olfactory chaos that swarmed through the mess hall. She shook her head, wondering if she had even smelt it to begin with. Uncertainty suddenly coiled in her gut and a veritable storm of thoughts flew through her head.

No, it wasn't possible. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. Yesterday's incident was still too fresh in her mind. After all, the human was dead, wasn't he? She had a sudden flash of memory. Blood leaching into snow, terrified eyes in a pale, furless face...

"Annayah? You okay?" Kalya's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Huh?" She turned to look at Kalya. She shook her head, trying to clear away the sudden unease that gripped her. "Yeah, I'm okay, just thinking." She looked over her shoulder again for a moment. Kalya eyed her curiously.

Annayah turned back to her bowl of mystery stew and ate the rest of it in silence.

The transition to consciousness wasn‘t much of an improvement. It was still dark but this time there was the awareness of it being dark, or at least that was what he thought. He blinked. The darkness didn't change one iota with his eyes closed. He lay quietly, ears straining into the oppressive silence. The only sound he heard was that of his own breathing.

Thinking was not easy. It was like his head was full of same empty blackness that surrounded him. What few thoughts he had oozed through his mind at tectonic velocities.

A groan escaped from him, briefly hanging in the pitch black before being muffled in a manner that suggested thick earthen walls were lurking near at hand. His eyes darted to and fro, probing the crushing darkness.

Was he imagining it or was there the faintest suggestion of a door to his left? He thought that he could just barely discern where a few stray photons leaked around the edges of something rectangular only to be devoured by the ever-present black. There appeared to a small square opening three quarters of the way up the rectangle. He thought he saw bars across it.

Cell... The word crawled through his mind like an ice age. He was in a cell.

He tried to lift his arms. Pain lanced through his shoulder and he cried out. His yell was strangely muffled in the depths of the cell. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He couldn't move his arms. He was bound to whatever it was that he was lying on. He kicked his legs futilely. He could feel the heavy leather straps bound around his ankles. Fear seeped into the cracks in his mind. Why was he tied up?

"Hello?" He croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat felt drier than desert sand. He swallowed convulsively. His ears rang in the silence.

"Need help..." He mumbled, struggling weakly against his bindings. Fire shot through his shoulder again. He gasped and screamed out in agony.

His yelled echoed through empty corridors. Torches flickered and sputtered. Rats paused in the uncertain light and cocked tiny ears. The scream faded into the earthen walls and an uneasy silence settled over the tunnels. The rats went back about their business, scurrying into shadowy corners.

After Annayah and Kalya finished eating, they walked back to Annayah's quarters. There they said their goodbyes and parted company. Kalya's duty shift began within the hour and she to go get ready for work. She promised that she'd stop by again in the morning to see how her friend was doing.

With that, Annayah was left alone again and at a bit of a loss as to what she should do. She shouldered the door to her quarters aside and sat down on the edge of her bed. Normally she would be out patrolling the streets at this hour. In a way, she was glad that she didn't have to go through her normal ten hour duty shift. Her headache was still pounding in her ears and she was grateful that she didn't have to go out and patrol the streets. The mystery stew that she'd had for lunch had settled rather uncertainly in her stomach and she was beginning to wonder whether it would be content to stay there or not. She yawned and winced slightly. She relaxed a bit and stared at the wall for a couple of minutes. Even though she wasn't feeling all that well, she still missed the daily drudgery of her regular shift. Boredom crept up on her far too easily when there was little for her to do and there was nothing to distract her from the silent loneliness that surrounded her when her work was done.

Annayah pushed herself to her feet and adjusted her jerkin. She stepped over the chaos strewn about the floor of her quarters and stood in front of the old mirror that hung upon the stone wall. She took a long and hard look at her reflection. She turned her head to the side and flicked her left ear. The bald patch behind her ear held her gaze for a moment. She stared at the angry red lump and the neat line of stitches that crawled across it, thinking of how much worse it could have been. She sighed and sat back down on her bed again. Why she had come to this city, a place so far away from her home and kin and taken a job that was nine tenths boredom and drudgery and one tenth frantic excitement was something she had always wondered about. She could have stayed with her clan, she knew that. It wouldn't have been easy but at least she would have had the company of friends and family instead of the isolation of a city full of strangers. She wondered what her mother and father would think of the life that she lived now.

With a sigh and a twitch of her tail, Annayah dropped her head into her paws and stared at the floor. She had to do something to distract herself otherwise she would soon go crazy. She glanced around at the chaos that ruled her quarters. She could do some cleaning but she couldn't find the energy to do it. She stifled another yawn. She really should try and get more sleep. She remembered that the Doctor had said to come by and see him if she needed something to help her sleep and after last night's fruitless attempts at slumber she decided that she would take him up on that offer.

The hallways were deserted as Annayah stepped out of her room. She padded quietly down the empty corridors, her sensitive ears picking up the occasional murmurs of voices from behind closed doors. She reached the main hall, waved at the rather confused looking coyote who sat behind the front desk and was out the front door before he could ask where she was going.

The snow that had fallen the day before had nearly all melted away and puddles of murky, slushy water sat on the cobblestones. Here and there a solitary figure or two slogged their way through the slush. A cart drawn by two horses rattled by, kicking up a spray of mud that nearly hit Annayah. She growled and muttered something nasty about the driver of the cart and turned down the narrow street to find the hospital.

The sun was hidden from view in an overcast sky that threatened to drop more moisture on the city below but apparently was waiting until it had decided whether it would be rain or more snow, or both. Annayah looked up at the sky as she picked a path along the edge of the muddy street. She really missed the snow. The stuff they got down here was usually more rain than snow and it never stayed on the ground for very long. She missed the dry, fluffy snow of her home territory, the stuff that used to get so deep that the drifts could reach to more than a person's height. An ache grew in her heart as she thought about old times. She even missed the biting cold that came with the winters up north. No matter how cold it managed to get down here, it was never enough to penetrate her thick pelt. Even on the coldest days, when most of the residents of the city stayed indoors, Annayah would go out on patrol, revelling in the silent solitude of the deserted streets and thoroughly enjoying the winter weather. Her friends and co-workers thought her insane for even venturing outside on days like that, but once they saw how thick her pelt became during the winter months, they had left her alone to do what she wished. She was, after all, a creature of the north. The deep snows and the frigid cold of the dark northern winters were what she was made for. She had the large feet and paws that were so typical of her species to help support her weight in the deep winter snows. Her pelt was pure white, long and thick with tough guard hairs to keep the elements out and a thick, woolly undercoat to keep her body heat in. Most of the species this far south were adapted to warmer weather. Their pelts were shorter and not as dense. She always thought that such pelts made their owners look scrawny, almost sickly, but she soon learned the advantages to a thinner pelt once the heat of summer arrived.

Annayah smiled to herself as she jumped up on a wooden walkway that ran along the buildings at the edge of the street. She had arrived in this city in the middle of the winter and had not put much thought towards what the summers would be like this far south.

The first taste of summer heat had taken her completely by surprise, especially considering that it hadn't even been summer yet. It had been in mid April, and Annayah had still been in her full winter coat. She'd gone out on her regular patrol but she'd had to return early. By the middle of the day she had been panting so hard that she'd felt like she was going to pass out. The lieutenant that had been in command of her patrol had been concerned and had sent her home. She had returned to her quarters, promptly drank a couple of litres of cold water and spent the rest of the day sprawled panting on the cool stone floor of her quarters, foregoing even the comfort of her bunk in an effort to cool off.

Three days later, she'd begun to shed, badly, her woolly undercoat coming loose in big tufts. She'd tried her best to brush out all of the loose fur every day but there was just too much of it and it was coming out too quickly. Her pelt went from thick and luxurious to patchy and slightly ragged looking in the space of a week as her body tried to rid itself of all of the extra insulation that it no longer needed. It wasn't long before little collections of loose hair gathered in the corners of her room and piled up under her bunk. Everywhere she went, she left a trail of fur behind her and that had caused her no end of embarrassment. She took great pride in her unique pelt and it had hurt when people had pointed and stared, whispering behind her back about people who couldn't take care of themselves. She couldn't help the fact that her body was apparently rebelling against the heat and trying to dump as much fur as quickly as possible and it wasn't like she enjoyed leaving a trail of her white underfur everywhere she went. Being a foreigner had only made matters worse. She'd had no friends among the city dwellers at that time and her appearance wasn't helping her in her attempts to fit in to her new home.

Fortunately, she'd met Kalya during that difficult time. The two of them had been paired together as patrol partners for a one week shift. Kalya had seen Annayah's shedding problem, seen that she was acutely embarrassed about it, and the coyote had offered to help after their shift was over. After a solid couple of hours spend tending to each other's pelts, the two had become fast friends and Annayah was feeling happier and more relaxed than she had in months and looking much better as well.

Kalya turned out to be one of the best friends that Annayah had ever had. The outgoing coyote was always laughing and telling jokes, striving to bring the larger wolf out of her shell and put a smile on her muzzle. Annayah was grateful for such things. She may be Wolven, but she had always been a bit of a loner and had never had a large circle of friends. Her natural shyness and introverted manner normally kept such things out of her reach but having Kalya around made it a little easier for her to interact with people she normally would have avoided. Without Kalya as a friend, Annayah wondered whether she would have gone crazy by now.

Annayah skirted around a particularly large and deep looking puddle that occupied the middle of the street. Her path took her past the mouth of an alley and she reeled at the stench that emanated from it. The odours of stale beer, vomit and urine assaulted her senses and she found it hard to breathe for a moment. She turned her head to the side as her stomach made a quick turn. The mess hall's mystery stew still hadn't settled in her gut and it took her a moment to fight back the nausea. She coughed and breathed through her mouth for a moment, trying to avoid the stench pouring out of the alley. She made a disgusted face as the stench left a sour taste on her tongue. She closed her mouth and tried breathing shallow quick breaths to avoid the horrible smell. She stepped up her pace to try and get away from the stench. Just as she passed around the corner, her sharp sense of smell, even dulled as it was by the disgusting odours that poured out of the alley, picked up a familiar and disturbing scent that she had not come across in a long time.

Wolverine.

Annayah's lips curled up in an involuntary snarl and she stopped just out of sight of the alley. An innocent raccoon that was passing nearby stopped suddenly, stared nervously at her and quickly crossed to the other side of the street before continuing on his way. A low growl built up in Annayah's throat as she craned her head around the corner and peered into the alley. Her blue eyes scanned the shadowy depths of the alley until they located a small figure sitting with its back up against the wall of the alley perhaps twenty spans from the street. It was a rather ragged looking individual, dressed in stained and threadbare clothing. Patches of brown fur stuck out through the holes in its clothing. Annayah risked a deeper sniff of the air currents that curled around her. Annayah's nose told her that this unkempt individual was a male and was most definitely the source of the stench that poured out of the alley. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his head rested upon them. His arms were curled around his head and nothing could be seen of his face. Annayah flashed her teeth in disgust and turned away from the drunk passed out in the alley. Had she been on duty she would have dragged the offender back to headquarters and given him a cell in which to sober up in. She briefly considered taking the wolverine back even though she was off duty but she knew she was in no shape for such a task. Wolverines in general were a difficult species to deal with. They were antagonistic, stubborn and fiercely independent. The were powerfully built for their size and possessed amazing strength. One Wolverine, even drunk, could be difficult for her to deal with on a good day even though she outmassed the person in question by a good thirty percent. On a day like today, where she was on sick leave and not feeling anywhere near well enough to want to deal with a recalcitrant wolverine she did her best to ignore what she had seen and scented in the alley and continued on her way to the hospital. She had enough problems as it was.

Still, the encounter with the wolverine disturbed her. She had never heard of any living this far south. They weren't exactly the types that would be drawn to a life in a large city, they were far too independent and quarrelsome for that. They were notoriously untrustworthy and would do nearly anything as long as they saw some profit in the end result. Annayah made a mental note to investigate the stranger when she returned to work.

The dirty side of city life had been quite a shock to Annayah when she had first moved here. She never would have believed that homeless people would be sleeping on the streets and in the alleys, with nothing but tattered, stinking rags covering their matted and ragged pelts and she never believed that a place could smell so bad. She'd never seen as much crime in her life as she had in the short ten months she had lived and worked in the city. Robberies and assaults were daily occurrences and it seemed like barely a week passed without at least one murder being committed. To Annayah, it was nothing short of unbelievable that people lived and worked in a place such as this where violence was so commonplace that it was ignored by most. Annayah shook her head sadly. This city was a far cry from the quiet, forested lands where she had spent the first twenty years of her life and there were times that homesickness nearly overwhelmed her, times when she really questioned her decision to leave everything behind her and start over. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time but she often wondered whether it wouldn't have been better to stay...

She walked with her head down for a couple of minutes and watched the wet cobbles pass under her feet, almost forgetting where she was going. Her headache began steadily rising in intensity as her feet thumped dully against the wet stones. The overcast sky suddenly seemed brighter than the midday sun and she squinted as the light sent a spike of pain through her head. She stopped to lean against a building and waited for the pain to subside. She closed her eyes and stood there motionless for a moment, leaning her head against the wall of the building. It felt like the world had started spinning around her again. Her stomach did a sudden somersault.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Annayah jumped. She had some of the sharpest senses of out of anyone in the city and it was a rare thing when anyone could sneak up on her without her knowing. She risked a sudden spike in her headache and snapped her head around to see who had startled her.

Doctor Garen stood a few paces behind her, dressed in a dark brown overcoat that made his reddish orange fur seem brighter than it really was. He had a look of curious concern written all over his face.

Annayah closed her eyes and relaxed somewhat. Her heart was still pounding in her ears and each beat made her headache go nova.

"Doctor Garen." She said weakly, her eyes still closed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just heading back to work." He stuffed his paws into the pockets of his overcoat. "What are you doing wandering around out here? You should be in bed getting some rest."

"I'm taking your advice." Garen raised an eyebrow.

"My advice?" He looked confused.

"You told me during lunch that if I couldn't sleep I should stop by your office and you would give something to help me rest."

Garen looked at her evenly for a moment before realization dawned and he broke out into an apologetic grin.

"You're right. I forgot about that." He scratched at the side of his muzzle briefly and sighed. "Meeting with that insufferably arrogant Captain of yours was a distraction I could have done without."

Annayah smiled in spite of herself at the Doctor's remark. The Captain's reputation for arrogance reached far and wide.

"You might as well come in then. There are a few things I have to tend to before I can get you your prescription, but I shouldn't be more than a few minutes." Garen passed by her and entered the doorway of the building she had been leaning against. She stepped back and looked up at the old stone building in surprise. She'd known the hospital had been close by but she hadn't realized that she'd literally walked right into it. She shrugged and followed the Doctor.

There were only a few other people in the small waiting area and Annayah quietly took a seat among them, making sure that several empty chairs were between her and the utterly miserable looking raccoon that sat in the center of the row of chairs along one wall. She leaned back in her seat and let her eyes rove around the room, only half listening to the occasional ragged coughs and sniffles from the room's other occupants. Someone in recent years had tried to improve the feel of the old hospital building. The grey stone that most of the buildings in the city were built from had a cold, lifeless feel to it that Annayah had always found rather to be rather dull. Here, some nameless tradesperson had worked wonders and enriched lifeless stone with deep brown wood panelling and strategically placed lamps of the new pressurized gas design. A long wooden desk sat at one end of the room and the Doctor and his receptionist conversed in low voices behind it, nearly hidden from view behind the stacks of paperwork arranged neatly on the desktop. A few works of art adorned the walls above the leather and wood chairs that lined the waiting area and the room had a warm, cozy feel to it. Annayah felt herself relax a bit in such surroundings. In some ways, this waiting area reminded her of her old home. Her people did not use much stone in their buildings. Wood was the preferred construction material though some stone was used to accent the wood in certain places. An unconscious smile came to Annayah's muzzle as she remembered old times. Her father was a renowned craftsman and carpenter and he took great pride in his work. The home he had built for his family was a spectacularly beautiful place set amongst equally spectacular scenery. She had fond memories of vaulted ceilings with heavy, open beams and of intricate carvings on the walls and railings. The great stone hearth that occupied the center of the gathering area was her favourite part of the house and she had spent many long hours in the company of friends and family in that great room. She remembered the huge trees that surrounded the house and how she used to sit among them at the edge of the small creek that ran beside the house. Even on the hottest summer days it was always deliciously cool down there by the water. She used to spend hours there, listening to the gurgle of the stream and the sounds of nature. She missed that quiet beauty more than anything else.

Annayah watched quietly as the receptionist handed Garen several folders. The Doctor turned away and disappeared through a door behind the desk. Short moments after the door swung closed, the scent of disinfectant chemicals curled out into the waiting area. Annayah wrinkled her nose in disgust. She never understood why a place of healing had to use a disinfectant that smelled so bad. The slightest scent of it made her stomach turn and she wondered how many people ended up feeling worse instead of better after visiting the hospital and breathing such horrible fumes. The raccoon a few chairs away sneezed violently and Annayah turned her head to look at the miserable creature. She began to wonder how many people ended up getting sick after spending time waiting in a room full of other sick people. More than a few, she thought.

The door behind the desk swung open and Doctor Garen stepped out. He was wearing a freshly laundered white lab coat and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck. A folder was tucked under his arm. He spoke a few words to the receptionist and turned to the waiting area.

"Annayah." He beckoned with a paw.

She rose from her seat and padded quietly after the doctor, the soft click of her claws against the floor barely audible among the background noises of the hospital. Someone in the waiting area behind her began coughing wetly and Annayah unconsciously picked up her pace. She was able to breathe a bit easier once the door to the hallway closed behind her.

Garen led her down the hallway and turned off into a small examination room. Annayah recognized it as the same one that she had woken up in the day before. The smell of disinfectant was nearly overpowering and she tried breathing through her mouth to avoid scenting the nauseous fumes. It didn't help much.

Garen motioned for her to sit on the examination table. Annayah thumped herself down on the edge of the steel table and curled her tail around to the side. She straightened out some tangled patches of fur there while the Doctor rummaged noisily through a small cupboard. He apparently didn't find what he was looking for and he let out an exasperated sigh and stepped back a pace. He dropped the folder on top of the small desk under the cupboard and turned to Annayah.

"I'll be back in a minute or two. Somebody has been moving stuff around again."

He was out the door before Annayah could reply. The door swung shut with a heavy clunk and his footsteps faded away quickly as he hurried down the corridor.

It didn't take very long for Annayah to get bored. The table upon which she sat was by no means comfortable and within a minute or two she was on her feet and wandering around the small room. There was little within in it that held her interest for more than a moment or two. There was a large anatomical chart that graced one wall that showed the locations of various internal organs for several different species. She stared curiously at it for a minute before her eyes began wandering around the room again. She stepped over to the cupboard that the Doctor had been searching through and glanced at the contents that lay within it. Bandages, sutures, a pair of forceps that gleamed brightly in the light from the gas lamp that hung over the examination table, a syringe, and a several small glass vials full of unknown liquids. The names scribbled on their labels were long and difficult to pronounce. She turned away and moved back to the table. She drummed her claws on the flat surface in a bored manner. Her eyes went to the folder that the Doctor had left on the desk under the cupboard and she wondered what was in it. She stepped over to the desk and eyed the white folder uncertainly.

Annayah had always been the curious type. As a pup she had gotten her nose into everything and had caused her parents no small amount of aggravation because of it. Now that she was an adult, the old curiosity had died down somewhat but it was by no means gone. She felt the curiosity swell within her as she looked at the folder. Her name was written on the tab in large letters, and she wondered what details concerning her lay within it. She reached out and after a moment's hesitation, she flipped the cover aside.

Several sheets of paper lay within the folder and all of them were covered with the same scrawling, near indecipherable handwriting. She flipped through them quickly, keeping one ear cocked towards the door, listening for signs of the Doctor's return. The folder contained Annayah's medical history from the time she had first enlisted with the Guard. It was rather uninteresting reading. She knew her own vital statistics well enough. There was the report from her initial medical exam, another one from a hot summer day when she had almost passed out from heat exhaustion after chasing down an alleged mugger. The next one made her screw up her face into a grimace. It was a report from when she had gotten severely ill after eating some bad food in the mess hall. A half snarl appeared on her muzzle. She had never forgiven the cook for the pain she had endured those hellish three days. There was another report concerning a minor injury received while on duty and that was it. A frown appeared on Annayah's muzzle. Shouldn't there be a report concerning the injuries she received during the incident with the human? She flipped back through the pages of paper in case she had missed it, but it wasn't there. She raised an eyebrow at that and wondered why. Maybe the Doctor had yet to complete it since she was still being treated. She did remember him scribbling away on a sheet of paper as he had examined her so there should be some record of what had happened to her. Maybe the report had yet to make its way into the folder. She shook her head slightly. That didn't make much sense. She figured that the Doctor would want that report in his records so he could keep track of her progress. She didn't have much time to think of why the report was missing. Her sensitive ears alerted picked up the faint sound of someone walking down the hallway. She hurriedly stuffed the papers back into the folder and returned to the examination table just as she heard the door latch turn.

Doctor Garen elbowed his way through the door, looking slightly flustered.

"Damn that partner of mine, always moving stuff around. You figure the least he could do would be to put things back where he got them from." He muttered. Annayah just smirked.

"Anyways," Garen continued "I'm going to give you a quick check over before I give you your prescription and send you on your way."

"Okay." Annayah shrugged.

"First, let me see how those stitches are holding up." Annayah turned her head to the side. She felt the Doctor's gentle touch on the bare skin behind her ear.

"Nothing wrong there. That should heal up nicely in a week or so. Once your fur grows back in it'll look like nothing ever happened." Garen stepped back. "I recall that you mentioned having headaches and nausea. Are you having any other symptoms?"

"I do get occasional spells of dizziness. I've almost lost my footing a few times because of it."

Garen nodded. "Ah, right. I remember you telling me that as well." He put a paw to his head. "Sorry, I've been a little distracted lately." He smiled weakly. He paused for a moment and clasped his paws behind his back. Annayah noticed that he had yet to pick up her folder from the desk behind him. Every other time that she had ended up in the Doctor's care he had been busily scratching down notes as he had examined her. She wondered why he wasn't doing it this time.

"All of your symptoms so far are classical side effects of suffering a severe concussion. They should fade within a few days." The Doctor smiled weakly again. Annayah thought he looked nervous about something.

"Are you having any ringing in your ears? Numbness in any extremities? Problems with your memory?"

"Not that I recall." Annayah replied after a moment of thought.

"Good." Garen grunted.

"Now, if you could please look up at the light, we can finish up here and you can be on your way."

Annayah lifted her muzzle and stared into the bright gas lamp. The light stung her eyes and brought on a resurgence of her dormant headache. She squinted into the glare. Doctor Garen gently moved her muzzle from side to side, comparing her pupils.

"Good." He nodded in satisfaction. "You'll be fine in a few days. Sometimes after suffering a concussion, the brain can begin to swell or bleed in the affected area. So far I see no signs of that in your case."

Annayah stared at the Doctor intently, not really paying attention to what he was saying. When he had been checking her pupil dilation and had his paw on her muzzle, she had caught the faintest whiff of the same thing she had scented when the Doctor had passed by her in the mess hall a few hours ago. The background stench of disinfectant had nearly masked it from her sharp nose, but in the close quarters of the exam room, she had just been able to pick it out.

The Doctor had been in contact with the human. But the human was supposed to be dead, the Captain himself had told her that he was. Annayah sat quietly, trying not to betray her surprise as the Doctor rambled on. She wanted to ask the Doctor about the human but she recalled his nervous, preoccupied manner. He did endure a meeting with the Captain earlier in the day. It was more than likely that Hagarth had used the same threat on the Doctor as he had on her concerning any information on the human...

Doctor Garen's words brought her back to reality. He was holding up a small glass jar that contained a dark brown substance.

"This," He spoke in a precise, professional voice, "is shredded Valerian root. It will help you to sleep. Just before bedtime, put two small spoonfuls in a medium sized cup. Pour boiling water over them and let stand for fifteen minutes before drinking. It's not the best tasting tea in the world but it's an old and effective sleep aid. Hopefully it will allow you to get some much needed rest." He handed her the vial. The Doctor's scrawling writing graced the label. She tucked it into a pocket just as the doctor held up another vial. "This other vial contains shredded willow bark. Prepare it in the same manner as the Valerian root and it will ease the pain from your headaches."

Annayah accepted the vial gratefully. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now go home and get some rest before you fall over."

Garen picked up the folder from the desk and tucked it under his arm. He held the door open for Annayah.

"Don't hesitate to call on me if you experience any unusual symptoms over the next few days. You're not quite out of the woods yet, so to speak."

"I'll do that. Thanks again for the help."

Garen smiled, a genuine, friendly smile. "Sleep well Annayah." He waved to her as walked down the corridor.

When she had finally disappeared through the door at the end of the hall, Garen sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. He walked slowly and cheerlessly back to his office. Once within the sanctuary of those four walls he sat down heavily in his old chair and stared dejectedly at his paperwork laden desk for several minutes. He had become a doctor in order to help heal people, yet here he was, a party to a scheme where the chances of someone getting hurt through his actions, or lack of them, were very real. What he was being forced to do disgusted him to no end but he had no choice in the matter. There were threats against others who were far closer and more dear to him than that unfortunate young Wolven who was guilty of nothing but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He picked up a small photograph that sat on his desk and a smile came to his face as he looked at it. No matter what transpired in the future, he couldn't let anything happen to those he loved the most.

The old chair creaked as Garen got up and paced around the office, wondering what he should do. Recent events had left him with no appetite for his work, but he had little else but work to distract him from the turmoil that had backed him into a corner. He sat back down and picked a folder from the pile that sat on the corner of his desk and flicked through it, hoping it would provide a suitable distraction.

He chose the wrong folder for that. He had grabbed Annayah's file. He slumped dejectedly in his chair as he leafed through the file. He was about to place the file to the side and pick another but his blood froze in his veins when he realized that the reports within Annayah's folder were in the wrong order. Garen had a meticulous system when it came to keeping his files in order and it was unthinkable that he had left something out of place. Now that he thought about it, he had left the folder in the same room as Annayah when he had gone looking for her prescriptions. There was a chance that she might have looked through it. Had she noticed that her latest report was missing? If so, what did she think about it? Garen shook his head. He was probably just being paranoid. The meeting earlier in the day with Captain Hagarth had left him preoccupied and worried and he might just have been distracted enough that he misplaced one of the reports within Annayah's file. He put the file aside and leaned forward in his chair, cradling his head in his paws. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Why was he the one to have this situation forced upon him? His conscience kept nagging at him to do something about it but his fears about what might happen if he did overruled his desire to do anything but play along.

The creature locked up in the dungeons below the Guard house loomed large in Doctor Garen's thoughts for a moment. People said a lot of things about humans and a lot of those sayings had a degree of truth to them but Garen figured that they had paid a high enough price for the mistakes that they had made in the distant past without being hated as much as they were. They were a dying species and would soon be extinct, what more could people want? The one that Hagarth had chained up in his dungeons was the first seen in these parts in over a hundred years. The Doctor's initial exams had shown him that the human had been in poor health to begin with, apparently a common problem from what little he understood about their species. Fortunately the bullet had hit nothing vital, and had punched a rather clean hole through muscle and bone. The human had lost a lot of blood though and Garen wondered whether the creature would be able to survive its wounds in its weakened condition. He leaned back in his chair and thought intently. For the first time in his life, he was actually considering withholding treatment and letting a patient die. He doubted that the human had had more than a few years of life left before its run in with the Guard. Surely death would be preferable to whatever it was the Captain had in mind for it now.

Garen sighed and pushed himself out of his chair. He picked a folder from the top of the pile on his desk and went on his way to see his receptionist. He had to at least try and get some work done before he went and checked on the human again.

The figure remained hunched motionless over the bar for quite some time, perhaps brooding over the stained and battered surface upon which its arms rested on or perhaps it was just drunk and lost in something that might have passed for thought. The bartender wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Kenham Donwall sighed nervously and turned to pick a mug from the rack of glassware behind him. He slowly and methodically polished it with a somewhat ragged and dirty looking piece of cloth and watched the stranger at the end of the bar out of the corner of his eyes. There were few things made him nervous, but this stranger was one of them. It's unusual, musky scent was permanently etched in his mind, the memories fresh and bright even though it had been many years since he had encountered a member of this particular species. Barely a third of the grizzly bartender's size, the stranger should have been harmless enough to someone with the size and strength of a grizzly bear, yet Kenham was still edgy. He'd been in this business a long time and had seen and dealt with nearly every sentient species that walked the land. He'd learned over the years that wolverines were a difficult species to deal with. Glass clinked as he placed the mug back on the rack. His paw stole to his left forearm and his expression darkened. An old scar lurked underneath the fur there, given to him many years ago by a drunk and belligerent wolverine in a bar at the edge of the mountains that lay far to the west. Kenham had tried to kick the drunk off of the premises but the creature had struggled with surprising strength and had managed to break free of his grasp. A blade had suddenly appeared in its grip and Kenham had barely managed to get his arm up in time to block the blow. The wolverine's slash had cut to the bone and Kenham had never forgotten the bitter, mocking laughter that had erupted from the creature as he had sunk to his knees in pain and tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood that had poured from his lacerated arm. Kenham still remembered the crazed look in its eyes and how the creature had raised his blade again, this time with the intent to strike away his life. At the last moment, shouts were heard behind him and the wolverine had raced away into the night. Kenham vaguely remembered strong hands pulling him to his feet before wave after wave of dizziness swept over him and the world drifted away...

Kenham had spent the rest of the night in the care of the local doctor getting his arm stitched back together. He'd been lucky. The wolverine's strike had cut the major artery that ran through his arm but those who had brought him to the doctor had had the foresight to apply a tourniquet to slow the bleeding. His recovery had been slow and painful and his arm had to be slung and had been pretty much nearly useless for well over a month while tissue and nerves healed and strength returned. That incident had not only scarred his arm but his mind as well and the grizzly had been very wary of wolverines every since that day. Needless to say, he hadn't exactly been happy when this one had walked into his bar a couple of hours ago. Thankfully it had been quiet so far.

The cloaked figure at the end of the bar stirred and a paw clamped the shot glass by its elbow. The glass and its contents disappeared into the darkness beneath the hood. A moment later the now empty glass was thumped back down on the bar. Without a word, the figure flicked the glass with a clawed finger. It slid down the bar and came to a halt in front of Kenham. The bartender sighed and turned to face the racks of bottles on the shelves behind the bar. His paw hesitated for a moment before it plucked a clear, eight sided glass bottle that was slightly less than half full of an equally clear liquid from the shelf. Harsh odours swirled around his head when he uncorked it and carefully tipped the bottle over the small glass. Spilled drops meant a corrosive death for the finish on the bar and Kenham expertly filled the small glass with a steadiness that would have done a surgeon proud. He grasped the diminutive glass between a huge thumb and index finger and ambled his way down the bar to the hooded wolverine. Kenham gently, almost reverentially, set the glass down in front of the wolverine and then retreated quickly to the other end of the bar. The hooded figure nodded once but otherwise made no move. The stranger should be almost dead by now Kenham mused as he shook his head in wonder. He'd seen some hard drinkers in his time but he'd never before seen anyone drink twelve shots of Krimm's Ultimate Brainkiller and remain even partially upright, and amazingly this stranger didn't even seem to be drunk. Kenham shook his head and picked up his old rag. He had one customer who used that stuff to degrease axles and he figured that its effect on brain tissue couldn't be all that much different than its effect on axle grease.

Kenham knew that he should cut the stranger off and send him on his way out into the night but he knew very well that one didn't just ‘cut off' a wolverine, especially one that was twelve shots into the Brainkiller. Such a course of action might prove to be very unwise. Kenham sighed and began to polish another mug. He wasn't exactly sure that he wanted that wolverine to sit there and drink all night either. There was a very real possibility, at the stranger's current rate of consumption, that he might run out of Brainkiller before the wolverine passed out, got in a fight, died, or went completely insane. Knowing the potency of the liquid that the wolverine was drinking, Kenham suspected that some strange combination of all four of those possibilities wasn't completely out of the question. He'd seen that Brainkiller do some strange things to people before. Kenham ground his teeth and polished a stubborn spot off of the mug in his paws. Any way he looked at it, it was going to be an interesting night.

Kenham placed the mug on a rack full of assorted glassware behind him and leaned on the bar for a moment, his eyes roving lazily over the gloomy interior. It was a quiet night and the bar was mostly deserted. A good thing, he thought. That way there would be less people to get in the way if the hard drinking stranger at the other end of the bar came unglued when he finally cut him off the booze. He scratched the side of his muzzle and fought off the sudden urge to pour himself a stiff drink. There was a thump from the other end of the bar and the shot glass skittered down the stained and nicked surface to slide to a halt in front of him. Kenham stared at the empty glass and sighed. The only other three people in the bar talked in low voices at a table several paces away. Thirteen shots deep and that damned wolverine was still going. By all rights he should be a puddle on the floor by now. Kenham refilled the glass and tucked the bottle back into its special place with such care and gentleness that he could have been handling a keg of gunpowder. A voice was suddenly raised in anger at the only occupied table in the bar. Kenham tensed involuntarily and tried to ignore the commotion. Sometimes, as a bartender, you just didn't want to know.

Kenham slowly and carefully brought the drink to the wolverine. A drop of the corrosive liquid spilled from the edge of the glass when he set it down. Kenham grimaced and wiped it up quickly. A whitish circular spot was left behind on the wood. The angry voice continued to vent behind him until it abruptly stopped, apparently mollified by something one of the other people at the table had said. The hooded wolverine nodded to the bartender and pulled his drink closer. Kenham was about to return to the other end of the bar when the stranger spoke.

"Fool should learn when to keep his mouth shut." The voice was coarse, the accent strange, and the words chilled Kenham to the bone. He felt a tingling in the old wound on his arm and he watched apprehensively as the shot glass and its contents disappeared under the hood. There was a brief glance of stained and yellow teeth. One of the lower canines was missing. The glass was thumped back down on the bar, half of its contents missing.

Kenham's couldn't shake the chill that lurched up his spine. He waited uneasily for the stranger to continue talking but he remained silent and motionless. As a bartender, Kenham had to be a good listener but he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear anything that this particular person had to say. After a moment where he began to wonder if the nearly lethal dose of Brainkiller consumed over the last two hours had finally caught up with the wolverine, Kenham returned to his post at the other end of the bar. He sensed trouble brewing and his paw involuntarily went to the stout oak club that lay hidden underneath the bar. The smooth wood reassured the grizzly to some extent and he really hoped he wouldn't need to use his old friend tonight. He sighed and leaned his elbows on the bar. The wolverine was silent for the moment, or maybe it had finally passed out, it was hard to tell. There was little else for Kenham to do so he bent an ear towards the other three people in the bar.

"I'm telling ya, whatever 'twas I shot it sure as hell wan't one of us." The coyote thumped a fist against the stained table and took a long swallow from the mug of ale clenched in his other paw. His companions, a male grey fox and bobcat, looked on bemusedly at the inebriated canine.

"If it wasn't one of us, what was it then?" The bobcat spoke up, a mocking smile creasing his muzzle.

"I dunno." The coyote said, his voice muffled by the mug of beer he had raised to his mouth, "but it was uglier den anything I ever seen before." He set the mug down on the table with a thump and swayed slightly in his chair. The grey fox smirked and shook his head.

The coyote stabbed a finger towards him. "Wassa matter? You don't believe me?" The coyote was almost yelling at this point. His vulpine companion leaned back and waved his hands placatingly.

"Hey, the captain told us it was some crazed puma. Maybe he was drunk or something." The bobcat snickered and took a small sip of his drink.

The coyote's eyes crossed as a fly buzzed in the vicinity of the end of his muzzle. He swiped a paw at it and nearly fell out of his chair. The fox leaned back in his chair with a smirk on his muzzle and shook his head.

"Wan't no puma." The coyote said indignantly, and waved his nearly empty mug around wildly. "No fur around its eyes and nose, not even on its paws. Had no tail either. ‘Twas a big bastard though, bigger even than the Captain and it stunk like you wouldn't believe."

"Maybe he had mange." The bobcat said, a smirk plastered on his muzzle.

"Mange!" the coyote spluttered, almost choking on his beer. "Mangy puma still smells like puma, an it don't make your tail fall off either. You should know that." He took another long swallow from his mug.

The coyote looked surreptitiously around the bar for a moment and then leaned forward to talk in a low voice. "I'm wondering if it wan't one of the Pale Ones. You know, a human." His eyes darted around fearfully. They lingered on the dark, hooded figure at the end of the bar for a moment before turning back to his companions.

Both of the coyote's companions were stunned to silence. The bobcat stared at the drunk coyote incredulously and nearly broke out laughing.

"Now that's funny. A human." He chuckled and shook his head. "You know that they haven't been seen around here in well over a hundred years. Chances are that they're all dead by now." The fox nodded in agreement.

"Makes sense to me though, why else d'ya think the Captain wouldn't let anyone near the body?" The coyote waved his mug to illustrate his point. Beer frothed over the rim and splattered to the floor. "He's kept a real tight lid on everything to do with the whole incident too. Probably don't want anybody to start spreading rumours."

The fox shot the coyote an exasperated glance. "What the hell do you think you're doing right now then? And there‘s any number of reasons why the Captain would want to keep every one away from the body." He snorted and shook his head. "A human. I'd be careful if I were you. If the Captain hears that you've been flapping your lips he'll hang you by your tail."

The coyote shrugged and took a swig of beer. "The only way he's gonna hear about it is if you two open your damn mouths at the wrong time." he pointed at them accusingly.

The fox's expression darkened and his ears went back. He glared at the coyote for a moment but he kept his mouth shut. All three of them sat in silence for several moments and sipped their drinks.

The coyote's companions were unconvinced by his drunk ramblings. They stared at each other for a moment and the fox shrugged. The coyote tipped his mug to a ridiculous angle to drain the last of the ale from it. His chair balanced precariously for a moment on two legs before thumping back safely to all four. He lurched forwards over the table and blinked startled eyes. His companions tried their best not to break out laughing. The coyote recovered quickly and waved his mug up at arm's length over his head.

"Hey bartender!" The he barked over his shoulder "Need ‘nother beer."

The huge form of the ursine bartender nodded and picked a fresh mug from the rack behind him. He turned and disappeared through a door at one end of the bar.

The coyote turned back to his companions. "You guys having ‘nother one?"

The bobcat shook his head. "No thanks."

"Not me." spoke the fox, "I have the early patrol tomorrow morning and I've had too much as it is anyways. It's not going to fun getting up tomorrow morning." He grimaced at that thought.

The coyote looked a bit put out when he learned that his companions were calling it a night. "Come on guys," he whined "one more. Twon't kill ya."

"No, but the Captain might if I show up late with a hangover." The fox pushed his chair back and stood up after depositing a modest tip for the bartender on the table. The bartender re-emerged from the back room with a mug of ale in his paw and ambled towards the table. The bobcat stifled a yawn, pawed a few coins from a pocket for the bartender and then he too stood up. The bartender arrived at the table and set the mug in front of the coyote. The drunk canine groped in his coin pouch and there was the clink of metal as he withdrew a pawful of coins. He dumped them on the table and muttered a curse as a few coppers rolled away from his grasp. Finally, he managed to collar all of the errant coins and proceeded to use a clawed finger to push four of the copper coloured ones towards the bartender in an exaggerated manner. The Grizzly swept them and the tips from the bobcat and fox off of the table with a huge paw and nodded appreciatively at the three before wandering back in the general direction of the bar.

"You sure you're going to be able to find your way home okay?" The bobcat asked, doubt lacing his words.

"Yeah, yeah." The coyote mumbled and waved a dismissive paw at his companions. The bobcat opened his mouth to say something else but the fox shrugged, grabbed his arm and steered him towards the door.

"Let him drink till his shift starts if he wants to." He muttered as he and the bobcat walked towards the door. "It's his tail on the line if he shows up late and still drunk again."

The bobcat had nothing to say to that. They'd been through this scenario many times before. They stepped out through the door and the moist coolness of a foggy autumn right wrapped itself around them. The click of their claws slowly faded into the mist as they found their separate ways home.

Kenham leaned an elbow on the bar and rested his muzzle on a paw. His eyes wandered around the nearly empty room for a moment before he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Just that coyote and that damned wolverine left. A thought wormed its way to the forefront as he momentarily relaxed. He was getting too old for this. The late nights, the drunks, the assorted crazies that wandered in through is door in search of drink, and once finding it, usually ended up getting a bit crazier. He yawned and scratched an ear. He'd gained more than a few grey hairs in his pelt over the years because of this place and all the others like it that he'd worked at or run over the last thirty years. Perhaps it was past time that he retired from this line of work. He definitely wasn't getting any younger and after every passing year it became more and more difficult for him to put up with all of the crap that came with owning a bar. His thoughts turned toward other possibilities as he waited for the bar to empty. Neither of his sons had shown an interest in running this place so he figured that he might as well sell it. He'd saved up a fair bit of money over the years, enough that with the money he'd gain from the sale of his bar that his he and his mate would be able to live comfortably for some time. He had long nurtured and idea that when he retired he'd move out of the city and head back out west to the lands where he'd spent his youth. He'd heard from some of the wanderers that occasionally found their way through his door that things hadn't changed much out that way. He missed the mountains and the thick pine forests, the cooler air and the clear waters of the river that ran past the village where'd he'd grown up...

Kenham forced himself back to the present. He turned and sorted through some assorted glassware and then spent a few moments neatly arranging the liquor bottles that sat on the shelves on the wall behind the bar. Eventually, he produced a rag from his belt and began to methodically polish the dark wood bar that stretched almost all the way across the room. He'd cleaned about half of the battered surface when a shot glass skittered down from the far end of the bar and came to a spinning stop in front of him. He dropped the rag and sighed. Grabbing the nearly depleted bottle of Brainkiller from the shelf behind him, Kenham filled the glass rather less carefully than he should have. Ignoring the spilled drops that were slowly dissolving the finish on the bar, he quickly set the refilled shot in front of the hooded wolverine and went back to cleaning. The stranger didn't move or otherwise even show a sign that it was alive. Maybe, Kenham thought, the Brainkiller had finally done its work and left the wolverine with little else than an empty shell upon which its ears stood. However, it was just as likely that the creature's fuse was burning down and an explosion wasn't going to be long in coming. Kenham scowled and tried not to think about it as he tried in vain to polish out the circular stain etched into the bar from the bottom of the Brainkiller laced shot glass.

Closer and closer to the hooded figure Kenham came as he cleaned the bar. It still hadn't touched the fresh shot that he'd put in front of it several minutes ago. He didn't think that it had even moved in that time. Tempting, he thought, to reach out with a finger and poke the hooded finger to see if it would topple from its stool like a stone statue. Tempting, but foolhardy he knew. There was no need to provoke a violent reaction if there was the least chance that the wolverine might leave of his own accord. Kenham had already resigned himself to the fact that he probably wouldn't get paid for the vast quantity of Brainkiller that the wolverine had consumed and he winced at that thought. That stuff was expensive and not easily replaced. Still, he was almost willing to put up with the loss if it meant being rid of this unsettling character without resorting to violence. At least that coyote and his friends had done some drinking. If that drunk coyote managed to pack a few more ales into his scrawny frame Kenham figured that he might even break even on this night. He watched the drunk coyote tilt his mug back to a ridiculous angle in an effort to get every last bit of ale out of it and nearly toppled from his chair. A muttered curse drifted across the room as the coyote caught himself just as he was going to go over. A frown contorted Kenham's muzzle while his paw, with long years of practice, kept right on polishing the bar. Yes, it was definitely time to get out of this business.

Kenham began to wonder, as he neared the end of the bar, what he was going to do with the wolverine. He could just polish the bar around him and pretend that he wasn't even there, or he could politely ask him to pay up and move on out the door. Neither option was particularly appealing so Kenham decided to take a break from his cleaning for a moment and watched as the coyote stood up unsteadily and groped through his coin pouch. Coins clinked and rattled, bouncing to the wooden floor and rolling out of sight. A slurred curse reached his ears as the coyote mumbled under his breath and tried to track down the errant coins.

Kenham turned back to his cleaning and was stunned to see an empty shot glass and the wolverine standing rock steady on two feet. He blinked in surprise and his paw went to the oak club that lay hidden underneath the bar. The wolverine approached the grizzly and silently slid a coin across to him. Gold glinted in the light from the oil lamps. Kenham's grip on the club relaxed somewhat. Without a word the hooded figure turned and strode towards the door. Kenham saw it pause as it passed by the coyote. The wolverine shook its head at the lanky canine as he crawled around on all fours searching for his stray coins, and then walked arrow straight out the door.

The coin that lay glittering on the bar was large and golden and it drew Kenham‘s gaze like a magnet. He reached out tentatively, not really believing what his eyes were telling him lay before him. He picked the coin from the bar and held it loosely in one paw. It was heavy in his palm, at least a full Empre. He turned it over, checking to make sure that it was real. It had the right coat of arms stamped on one side, and the head of the king on the other. He raised it to his mouth and gently bit the edge of the coin. His canine teeth made an obvious imprint in the soft metal. He closed his fingers around the coin and stared at his fist in wonder. He had not expected to get paid for his drink yet here this stranger had given him enough money to buy four bottles of Brainkiller! He swallowed suddenly and raised his head to stare after the now departed wolverine. He was just in time to see the coyote stagger to his feet and dump a couple of coins onto the table before he stumbled in the general direction of the door. The canine pushed the door open, bounced off of the frame with one shoulder and ended up in a pile out on the street. Kenham heard a loud and somewhat slurred curse just before the door swung closed. He sighed and shook his head slowly from side to side. That coyote was going to hurt come tomorrow morning.

Even though the bar was now empty, Kenham was unable to relax very much. The last few hours had been far too weird for his liking. There was something about that wolverine that made the fur on the back of his neck want to stand straight up and his skin to try and crawl away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear away some of his apprehensive thoughts. When that didn't work, he picked a beer mug from the rack behind him and emptied the remainder of the bottle of Brainkiller into it. The clear, noxious liquid filled nearly half of the mug. Kenham sat down on a stool and let himself settle into the silence of his deserted surroundings. After a moment of inactivity, during with he contemplated the half-full mug in front of him with half lidded eyes, he grabbed the mug and tossed the contents back in one gulp. A horrible grimace distorted his muzzle and he thumped on the bar with a fist. He coughed a couple of times as the noxious vapours invaded his nasal passages. A burning warmth spread down his throat, into his stomach and after a few short minutes, encompassed his entire body. He suddenly felt a lot better and smiled to himself through the glow, letting the pent up tension in his body slowly bleed away. He stood up, stretched and yawned. He wanted to close up and get home before it got too late. Kenham picked up his rag and resumed his cleaning, humming a tune under his breath.

Off duty Musketeer Breltan Muranth wasn't doing well. His surroundings kept trying to wander off in a slow, sickening circle that threatened to become a full out spin. His vision swam, everything around him briefly doubling under the pale light from the moon before he blinked rapidly, shook his head and forced them back together. The fog that swathed the dark buildings on either side of him seriously screwed with his mind and he kept thinking that he was lost, or in another part of town. Uneasiness joined forces with the alcohol singing in his veins and further disturbed his mind. Worriedly he cast a glance over his shoulder at the velvet suggestion of footsteps coming up behind him. Nothing revealed itself to eye, ear, or nose. After a moment of unbelievably deep silence, something tickled the edge of his hearing down the street in front of him and he spun his head quickly back around. Too quickly as it turned out. He stumbled and almost fell over as the world spun nauseatingly around him. It took him a while to recover his senses and he almost forgot where he was going. He glanced suspiciously around himself and started up his erratic pace again, muttering to himself as he meandered.

He didn't get very far before more difficulties presented themselves to his addled mind. For some reason the street seemed to be a lot narrower than it should have been. One moment his shoulder was glancing off of a neighbouring building, and then the next thing he knew, he was wandering around out in the middle of the street. The cobblestones seemed to be hugely uneven and he kept stumbling and staggering as his feet caught the edges and depressions of the paving stones. He fell over several times and his slurred cursing echoed lost and hollow through the mist. He longed desperately for home and the comfort of his bunk, but he wasn't even sure where he was anymore. The fog was so thick that the buildings on the other side of the street were nothing but hazy suggestions of solidity. Nothing was recognizable. He meandered unsteadily in from the center of the street to the sidewalk, nearly collided with a building and then took a sudden turn back towards the street. He tripped over the curb and went sprawling onto the hard cobbles. He lay on his back on the cold stones, feeling the world spin around him in a tightening spiral. His paws desperately grasped at the stones, seeking to stop the unstoppable. He almost gave up and went to sleep there, but some small part of his mind that still clung desperately to sobriety warned him that being discovered passed out drunk in the middle of a road come morning would not produce good circumstances for a member of the Guard. With this in mind, Breltan forced himself to all fours and dragged himself over to the side of the street. The ghostly sound of footsteps again echoed hollowly through the fog. He couldn't pin down where they were coming from. He looked around wildly but the footsteps faded into the mist as if they never had been. He soon forgot about them as a powerful wave of nausea swept over him. He shuddered and nearly collapsed again. Bile burned in the back of his throat. He knew what was coming.

The dark mouth of an alley behind the building beckoned to the drunk coyote and he crawled there as fast as he was able. The tall building blotted out the feeble light from the moon above and he was plunged into impenetrable blackness as he pushed his way around the corner. The fog swirled about him, its gentle caress cool on his questioning nose.

The alley smelt of garbage and stale urine, of rats and an unusual, musky odour that seemed slightly familiar for some reason. Breltan didn't have time to think about it. He'd crawled as far into the alley as he could manage before his stomach started to rebel in earnest. He heaved his guts out against the wall of the building, spewing out the beer he'd spent such a large portion of his pay on. When the torrent finally subsided and his stomach relaxed into queasy submission, he groaned and rolled over on his side. He wiped the remnants of his night out from his muzzle with the back of his paw and coughed wetly a couple of times. He lay silently for a while and tried to gather what was left of himself together. It wasn't an easy task. He rolled onto all fours and paused there for a moment, wondering if he had what it took to get back on two feet. Slowly, unsteadily, he pulled himself up from the ground and leaned heavily against the wall, blinking disoriented eyes at the smothering darkness.

Something twitched in the depths of the alley, a rustle with the merest suggestion of something scraping on stone. The musky odour grew stronger, swirling around Breltan as he tried desperately to figure out where he had scented it before. His heart leapt into his throat as the click of claws on stone suddenly sounded out very loudly in the narrow alley. He edged his way closer to the street and was almost there when motion twisted out of the darkness before him. He didn't even have time to utter a scream. Something hit him hard on the side of the head and white light momentarily exploded before his eyes. He collapsed roughly into the wall and slid down it to sit in a heap on the ground. The smell of his own vomit was overpowering. He tried to regain his senses but was too stunned to do anything. A paw roughly grabbed him, yanked him to his feet and thrust him roughly against the wall. Breltan snarled and flailed desperately at his attacker but he was held in an iron grip. The foul stench of rotting meat and alcoholic vapours emanated from his assailant as he laughed wickedly at his helpless victim's feeble attempts at defending himself. Metal glinted in a sinister flash and pain flared like a bright sun in Breltan's left side. Wide-eyed in terror, his gasp of pain trailed into a gurgle as he pawed ineffectually at the arm that had buried a knife in his ribs. Blood welled hotly in his throat and a metallic tang spread across his tongue. His attacker leaned in close, almost nose to nose, and grinned evilly. He brutally wrenched the knife from Breltan's chest and kept his eyes locked on the terrified coyote's as he slid down the wall. A sinister smile was on his muzzle as the coyote fell over on his side at base of the wall, blood spreading around him in a slowly widening pool.

Rough hands went through Breltan's pockets as his consciousness slowly faded. He heard the clink of coins and some gruff mutterings as his money was lifted from his coin pouch. There was no pain anymore, everything seemed to have gone numb and even his fear seemed to have faded into the background. His heartbeat was strangely hollow in his ears and he felt distant, disconnected, drifting away from his body. A dreamlike shadow passed by him and was briefly seen silhouetted against the moonlight that bathed the foggy street in a pale light. It turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Breltan's vision narrowed, tunnelling, a scratchy blackness closing in from the edges until the last vestiges of light and awareness winked out.

All sense of the passage of time had long since bled away into the unvarying darkness that held the stranger fast within his cell. How long had he been locked in here? Hours, days? The stranger didn’t know. Day was indistinguishable from night in this dank dungeon and the constant gloom had begun playing strange games with his mind. At times he fell in to an uneasy sleep laced with terrifying and disturbing dreams that never completely faded away when he jerked back to wakefulness. Those horrible images hovered in the impenetrable gloom long after he had opened his eyes, hiding in the corners of his cell, waiting for him to close his eyes again so they could continue tormenting his mind. A shiver ran down the stranger’s spine as thoughts as dark as the cell that he had been imprisoned in rolled over and over in his head. He turned pale eyes up into the darkness and stared uneasily into the black, wondering about and waiting for a future that likely wouldn’t be very friendly. He was as good as dead, and he knew it. He’d heard stories about what the Others did to some of the humans that they captured. There was a thump as his head lolled into the stone wall behind him. His jaw worked convulsively as despair and fear threatened to overwhelm him. He tried desperately to put the painful fate that he knew waited just around the corner for him out of his mind and think of other things. It was a task far easier said than done. His thoughts kept wandering ahead spurred on by his vivid imagination and the rank cell that he had been imprisoned in.

He could almost smell the despair that this place held within it. It seemed to radiate from the stone walls, lingering after images of the thoughts of a thousand other hopeless prisoners. The stranger wondered if any of them had made it out of this place alive. He shook his head slowly and tried to cover his ears. The echoes of a million tortured screams seemed to hang in the darkness, trapped forever in this place by the thick stone walls. Would he scream out in agony as they tortured him? Would he beg for mercy as they smashed his fingers one by one? What sounds would he make as clawed fingers plucked his eyes from their sockets?

With great effort he turned his thoughts away from his dark future and turned them instead towards the past. His brow furrowed as he tried to pull the few pieces of the puzzle that he had in his grasp into a picture he could understand. The stranger stared for long periods into the surrounding darkness, fighting with the foggy and indistinct thoughts that slowly tumbled through his head. He tried desperately to recall what had happened to him and why he had been imprisoned in this dark and foul cell but there wasn‘t that much there to remember.

Bits and pieces of memory slowly crawled back to him, smashed and disconnected fragments of something that was once whole. The cool and dank air bit into his shoulders and sent a momentary shudder through his body. Frantic voices rang out in his mind’s eye and the stranger jerked suddenly. He remembered footprints in slushy snow and the bite of cold autumn air through his threadbare clothes. Running, he had been running from something. He flinched again and his eyes suddenly opened wide. There had been the blast of a musket from near at hand. He remembered the violent impact that had spun him around as the musket ball ripped into him, smashing down through his collarbone and ripping out through his shoulder blade. Blood darkened the snow and had covered his hand as he groped at his wound. Cold, he’d felt so cold as he lay there in the snow, watching his life’s blood leach into the slush in a slowly widening stain of red. Someone had stood over him as he lay there, someone not human, one of the Others. He couldn’t recall the face but he did recall a white face and blue eyes. His brow furrowed as something tickled his memory. It was those eyes, he remembered those eyes somehow and from somewhere. The strangers brow wrinkled there was something there, an understanding that lingered just on the edge of memory...

All of the air suddenly left the stranger’s lungs in a stunned exhale and he sagged like a deflated balloon against the cold stone wall. A steely flash of memory had lit up his mind and he suddenly understood. Those terrified eyes had been locked on his. In them he had seen the helpless fear of death, a death that was soon to have been delivered by his own hands. It was a shock to the stranger to realize that he’d had a sword at the throat of this Other. The human shook his head and grimaced. He’d been so scared of getting caught that he’d been so ready to strike the life from that guard. It would have been so easy, one quick stroke of cold steel and the helpless guard’s throat would have been opened and his lifeblood would have gushed forth to stain the snow. Something had stayed his hand though and he wondered what it was. He’d stood there for a moment with that guard pinned up against the wall, sword at his throat, and in that strange, almost infinite moment that passed between them he even remembered the big flakes of wet snow that drifted down all around them as their eyes were locked together. The guard hadn’t even struggled against him, he had just whimpered fearfully as blood dripped from behind his ear to splatter upon the armour at his shoulder...

The stranger’s face paled as realization struck him. No, not he, she! That’s why he had dropped the sword and backed away. The guard had been a young and very terrified female canine. When he’d realized that, he’d come to his senses and dropped the sword. The human grimaced and leaned back with a sigh. He hoped he hadn’t ended up hurting her. The shot that smashed his shoulder had come soon after he had let her go. He shook his head sadly. He had never wanted to hurt anybody, he had just wanted to escape and be left alone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a pained look coming to his face as the flood of memory continued. He had hurt that guard. He’d thrown a marble bookend at her from a second story window and had knocked her senseless for a moment. He shook his head sadly. Good thing she’d been wearing a helmet.

For a long moment the stranger’s mind was as empty as the darkness around him. Nothing moved, no sound was heard, and no neurons fired as empty eyes stared from an equally empty face. More memories returned with a twitch of his entire body.

Held fast against something flat and hard, he remembered struggling futilely against his bonds, pain shooting fire through his left shoulder. Skin ripped and tore against rough wood as he had thrashed about in a desperate attempt to escape. Shattered bones had shifted sickeningly in his shoulder and blood had welled up from his wound, trickling slowly across sweat slickened skin. His cries had awoken something beyond his cell and the door had been thrown open, ancient hinges squealing and groaning like a tortured animal the gloom. The light from beyond the low door wasn’t bright but after the long hours he had spent locked in the near total darkness of his cell it was almost blinding. The stranger had squinted hard into the glare, his fear rising as two figures moved into the opening and blocked the feeble light that poured in from beyond the door. One shadow, short and slender, detached itself from the doorway and moved towards him. The other figure loomed large and menacing in the background, the outline of something with sharp edges barely visible against the light as it was held at the ready.

The approaching figure carried a bag in one hand and came forward cautiously. He could see it more clearly now that his eyes had adjusted to the unfamiliar light. Tall triangular ears and a sharp and narrow muzzle. Reddish orange fur covered its head and there was a patch of white that began on the underside of its muzzle and ran down its throat. A fox-person, the stranger realized through the pain and fear that flooded his mind. The bag it carried in one hand was smooth black leather and the creature wore a plain brown coat that covered most of its torso and fell to just below its knees.

A doctor? The words floated up like a bubbles from the dark depths of thought and the stranger’s fear receded slightly. Someone who might be able to help him. He tensed against his bonds and grimaced as the pain cut through his like a white hot knife. He licked dry, cracked lips and his eyes flickered fearfully to the stout figure that stood motionless in the doorway of the cell and then back to the fox person.

“Help me.” The stranger croaked through a throat that felt as dry as dust.

The fox-person cocked its head to the side and regarded him quietly for a moment. It sighed and shook its head and carefully placed the bag on the floor beside the stranger. A flap was unbuttoned and a slender, black furred hand rummaged around in the dark interior of the bag for a moment. The fox-person spoke to him in a calm voice as glass and metal clinked quietly into the gloom. The stranger didn’t understand a word of what the fox-person had said but the tone of its voice was comforting and reassuring. Something glinted brightly in the feeble light that crept in through the open door. There had been a sting on the inside of the stranger’s elbow and then a curious warmth spread up through his arm and into his shoulder, pushing the pain away into places where he could not follow. The warmth soon invaded his mind and he felt himself begin to drift away as the fox-person stood up. The creature spoke to him again, this time sadness underlying its calm tones. The figure retreated and the door clanged shut, the darkness returning easily to smother the cell. Whispered voices from beyond the door, curiously distorted by the warmth that tugged as his consciousness were the last thing the stranger remembered before the world went away for a while.

When he had regained consciousness, he found that no longer was he strapped down to a plank. Instead, he found that he was hunched in a corner, the stone wall cold against his bare back and shoulder. His arms and legs were free to move but heavy iron manacles had been affixed to his ankles and his one good wrist. Heavy, black chains stretched from the manacles to a bracket in the stone wall a short distance from him. They weren’t very long, maybe one and a half times his body length but it was far better than being strapped to a plank. His ankles were rubbed raw from the straps that had previously held him down and he slowly reached down to check the damage. The manacles clamped around his ankles threatened to aggravate the wounds there but someone had at least made an effort to patch him up. His fingers came away coated with some sort of sticky substance. He raised his fingers to his nose and sniffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the odour hit him. Whatever it was it smelled medicinal, probably some sort of salve or something like that. He took that as a good sign. At least his captors weren’t trying to kill him outright, not yet anyways.

Someone had wrapped his shoulder wound with fresh bandages as well and more of that awful smelling salve. His left arm had been placed in a sling and the pain wasn’t as bad as it had been before. He was able to move a little bit without screaming. The way things were going that was a definite improvement.

It was still incredibly dark in his cell and with little else to do he began exploring the range of his restraints. He stood up slowly, his legs complaining as he straightened them out. He was almost all the way to his feet when his head slammed into the ceiling. Stars blasted through the darkness and he collapsed with a thud. A dismal groan hung briefly in the gloom before being absorbed by the stone walls. The stranger held his bruised head in his hand as he waited for the pain to subside. His shoulder started aching again, further adding to his problems.

Several minutes of motionless silence passed before the stranger decided to try exploring again. Metal rattled and clinked over stone as he inched his way around in the gloom. The stone floor was cold under his bare hand and knees as he crept along the wall. He was almost at the limit of his chains when his questing fingertips found a corner. Unbelievably foul odours emanated from this corner and the stranger’s fingers found the edges of a slit cut into the stone floor. The cut ran underneath the wall and from the smell of things, down into the sewers. His fingers came into contact with something unspeakably slimy and the stranger swore and slung the crud off of his fingers. He repressed a shudder of revulsion and backed away from the corner. He understood what that place was for.

As he backed away his hand found the ring that his chains were fastened to. It was as thick around as his index finger and buried at least halfway into the stone wall. He tugged experimentally at the cold ring and not surprisingly it held fast. His fingers traced over the links that bound his chains to the ring. The hefty padlock that his clammy fingers found dashed any hopes he had of getting out of his chains. He sat down and sighed in despair. He could see no way of getting out of here. He began to shiver as the cold stone stole the heat from his body. He could hardly think and the darkness surrounding him began to eat away at his mind. The small, barely visible barred opening on the door to his cell held his attention for long minutes. He had to find a way to escape this place. He longed for the light and wide open spaces and to feel the wind cool against his face. Only there he would meet the end that would soon come looking for him. To die in this black and stinking hole would be a terror. Trapped underground for eternity, his soul would not be able join that of his ancestors among the stars above. Instead it would be condemned to wander the gloomy halls and cells of this dungeon, always seeking a way out to the light and despairing in never finding it. He couldn’t let that happen, not after everything he had been through.

The clamour of excited voices and the clatter of claws up and down the hallway beyond her door managed to arouse Annayah from her deep slumber. She lay still at first, blinking the sleep from her eyes and wondering what all of the commotion was about. She tried to get back to sleep but her body would have none of that. You’re awake now it said, get your tail out of bed and go do something. She resisted for as long as she could but her body was insistent. At length she yawned and stretched, uncurling her body and doing her best to welcome the day that had decided that it couldn‘t just leave her be. She didn’t know what time it was but felt like late morning. She yawned again and forced herself into a sitting position. The doctor’s prescription had worked like a charm. She felt refreshed, almost back to normal and she didn’t even have a headache. She scratched an ear for a moment and then smiled and shook herself, straightening some of the sleep out of her thick coat. She reached for her brush and began to methodically tend to her pelt. Winter was nearly here and her coat had begun to thicken in response to the turning of the seasons. Another few weeks and she’d be in her full winter pelt and more than ready for anything these mild southern winters could throw at her. Humming a tune under her breath, Annayah took special care with her brush, smoothing out the spots that had been ruffled and knotted as she slept. One of her ears swivelled towards the door as she heard running footsteps and more excited voices go down the hallway. She frowned and paused in her grooming for a moment. There was more activity going on out there than usual this morning for some reason. She wondered what exactly was going on. She thought hard for a moment wondering if there was something going on that she had forgotten about. Nothing came to mind so she shrugged and continued with her grooming.

When Annayah left her quarters, the hallways were strangely deserted after the earlier flurries of activity. She kept an ear pricked for any hints as to what all of the excitement was about but for now everything was silent. She sniffed intently a few times but didn’t scent anything out of the ordinary. What she did smell though, was the enticing odour of greasy cooking wafting towards her from the mess hall. Her mouth began to water almost immediately. She could smell bacon, frying eggs, butter, and several other delicious aromas. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and let her nose guide her to breakfast.

Strangely, the mess hall was nearly deserted when she got there. What should have been a busy, bustling room full of people was empty except for two raccoons that sat in a corner and talked in low voices. When Annayah entered the room their conversation stopped abruptly and both turned their heads to eye her intently. Annayah wasn’t familiar with either of them and she found their gaze unnerving for some reason that she couldn’t pin down. She shook that feeling away and ignored the raccoons. She had better things to do that worry about the stares from a couple of people that she didn’t know. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of being fed and she went in search of something to heap food upon.

Metal tray in paw, Annayah approached the opening to the kitchen. She paused along the way to get some tea from a large carafe that sat perched precariously on the edge of a small table. Bowls were stacked haphazardly beside the carafe and Annayah eyed the pile suspiciously before reaching out and tentatively plucking one of the small white bowls from the top of the stack. She held her breath for a moment as the column clinked and wavered slightly before settling into an uneasy stillness. Annayah filled the bowl with some hot tea and quickly moved away from the table, half expecting to hear the crash and tinkle of broken earthenware behind her as that pile of bowls slid off the table and onto the tiled floor. She briefed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

Moving slowly so as to not spill any of her tea, Annayah set her tray down on the long bench in front of the opening to the kitchen. Delicious aromas drifted out from the narrow opening and she inhaled deeply, tasting the swarm of olfactory goodness with her sensitive nose. She couldn’t remember the last time the food served in this placed had smelled so good. Usually it was all she could do to keep her nose from wrinkling in disgust as she passed by the doors to this place. Craning her head slightly, she didn’t see the cook anywhere. A tray absolutely heaped with bacon sat warming on the side of the grill, the salty, greasy aroma taunting Annayah’s hunger. Impatiently, she tapped a claw on the bench and craned her head further, searching for the absent cook. If he didn’t show up soon she was going to crawl through the opening and start helping herself. She was just about to call out when the cook rounded a corner and came into sight. He paused briefly when he saw her and something flickered in his eyes. Annayah frowned slightly at his reaction. The cook, a short and portly black bear, recovered quickly and gave her a brief smile as he adjusted the ridiculous white hat that sat perched between his round ears. He rubbed a giant paw against his grease stained apron and pulled a plate from a pile that sat on a bench behind him.

“G’morning to ye constable.” Mumbled the cook as he used a set of tongs to pluck a more generous than normal amount of bacon from the tray. “Ye must be feeling a bit better. I‘d not expected to see you this early.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good. Hungry though.”

The cook smiled at hearing that and plucked a couple extra pieces of bacon and placed them on the plate. “’Tis scrambled eggs and bacon this morning as your nose has likely told ye.” The bear produced a large spoon and began to scoop eggs from a large pan onto Annayah’s plate. “There’s plenty ‘ere too. There’s been a wee bit of excitement early this morning and some o’ the other folks ‘ave skipped breakfast.” He said as he proceeded to stack a huge amount of eggs on the plate. Annayah’s eyes widened at the sheer volume of food the cook was managing to stack on one plate. She licked her lips in anticipation as the bear slid the plate to her.

“What happened?” Annayah asked, her curiosity piqued by the cook’s statement.

“I don’t rightly know,” he scratched his chin with a claw as Annayah carefully placed the plate on her tray. “but ‘tis something that’s rattled the nerves of those that have passed through ‘ere this morning.” He shrugged and Annayah decided not to pursue the matter any further. There was eating to be done. She thanked the cook for his generosity and he nodded and marked her name down in the ledger, not even charging her for the extra food he had given her. The cook was a decent fellow and she had nothing against him. It was his food that she had problems with at times.

As Annayah gathered up her tray she suddenly realized that it was too quiet behind her. Sure enough she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the two raccoons suddenly avert their gazes and go back to their meals. Annayah’s ears went back a bit and she gave them both a dark look. What was it with some people anyways? Sure, she was the only Wolven in these parts and a pure white one to boot. She knew that she stood out like a sore thumb wherever she went but didn’t people realize that it wasn’t nice to stare? She shook her head and grabbed a fork and a knife from separate trays full of gleaming cutlery. She’d learned to ignore most of the stares and the whispers behind her back but there were times when such things still cut deep. She sighed and stalked through the deserted maze of tables, glaring at the pair of raccoons as she picked out her seat. She chose a table just far enough away from the pair to make them feel comfortable, but close enough to make them wonder. Let’s see how they like that Annayah thought darkly as she set her breakfast down somewhat harder than she had to. Tea sloshed out of the bowl and puddled in the bottom of the tray. Annayah let out an exasperated sigh and sat down in the chair with a thump. The two raccoons a short distance away chewed their meals in silence. Annayah could sense their uneasiness and a smirk came to her face as she stabbed a piece of bacon with her fork. She knew she shouldn’t be taking any satisfaction in another’s discomfort but she had had enough. Let them experience what things were like from her point of view for once.

The first bite of bacon was an explosion of flavour on her tongue. She closed her eyes and a look of pure bliss came to her face. While some of the food served in this place barely fit the description of edible, the cook’s bacon was always top notch. She suspected that it had something to do with the multiple layers of grease that encrusted the battered old grill in the kitchen. There was a whole rainbow of flavours there just waiting to be captured in the fat of the next batch. She popped another strip of bacon into her mouth and swallowed nearly without chewing. She lapped at the bowl of tea briefly and then sat back for a moment, letting the sweet tang of the tea spread over her tongue. She adjusted the grip on her fork and was about to delve deeply into the mountain of scrambled eggs when something made her look up.

Kalya had just hurriedly entered the mess hall. The coyote stood by the door, looking around hurriedly before her eyes fell on Annayah. The white wolf frowned at the look in her friend’s eyes. There was something wrong. Not only should they coyote have been on duty right now, the posture of her entire body told the wolf that something was very wrong. The coyote’s ears flicked up and down indecisively and her tail was held low, twitching nervously in the vicinity of her knees. As soon as she spotted Annayah, the coyote made a beeline for her, rushing through the maze of empty tables. She came to a sliding stop in front of Annayah, her muzzle opening and closing convulsively. The wolf was surprised when she saw tears in her friend’s eyes. She swallowed convulsively, her meal suddenly forgotten.

“Kalya, what’s wrong?” She asked. The answer was blurted out almost before she’d finished asking the question.

“Brelton’s dead!” With that, the coyote collapsed into a chair with a sob.

Annayah was stunned to silence. She’d seen a fair bit of Brelton over the last few months. She didn’t care much for him and his arrogant attitude even though he had probably saved her life when the human had attacked her. Annayah wasn’t sure what might have happened had he not fired his musket when he did. She tolerated him for the most part because Kalya had seemed quite taken with him and she knew that they had been spending quite a bit of time together recently. There were even rumours that the two of them would be mated in the spring. Her shoulders sagged and she grimaced, setting her fork down reluctantly next to her still full plate. Kalya was miserable across from her, eyes downcast, ears back, her body wracked with grief as she tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to overcome her. The two raccoons a few tables away watched interestedly, no doubt gathering material to foster more gossip. Annayah fleered her lips away from her sharp teeth and glared at them. The raccoons quickly averted their eyes and went back to eating their meals in a methodical manner. Annayah listened intently. If one of them even made so much as a peep about Kalya she was going to make them both regret that they had been born. A brief thought came into her mind as she glared at the raccoons. When had she become so bold? She never used to do anything like this. Usually she avoided any sort of conflict. Her time in the Guard must have toughened her up somewhat.

The white wolf looked down at her full plate and sighed. She reluctantly pushed back her chair and stood up. Breakfast was going to have to wait.

“Come on Kalya, let’s go.” Annayah actually had to help the coyote up out of her chair. She was momentarily surprised when her friend wrapped her arms around her and sobbed into her chest. The wolf felt a little awkward standing there while Kalya cried out her sorrows into her thick fur. She didn’t know quite white to do. She could feel the raccoon’s eyes on her again but this time she ignored them. She gently pried herself loose from the coyote’s grip.

“Kalya, this is not the place for such things.” She said quietly.

“I... I know.“ Kalya said in an unsteady voice as she brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes. Annayah could see that she was on the verge of breaking down again.

“Let’s go” she murmured “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

Kalya nodded weakly and let herself be led by the big white wolf. Annayah paused only briefly to pick her still full plate from the table and hand it to the cook with instructions to keep it warm for her. The portly bear nodded with a knowing look in his eyes. Annayah glared at the raccoons one last time as she and Kalya left the mess hall. She would keep her ears perked for anything that those two would say later. If she didn’t like what she heard, she would have words with them herself and she doubted they’d much like what she would say.

Fortunately the hallways were deserted as Annayah led her distraught friend to her quarters. The coyote broke down again and leaned heavily against Annayah. The wolf remained silent, wondering just what exactly she should say and do. This kind of situation wasn’t exactly something she knew how to deal with. Everything about it made her slightly uncomfortable. It was her mother who was always the expert at dealing with other’s troubles. Annayah felt a brief twinge of homesickness but pushed it away. Now was not the time for dealing with her own problems.

They arrived in front of the door to Kalya’s quarters and paused for a moment there. The teary eyed coyote groped around in a pocket of her tunic for a key. Annayah noticed with surprise that her friend’s paws were shaking so badly that she could hardly get the key in the lock. It took Annayah’s help for her to be able to unlock the door.

Once the two canines were in, Annayah guided her friend to the bunk and eased her down on it. She pulled up the single chair that graced the small room and sat down upon it, her worried eyes locked on Kalya. Now what should she do? She didn’t know how to deal with something like this. At a loss, she decided to remain quiet and waited for Kalya to compose herself.

After a moment, the coyote sniffled and raised her eyes to smile weakly at the wolf. She looked terrible, and Annayah guessed she had been up most of the night crying.

“Thanks for your help Annayah. I’ve just been so lost, I don’t know what to do anymore. I just can’t believe he’s gone...” Kalya choked back a sob as her words trailed off.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Annayah asked quietly. “You don’t have to if it’s too painful for you.”

“No. It’s okay. I think I need to talk about it.”

Annayah nodded and stayed silent, letting her friend tell her story at her own pace.

“It was Sergeant Juneau that first gave me the bad news. I could see it in her eyes that something was terribly wrong when she first came up to me. She told me that there had been an incident.” She shook her head sadly as she fought with the painfully fresh memories. “I was just about to start my shift and go out on patrol when Juneau caught up with me. She pulled me aside into a quiet room and made me sit down. She said that she didn’t know how to tell me this but Brelton had been mugged during the night. I was worried at first and asked if he was okay. I was so unprepared for what she told me next.” Kalya looked up at her friend and there were fresh tears in her eyes. Annayah reached out and put a comforting hand on the coyote’s shoulder. A moment or two passed before Kalya found the strength to begin talking again.

“I didn’t believe her at first when she told me he had been stabbed. I asked if he was okay but Juneau just shook her head sadly.” Kalya’s voice began to waver as she continued. “She told me that he had been found in an alley by another patrol and she told me that they had been drawn there by the scent of blood. He was barely alive, but unconscious when they found him. They rushed him to the hospital but there was nothing they could do for him. He’d lost too much blood.” Kalya began weeping openly. “Juneau led me over to the morgue so I could view the body. I remember looking at him as he lay on the cart. He just looked like he was sleeping. I thought I could just wake him up and everything would be all right but he was so cold, so lifeless when I touched his muzzle...” The coyote stopped talking and stared down at her paws in despair. Annayah felt her friend’s pain and drew her into a tight embrace.

“I’m so sorry Kalya.” She didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing else she could say. She was almost at the point of tears herself. She’d never seen her friend so distraught. Kalya had always been such a strong one, laughing and joking and keeping her composure in situations where most others she knew would lose it.

For several minutes the two canines drew some comfort from each other and their tight embrace until Annayah reluctantly released her friend.

“I think it’s best if you get some rest now Kalya. I’ll go talk to the sergeant and make sure that you’re off the duty roster for a few days. I‘ll come back and check on you again in a few hours.” Kalya nodded weakly and Annayah eased her back onto her bunk. The coyote curled up into a fetal position and sniffled a few times. Annayah gently stroked her fingers over her friend’s ears and traced them down to her shoulders, hoping that the physical contact would help the coyote relax and get some much needed sleep. After a few minutes it began to work and Kalya began to unwind. In a few short minutes her exhaustion caught up with her and the coyote gave in to sleep.

The white wolf sat and watched her friend for a long time after she had fallen asleep. A veritable storm of thoughts flew through her head and her instincts, honed by nearly a year on duty as a constable of the Guard were telling her that something didn’t add up. She hadn’t told Kalya because she hadn’t wanted to add to her friend’s pain but she had a suspicion that Brelton’s murder was not a random event. It was too soon after the incident with the human and the Captain had been too quick to want to put that incident behind them and cover up any knowledge of what had really happened. Brelton was known as a bit of a braggart among the Guard and Annayah wondered if had been killed in order to keep him quiet. She had wondered if he would be able to keep his mouth shut over shooting the human. She shook that thought away and wondered if she was getting paranoid. Muggings were a common occurrence in the city and it wasn’t exactly uncommon for a victim to meet a violent end. Brelton wouldn’t have been on duty at the time of his death so it was a possibility he was the victim of a random attack.

The wolf stood up and left Kalya’s quarters as quietly as possible. Once outside, she leaned up against the wall and took a deep breath. She was off duty for a few days yet but that wouldn’t stop her from doing a little investigating on the side. For her own sake, and Kalya’s, she would try to find out what really happened to Brelton.

Annayah took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She pushed herself away from the wall and walked steadily down the hall, heading towards the main doors. It was time to put some of her Guard training to use. She would go find of Sergeant Juneau and talk her way into investigating the crime scene. She would use her exceptional sense of smell and hopefully find something that the routine investigators had missed.

The white wolf stepped out from the gloom of the guardhouse and onto uneven paving stones under an overcast sky. She scented rain on the wind and she picked up her pace, hoping to get to the crime scene before the rain washed away precious evidence. The click of her claws on rough cobblestones echoed amongst the surrounding buildings. Annayah ran with her head held high and her nose to the wind, seeking out the scents she knew would lead her to the source of Kalya’s despair.

The stench of vomit and urine was strong in the narrow confines of the alley and Annayah did her best to not breathe in too deeply. The metallic tang of blood was everywhere but there was something else too, and the scent of it was like a dark shadow that lay beneath all other scents in the alley. It slowly dissipated in the cool air but it had soaked into the cobblestones and the walls of the buildings and would remain there long after all other signs of the brutality that had taken place here had faded away. It was an echo of pain and fear that lingered like the touch of cold fingers on her soul, a persistent touch of sadness and of dreams broken at the ending of a young life. Annayah sighed deeply and her shoulders sagged. She had never been able to master the art of professional detachment and she couldn’t help but feel for those who had met with violent death. When she had begun this job, she saw how her colleagues often joked around and acted normally when investigating grisly crime scenes and she wondered how they could be so cold. She soon realized that it was part of the job and that it was vitally necessary to distance oneself from the horrible scenes to protect one’s own sanity. It wasn’t that the other investigators didn’t feel for the victims of such violent crimes, it was that they tried their best to not let themselves feel. The weight of what they had to deal with day in and day out would drag them down otherwise. Getting too involved meant losing oneself in all of the pain, the violence and the brutality that people could do to each other. Annayah drew in a troubled breath and held it for a moment. Despite her best efforts she’d lost a bit of herself with every murder scene she’d investigated.

Brelton’s body had been removed several hours ago but his scent was still strong here. It would linger for days, a mournful echo of a person whose transition from this life to the next one had been brutal and painful.

A rough outline of the location of the body had been drawn in chalk on the cobbles. Blood had stained the rough stone in a wide circle, pooling in the cracks and hollows of the cobbles. A few flies that had survived the recent frosts buzzed hungrily over the half congealed pools of blood. There was a pile of vomit a short distance away and Annayah had a hard time not smelling it. The stench of stomach acid and stale beer assaulted her nostrils. She panted for a moment, breathing through her mouth as she worked over the details of the scene in her mind. Brelton had been drunk. Very drunk in fact. She wasn’t exactly surprised. He did have a reputation for liking booze a little too much. She stepped quietly over the chalk outline and stared at the scene from another angle. He’d likely come into this alley to regurgitate all of the beer he’d drunk that evening. Had his assailant been waiting for him in the dark depths of the alley?

Annayah turned her head and stroked her muzzle thoughtfully. There were piles of garbage and debris strewn along the walls of the adjacent buildings. She sniffed carefully and approached the nearest one. It looked as if there could be enough room for someone to conceal themselves behind it, not that Brelton would likely have noticed anyone lurking there considering the state he had been in at the time. Fresh claw scratches on the stones showed that a struggle had taken place. Annayah knelt down for a closer look. A few off-white hairs clung to a smattering of blood drops. She gently plucked them from the ground and held them in front of her nose, sniffing gently. She could just detect Brelton’s scent on the strands of hair. She let the strands drop from her fingers and looked back toward the street, thinking hard. There was movement at the mouth of the alley and she was momentarily distracted.

It had taken a bit of convincing to get Sergeant Juneau to let her have a look at the crime scene. These were special circumstances. A member of the Guard had been murdered and even though he had not been on duty at the time, it was still a rare occurrence and the whole situation was being carefully watched by the Captain, among others. Annayah wasn’t on duty and technically should probably have been in bed but she wasn’t going to let things like that stop her. Juneau was the closest thing she had to a friend outside of Kalya and Annayah had pleaded her case with the coyote and she had eventually relented and granted her a few precious minutes at the crime scene. Juneau knew both Kalya and Brelton quite well and also understood that there were few in the city with senses as sharp as Annayah’s. Much of the reason she had relented and allowed Annayah to poke around was that she knew that Annayah more than anyone else might be able to come up with a clue as to who had killed Brelton. However, Annayah did not tell her of her suspicions that this might be more than a simple mugging. She would keep those suspicions to herself until she was absolutely sure that she was right.

Juneau glanced at her and Annayah could see the troubled expression on her face. With every minute that passed the more likely it was that Annayah would get caught in a place that she wasn’t supposed to be. She could see the worry in Juneau’s eyes and knew the risk her friend was taking even letting her near this place. Annayah had no desire to get Juneau in trouble and quickened her investigation as much as she was able.

There were many scents in the alley, many of them old, but a few were more recent. Annayah sniffed carefully, trying to separate the old from the new and filter out the overpowering scents of blood, vomit and urine. Her brow furrowed and she sniffed a little deeper. There was an undercurrent hiding among the tangle of other scents and it set her on edge. She got down on all fours and sniffed the cobbles behind the obscuring pile of garbage.

Her head suddenly snapped up and she looked back to where Brelton’s body had lain. Her eyes were wide and her ears were back. The back of her neck tingled as the fur there stood on end.

That damned wolverine had been here. The traces were faint but they were there. A low growl built up in Annayah’s throat. She knew that there was the possibility that the scent traces could be coincidental but she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that. The scent traces were roughly the same age as Brelton’s and wolverines were known to be violent. Annayah’s hackles rose. She didn’t like this unexpected turn of events.

A flurry of motion from the mouth of the alley caught her eye. Juneau was frantically gesturing to her. She faced the street and waved an arm behind her back, trying to get her attention. Drawn out of her thoughts, Annayah looked up sharply. She saw the fear in Juneau’s eyes as she briefly looked over her shoulder. She frantically motioned with a paw for her to go away, and quickly by the looks of it. Annayah swore softly. Her time was up.

Since going out by means of the street looked to be a very bad idea, Annayah melted back into the shadows of the alley. She glanced around quickly, looking for a way out and finding few options. The door at the far end of the alley had been boarded up long ago and there was no escape there. No other ideas came immediately to mind and mentally she cursed herself for being stupid enough to put herself in such a position. She briefly thought about hiding behind some of the refuse that littered the alley but she knew that would be a poor choice, a last resort at best. She swore bitterly and wondered just what the hell she should do. She was almost ready to dive behind a pile of garbage when something else caught her eye.

There was a window a short distance above her and the stone ledge was close enough that she just might be able to grab hold of it. Most of the glass had been smashed from the window and two rough boards had been nailed across the frame. It would be tight but it looked like there would be just enough room for her to squeeze underneath the boards and through the window. She cocked her head, eyed the ledge in a calculating manner and gathered her legs beneath her.

She put everything she had into the jump and just managed to catch the window ledge with both paws. Her knees slammed painfully into the wall below and she grimaced. Claws scrabbled on stone as she fought to pull herself up and squeeze through the window. Pain burned her right palm as broken glass sliced through leathery pads and she almost cried out. Jagged remnants of glass jutted like teeth from the window frame and they brushed dangerously sharp fingers through her pelt, snagging on her jerkin as she pulled herself underneath the board and through the window. Her paw ached terribly and she felt a sting on her leg as she finally managed to pull herself all the way through the window and landed with a thump on a hard and dusty wooden floor laced with glittering shards of glass.

There were three voices in the alley below as Annayah panted in the dark confines of the dusty room. Juneau’s she recognized but the other two weren’t familiar to her and she wondered who they were. She cautiously put an eye to the window and risked a glance below.

The two strangers were of the Guard, that much she could see and they stood with Juneau at the entrance to the alley. She sniffed carefully, hoping to catch a hint of their unique scents as they rose up to her. After a moment she caught both of their traces on the swirling air currents. Felines, both of them, and both male. One was a complete stranger to her but the other one was vaguely familiar. She had scented him before but wasn’t quite sure when or where.

Juneau was being asked some hard questions below. Both felines apparently outranked her and both were arrogant and demanding. Annayah eyed the trio cautiously. One of the felines suddenly moved deeper into the alley, ears cocked and tail twitching behind him. His head moved side to side as he sniffed intently. Annayah’s heart lurched. He knew that someone had been there recently and she wondered just how much he would be able to determine from her scent that betrayed her presence in the alley below. He called back over his shoulder to his companion and the other quickly trotted in to join him. They talked in low voices, fingers pointing here and there. They moved slowly into the alley, moving closer to the window that she hid behind. Annayah carefully withdrew her head and sunk below the window ledge. She picked a piece of jagged glass from the floor and used it as a mirror to keep an eye on the two that searched the alley below. She hardly dared to breathe as she held the piece of glass at an angle that allowed her to see a shadowy image of the figures below. The murmuring voices stopped and she watched the shaky reflection of the Guards in the alley apprehensively. As one their heads turned up to look at the window she hid behind. Annayah quietly placed the glass back on the floor and decided that now would be a very good time to leave.

                                                  ---------------------

The flame of the oil lamp shifted and wavered subtly as hidden air currents flowed gently around it. Amber eyes glinted in the gloom and the deeply shadowed face of the Captain could just be glimpsed in the feeble light from the lamp.

The silence in his office was unfathomably deep and the darkness nearly complete. Sound seemed to be a distant and hazy memory and the flame of the lamp the last light on Earth. Dulam actually preferred things this way. The solitude allowed him to think easily and dwell on tough decisions that had to be made. Few people wandered the halls of Headquarters during the late shift and it was for precisely that reason that he still remained here. It seemed like an eternity had passed since Dulam had last heard the click of claws from the corridor that lay on the other side of the thick oaken door, a door that he had locked and bolted right after he had entered. The heavy curtains had been drawn over the window immediately after the door had been bolted. He had then ensconced himself in his huge leather armchair in front of his desk and hadn’t moved since. There had been heavy knocking on the door two times since and neither time had he done anything but shift his preoccupied gaze to the oaken door. Whoever it was that had seen fit to disturb him in his weighty thoughts would have to wait until tomorrow.

A deep sigh escaped the Captain and for a moment he deflated like a pricked balloon. Serious problems had developed and Hagarth had suddenly found his carefully contrived plans on very precarious footing. Two of these problems in particular irritated him, and he desperately needed to find solutions to them that would not create even more problems.

The human was his first and foremost problem. That one of the Pale Ones had shown up in his city vexed him greatly and had severely complicated matters. Why exactly the human had come here was a question that had weighed heavily on Hagarth’s mind right from the beginning. He could be a spy, a saboteur, or even an advance scout for a raiding party, all of which would not be out of the question for a species as despicable as the humans. He hated those furless bastards with a passion that bordered on the fanatical and a snarl twisted the lines of his muzzle as he leaned forward. The things they had done he would not soon forget. While others of his kind often had short memories and tended to be more forgiving of the Pale Ones, he had a burning hate deep within because of what he knew those ugly bastards were capable of.

Hagarth had not always lived in the city. He had been born in the forests far to the west, a place of soft mossy earth, huge coniferous trees, and of broad valleys between weathered mountains. Memories of a small village among the trees at the edge of a deep lake danced through Hagarth’s mind. A small village, maybe thirty people at most. A peaceful place where life consisted of hunting and fishing, and a place where he remembered happy times and a tight circle of family and friends.

His village often traded with the neighbouring clans and even with a group of humans that lived two days travel to the north. The humans had been there as long as he could remember and they’d never had any trouble from them. He recalled watching them from behind the safety of his mother when he was just a cub. They were a strange lot, those ones. Often sick, they always seemed depressed and lost and they were a people who knew the end of their race was near. He remembered how the leader of his village conversed with the leader of the trading party in the strange, guttural language of the humans and he recalled how the human’s eyes barely lifted from the ground. Bargaining ensued and after a time and much talking in that strange language, goods would be exchanged. Food and leather to the humans in return for metal and odd trinkets. The humans would then be on their way through the village, eyes downcast as they shuffled their way home.

That was the way it had always been but one season brought with it a change for the worse. He would never forget that day as long as he lived. A bright and hot summer day, most of his people had busied themselves fishing or repairing nets and tools in the shade from the trees. A few youngsters splashed about in the cool waters of the lake in an effort to escape the heat of the midday sun. He remembered the breathless runner that brought the news to the leader of the approaching traders and he recalled the worried look in the leader’s face at the news and the way his tail began to twitch from side to side. Whispered words were exchanged and the mood in the village changed suddenly as people dropped nets and tools to grasp weapons in uncertain paws.

The traders came in as they always did. Seven of them, eyes downcast, reeking of smoke and human sweat. They presented themselves before the leader as was traditional, arms wide, hands spread wide and palms up, a gesture of goodwill and trust. The leader though, he seemed nervous and Hagarth had been too young to know why. Curious, he had watched the proceedings, craning his head around the huge tree that he’d used to keep the heat of the sun off of his pelt.

The bargaining process started as it usually did but soon took and unexpected turn. The leader of the human trading party did not know his place. He was loud, outspoken, and his eyes were on the puma in front of him instead of the ground where they should have been. The village leader’s tail lashed about behind him and he had his arms crossed over his chest. The human gestured wildly and shouted something and the leader shook his head. All around the village, heads were raised and eyes hardened. Paws tightened on bows, spears and knives.

In the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened. In one smooth motion the human leapt forward and slashed the throat of the leader of the village. Hagarth doubted that the poor guy had even seen the blade that had been concealed in the human’s pale hand.

Blood spurted and the whole village stared in horror as their leader staggered, paws clutching at his ruined throat. Hagarth remembered the terrified look in his eyes and strangled screams as blood flowed hotly over the paws that sought futilely to hold together his gaping throat. The human shrieked a war cry and leapt forward to attack the next person within reach but by then people had overcome their shock. The human was pierced by several arrows before he could do anymore damage and came crashing to the ground, a bleeding, twitching hulk.

The remaining traders cast off their burdens and shrieked and howled their own war cries. Weapons appeared in pale hands and they leapt forward, slashing and stabbing whoever was within reach. Arrows began to fly and the villagers leapt forward with spears and blades to join the fray.

As the trader’s war cries faded, an answering cry went up from the trees surrounding the village. Heads turned, eyes widened and the day suddenly erupted into an explosion of noise and fury. Guns, the humans had somehow gotten their hands on guns. Pale skinned monsters raced into the village from the forest and bloodcurdling cries tore through the air amid the blasts of the guns.

Hagarth had been frozen in fear. He hadn’t known what to do. Guns were an ancient terror to his people, something of dark legends and bloody myths, a weapon that he had been told was almost impossible to defend against. He had been no more than a cub back then, barely eleven seasons old and it had seemed as if the world was coming to an end.

The whistle and whine of passing bullets were still fresh in Hagarth’s memory. He would not soon forget the heavy thunks as several bullets hit the tree he was hiding behind. Other projectiles rattled and knocked off branches as they ricocheted through the forest around him. One of the humans soon spotted him and ran toward him. Hagarth still remembered the crazed eyes in a face streaked and painted with black and dark green paint. His feet had been frozen in place. He couldn’t have moved if he tried. The human charged at him, shrieking horribly, a blade glistening red with blood clenched in one hand and Hagarth had been able to do nothing but stare at the bringer of death and destruction.

The scene played out in slow motion in the Captain’s mind and a dark look came to his face. How close had he been to death? Two steps, maybe three at most? There had been a blur of motion off to one side as the human closed upon him and a tawny form had crashed into the human at full speed. Both figures went sprawling in a tangle of arms, legs, and glinting blades.

Curses and cries rang out as the two struggled to get the upper hand. Hagarth only vaguely remembered other people running and shouting and dying around them. The one who had come to his aid at the last second had been his father and Hagarth watched in horror as he fought with a crazed human who was bigger and stronger than he was.

Hagarth’s father had never been a fighter. He had been known as a good hunter and was a talented tool maker but he had never been a warrior. The human was a better fighter and soon gained the upper hand. Desperation and terror gave Hagarth’s father strength and when his knife was knocked from his hand Hagarth saw him use claws and teeth to attack the human. The two rolled around on the hard ground and in the midst of the fray his father had turned his terrified eyes to him and had shrieked at him to run. The human had caught his father with a heavy blow on the side of the head, cutting off his father’s cries with a grunt. The unfortunate puma soon found himself on his back, his attacker pinning him down. The human stabbed down with his blade but his father managed to deflect the blow at the last minute. He reached forward and sank his teeth into the human’s arm. A desperate howl of pain rang out and the human sprang back. Hagarth’s father staggered to his feet and screamed at him to run again. A shot had rang out close at hand and his father had spun around, a stunned look appearing in his eyes. The human he had struggled with sprang forward and thrust his blade toward his father. The puma tried to block the attack but he stumbled as blood flowed freely from a bullet wound in his right side. The two met briefly and an arrow suddenly appeared in the human’s throat. With a surprised gurgle his grasp on his opponent slipped and he fell to the ground but the damage had already been done. Hagarth’s father stumbled toward him collapsed against the tree that he had been hiding behind. Hagarth could see the knife buried in his ribs. His father’s breathing was laboured and he slowly slid down the tree as his strength failed. His breath gurgled as he told him to flee, his voice barely a whisper. Hagarth’s legs had finally unfrozen and he sprinted away from the horrible scene before him, heading into the forest as fast as he could, trying desperately to ignore the cries and shrieks of those fighting and dying behind him.

Hagarth knew he would never forget the look of helpless terror in his father’s eyes as he died and he cursed the humans for what they had done. He had never understood why they had attacked his village. His people had never done anything to them. All they had wanted to do was live their own simple lives and they did not deserve the slaughter that was brought upon them at the hands of the humans. A snarl twisted Hagarth’s face and he gripped the edge of the table so hard that his sharp claws bit deeply into the wood. His tail lashed angrily for a moment before he mastered his emotions.

Out of a village of thirty people only seven had made it into the safety of the forest. The humans did not follow them into the trees and Hagarth remembered huddling with the other survivors, watching the smoke rise in the distance as the humans burned his village to the ground.

The survivors eked out a thin existence in the forest for the next week, constantly moving in case the humans sent out search parties to hunt them down but it seemed that the humans either would not or could not follow them into the forest. That was a small blessing as there were three in their small group that had been wounded in one way or another.

Hagarth had been luckier than most. His mother had survived the slaughter and he was grateful for the companionship and strength she showed in the face of what had happened. She became the informal leader of their small group, tending the wounded, organizing those able to hunt and sending them in search of food. It was she that returned alone to the village to see if there was anyone or anything left there. The look in her eyes when she returned had left little doubt that there was nothing left there except ashes and pain.

Several days later, their ragtag group of survivors stumbled into the safety of the nearest village. The people there had stared at the bedraggled and battered group in wonder. The wounded were attended to immediately and Hagarth’s mother had conferred in low tones with the leader of the village. A decision was reached and runners were sent out. Over the next week people trickled into the village at a steady rate. Fighters and warriors, all of them, and of many different species. A decision had been reached and the human problem would be dealt with.

Battle plans were drawn up and argued over and the warriors took time to prepare their weapons and their souls in the face of what was to come. Hagarth remembered the looks on their faces and knew that none of those warriors expected an easy battle. Somehow the humans had gotten their hands on guns and that did not bode well. Arrows and spears were poor weapons against swift bullets and after destroying one village those humans would be expecting some sort of retribution and would be prepared for an attack. There would be many brave warriors who would not return alive. Even so, Hagarth had found himself wishing that he could have gone with those brave fighters to exact revenge upon those who had destroyed his home. He was far too young for the horrors of war and was forced to wait at the village while the war party moved quietly out into the woods on a seek and destroy mission.

The stories Hagarth heard of the battle after all was said and done were still fresh in his memory. To overcome the advantage of the guns in the hands of the humans, the war party had tracked them down and waited for the cover of night to launch their attack. The humans had poor night vision and their weak sense of smell gave them no warning to the immanent attack. They were slaughtered as they had slaughtered those in Hagarth’s village. The losses to the raiding party were few and they returned triumphant but not before they had razed the human’s camp to the ground. The guns were smashed and burned and the decapitated heads of those bastard humans had been piled in the center of the camp to serve as a grisly warning to any others of their kind.

Hagarth had not seen another of the pale ones since that long ago attack on his home and he never thought that he would see another. Humans were unheard of this far east. From what he had heard there were still a few small groups of them that remained in the wild lands to the north and west but they had been driven from these parts over a century ago. All that remained of them were rumours and old relics that could still be found if one looked in the right places. He’d almost forgotten about the Pale Ones and the hate that he held for those furless demons had long been pushed deep inside and buried under the troubles that came with being Captain of the City Guard.

Fingers steepled, Hagarth leaned forwards, his face detaching from the shadows. The flame on the oil lamp wavered as the air was disturbed as the Captain moved. Eyes glinted in the darkness, each dilated pupil holding a perfect reflection of the wavering flame. Thoughts whirled within Hagarth’s head and a lip curled back to reveal a sharp white tooth and soon a dark grin flowed into the lines of his muzzle.

He’d been denied his own personal revenge so many years ago but here, now, he had an opportunity at vengeance. No one knew that the human was still alive and even if they did there were very few indeed who would care what happened to it.

Teeth glistened in the feeble light as Hagarth grinned. It was imperative that he find out why the human had come to this city. If the humans were planning an attack or some kind of sabotage against those who lived here the sooner he found out, the better it would be for all concerned. He would not let the humans attack the innocent and defenseless again, not if it was in his power to prevent it.

Hagarth stood and there was the clink of iron as a ring of keys was plucked from the table. The lamp was snuffed and darkness seized the room. After a brief pause the door was opened and a figure was momentarily silhouetted against the gloomy hallway. There was a heavy clunk followed by a sharp rattle as the door was shut and locked and then the silence took over.

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The ache in Annayah’s right paw burned constantly and sapped her strength. The glass had cut deep across her palm and she’d made a crude bandage out of a scrap of cloth when she had returned to her quarters. The wound needed the attention of the Doctor and likely a few stitches as well but there wasn’t time for that right now. Annayah was getting the feeling that something very wrong was going on.

Her black nose sniffed the air cautiously and when she didn’t detect any fresh scent traces, she carefully peered around the corner. The wound on her leg flared back to life as she did so. She’d have to get the doctor to look at that one too. It wasn’t as bad as the one on her paw but it still might require a stitch or two.

The hallway was empty, silent, and the door at the end beckoned to her. She really shouldn’t be doing this, she thought, but she had to. She had to confirm her suspicions about what had happened to Brelton and there was only one way to do that. She had to go to the morgue and have a careful look at his corpse before it was cleaned and readied for burial. A look of utter distaste came to her face as she cautiously worked her way down the deserted hallway. She absolutely hated going to the morgue. The stench of death and embalming fluid there always made her stomach turn and she had never gotten used to seeing corpses laid out like so much unwanted garbage on shiny steel tables. The coroner was a strange one too and she had never quite gotten used to him. Too much time in the presence of the dead had made him unsure how to deal with the living. The aged raccoon mumbled to himself a lot and Annayah had even heard him talk to the corpses. A shudder ran down her spine and her ears twitched as she approached the door. She figured that one had to be not quite right in the head to want a job that dealt with corpses day in and day out. She wondered if he could even smell anything but the smell of death anymore.

Just a short couple of minutes she told herself, a quick check over Brelton’s body for any signs of a struggle with the wolverine and she’d be out of there. Hopefully that unsettling coroner would accept her reasons for wanting to view the body or even better yet, he would be busy elsewhere. The morgue was generally a very quiet place and if all went well the coroner would be in his office doing paperwork and she’d be able to sneak in and out without him knowing. Just as easily, she thought, he could be doing an autopsy. At that thought, Annayah stopped cold and she almost turned around. She’d only seen one of those but had no desire to ever see another one. There was something about cutting apart a dead person and mucking about in their guts that seemed so wrong to her. The dead needed respect, that’s what she had been taught. They were to be returned to the earth and left alone, not poked, prodded and dissected. A deep breath and she forced herself to start moving again.

The smell of embalming fluid curled out around the edges of the door to meet her and she felt her stomach turn in reply. She sighed miserably and gently turned the door handle. Holding her breath, she poked her head through the door and peered around.

The morgue was apparently deserted and she breathed a sigh of relief. The scents of stale air and formaldehyde assaulted her nose but her perked ears heard nothing but silence. So far so good. She entered the room and quietly closed the door behind her, trying not to think of what would happen if she was caught here snooping around when she was supposed to be off duty and resting. She wondered if there was anyone out looking for her yet. Word of her being at the crime scene must have gotten back to the Captain by now and she doubted that he would be pleased at the news. Their next meeting was one she really wasn’t looking forward to, especially if she could prove her suspicions correct.

The morgue was gloomy and quiet. No lamps had been lit and Annayah had the feeling that the place had been deserted for some time. She crept past carts full of gleaming autopsy implements and thankfully empty steel tables. Thinking about the things that happened on those autopsy tables, she suppressed a shudder and moved toward the second room at the back where the corpses were stored pending identification or burial.

She crept into the next room on uneasy feet. The smell of death and embalming fluid was nearly overpowering in here and she had to force herself to go further into the room. It was unspeakably eerie to be in this silent, empty place, surrounded by the dead, and Annayah felt her skin crawl. Did the spirits of the dead that lay here watch from the dark corners with ghostly eyes, angry at what they had suffered in their last moments of life, and at what their bodies had endured on the tables behind her? She shook that question away and pulled herself together. Just a few quick moments of discomfort and she could be done and gone from this place. She stalked forward to the rows of steel doors and began to read the labels that had been affixed to the center of each door. Several were empty and there were a few names she didn’t recognize but she eventually found the one she was looking for. She stood and stared at it for a long time before she found the strength to open it. She was afraid of what she would find in there. Had the coroner already done his autopsy and cleaned the corpse, leaving her with nothing, or would she find the evidence she so dreaded? On some level Annayah really didn’t want the suspicions she held deep within to be confirmed and she held her breath as she swung open the steel door and slid out the tray that lay within.

A sheet covered the body and Annayah hesitated briefly before pulling it back, wondering again why she had gotten herself into this situation. No end of trouble would come of this if it was discovered that she was snooping around but she had to do something. She seemed to be the only one that cared that things just didn’t add up. For her own sake and for Kalya’s she had to find out what had happened to Brelton. She hoped and prayed that he had indeed been a victim of a random mugging instead of the disturbing alternative that lurked in her thoughts. A sinking feeling settled in her gut as she gently pulled the sheet back from Brelton’s face.

It was immediately evident that the autopsy had yet to be performed and Annayah breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes flicked over the face of the corpse, searching for anything out of place.

Kalya had been right. Brelton could easily have been sleeping. His eyes had been closed and the look on his face was peaceful. Had it not been for the flecks of dried blood that clung to his nose and to the tips of the long guard hairs on the side of his face she felt that she could have reached out and woken him up. She shook her head sadly. She could understand why Kalya had been so broken up.

Annayah pulled the sheet down to Brelton’s waist and craned her head over the corpse. There was an ugly mass of blood sodden fur on the left side of his chest. She moved to the other side of the tray and took a closer look. A gaping knife wound was visible among globs of half congealed blood. Annayah shuddered and took a step back. That people were capable of doing such things to each other over something insignificant as a few coins always amazed her even though she’d seen it many times. She held her breath and tried to clear the overpowering odour of blood from her nose. After a moment she stepped forward again, this time sniffing lightly, letting her nose seek out any evidence that may lay hidden from her eyes.

The scent of blood was so strong that it nearly masked everything else. The scent currents were sorted and filed in her mind and after a moment things below the strong odours of blood and decomposition began to reveal themselves.

The scent of ale was fairly strong, especially around Brelton’s head. There were residual acidic traces from his vomit that lingered there as well. Annayah stalked around the tray, sniffing intently. There was a barely detectable trace of fear lingering on the corpse and Annayah’s ears wilted when she detected it. The poor guy had been terrified in his last moments. She shook her head sadly and hoped that the terror had given him the strength to fight his attacker.

Hesitantly Annayah picked up Brelton’s right arm. Her stomach turned at contact with the corpse but she fought against her discomfort and carefully examined Brelton’s paw. She sniffed carefully at his claws. There was something there that she could just barely detect, a sharp and musky odour that was nearly hidden by everything else that assaulted her nose in this place. She couldn’t quite be sure what it was but she knew she had scented it before. Her mind worked furiously for a moment and her face suddenly twisted into a snarl. In the alley, this same scent had been in that damned alley. Annayah clenched her jaw and tried to calm herself down. The scent on Brelton’s paw could be from incidental contact from a contaminated object in the alley or elsewhere for that matter, there was no way to be sure. She placed his arm on his chest and thought furiously for a moment.

A sudden noise from the other room made Annayah spin wide eyed toward the source. A door had been opened and she swore softly. She hurriedly placed Brelton’s arm back the way it had been and pulled the sheet back up over him. As she did so she stopped suddenly and stared. Thrown into sharp contrast against the white sheet was a tuft of fur that had been trapped in a cracked claw on Brelton’s left paw. She missed it earlier because it had blended in so well with his own pelt. She quickly plucked it from the corpse and stuffed it into a pocket. The sheet was pulled the rest of the way up and the tray was slid back into the dark recess in the wall. The steel door she closed as quietly as was possible. She crept forward and risked a glance around the corner.

The coroner had returned to his lair and Annayah cursed silently. She doubted that she would be able to sneak out of this place undetected and she knew that the coroner would not be pleased to find her in here when he had been gone. Torn about what to do, Annayah crouched low and peered around the corner.

The age raccoon mumbled and muttered to himself as he wandered among the autopsy tables, a large sheaf of paperwork clenched in one paw. He flipped through the folder in his paw and muttered some more. He arranged a few nasty looking implements on one of the autopsy tables and finally moved toward his office. Annayah held her breath. Hopefully he would be in there for a while doing some paperwork and give her a chance to sneak out. She tensed up, muscles ready to spring around the corner and make quickly for the door.

Two seconds after the coroner entered his office Annayah sprang into action. She shuffled across the polished floor as quickly as possible, trying to keep her toe claws from clicking on the stone. Ears back, eyes wide, she wove her way around tables and carts, heart pounding in her ears.

She almost made it to the door. She heard a commotion from the office and there was a metallic clang as something hit the floor. She cursed.

The coroner stood in the doorway to his office, an absolutely stunned look on his face. A metal bowl lay at his feet amid scattered paperwork. Annayah grinned at him uneasily and wagged the tip of her tail. She was so busted.

It took the startled raccoon a moment to find his voice.

“Annayah.” There was a long pause. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

No shit, she thought.

“What the hell are you doing sneaking around in here?” He demanded, and angry edge entering his voice.

Annayah thought quickly for a way to respond that wouldn’t get her into more trouble.

“Uh... I was looking for you actually.”

“For... me?” He sounded surprised but and she could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe her.

“I wanted to ask you if you’d had a chance to examine Brelton’s body yet.” She edged closer to the door and the coroner eyed her warily. His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. She saw his eyes flick to the red stained bandage bound around her right hand. An odd look came into his eyes as he lifted his gaze to her face.

“I know you’re off duty Annayah. My report is for the Captain’s eyes alone and my findings concerning Brelton’s death are none of your concern.”

Annayah winced at that. It was more of a concern to her than he could ever know.

“I know that, I’m just here as a favour to a friend. Kalya is not doing so well and I figured that if I brought her some news concerning how Brelton died it might ease some of her pain.” Okay, so that was really weak, she thought. By now, her hand was on the door knob and was slowly turning it.

The coroner eyed her suspiciously. He opened his mouth to say something but Annayah cut him off.

“I’m really sorry to have disturbed you. I think I’d better go.” With that she quickly swung the door open, sprang through and slammed it shut behind her, leaving a very surprised raccoon staring at a closed door.

Annayah fled down the hall, ears back, eyes wide and she cursed herself for being stupid enough to get caught snooping around in the morgue. When word of this incident got back to the Captain, and there was no way that it couldn’t, there would be hell to pay. She likely faced a suspension without pay, maybe even a fine and possibly even outright dismissal if the Captain was in one of his moods.

One hand was held tightly over the pocket that contained the tuft of fur she had plucked from Brelton’s corpse as she trotted down the hallway. Her leg ached dully and her injured hand began to flare up in pain. Thankfully there were few other people in the hallways but those she passed favoured her with odd glances and one fox even stopped and stared openly as she limped past him and down the corridor.

She’d given him a glare that could have melted stone and had secretly been happy at the worried expression that crossed his face and at the way his ears wilted when her eyes met his. Damn the people here and their prejudices. She really didn’t have the time or patience to deal with that crap anymore.

Annayah thought briefly about returning to her quarters but she decided against it. There could already be guards there waiting to take her into custody. A snarl twisted her muzzle. Things were going downhill and right quick too. Her suspicions about what had happened to Brelton were now more likely real than not and she didn’t like where that path led.

The Guard House, that labyrinth of stone hallways and cold rooms no longer seemed a safe place for her to be. She fled that place and found her way out into the streets as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over cobbled streets.

The city seemed lifeless, grey, silent. The people she saw were no more than indistinct shadows and the cobbles were cold and hard under her feet. Annayah limped slowly along the street, one hand often reaching out to walls and buildings to steady herself. Thoughts flew through her head and the look on her face was one of dark concentration. There were so many things she had to do. She would talk to people and track Brelton’s movements up to the time of his death, and she would find out who else had been involved in the incident with the human. She had a gut feeling that something bad would happen to someone else if nothing was done.

Without even realizing it, Annayah had stopped at a corner. Her ears were back and a snarl bent the lines of her face into an angry mask. Her hands were clenched into fists and it was the pain from the cut in her right palm that brought her back to reality. Fresh blood soaked the bandage and dripped from the last two fingers on her hand. She sighed and most of her anger fled. She suddenly felt very cold and alone.

There was much she had to do but first she had to pay a visit to the Doctor and get herself patched up.

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