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“Now, open the gates. We must be on our way.”
The soldier stared at Ben and the fox a moment longer before inclining his head at the sentries. Slowly, the gigantic gates were pulled open.
Ben nudged the steeds to exit the fortress at a sedate walk, belying the pounding of his heart and the need torun. The fox trotted beside them, keeping pace.
It wasn’t until they were a good thousand yards away from the fortress that Ben finally stopped the horses and let out the breath he was holding.
He looked down at his unexpected companion as the white fox looked up at him.
“You saved my ass back there, friend,” he said softly.
“My thanks for that.”
The fluffy creature tilted its head like a playful dog, but regarded him with cat-like, vertically-slitted eyes, as if to say,Of course, human. Don’t think anything of it.
Ben shook his head a little, bemused at his own fanciful thoughts.
“Where did you come from?” he murmured to himself, then peered more closely at the wee beastie, trying to see its tail better, which was curled behind it, hidden mostly from view at this angle.
“A hunting fox, huh? Does that mean you’re good at tracking prey?”
The fox blinked at him slowly as if in confirmation.
“Well, lead the way, little buddy,” he said.
“Let’s go find the liger and the Hunter. And hope that, if the fall hasn’t killed them, they managed to resist murdering each other in the aftermath.”
With a yip, the fox bounded off in the direction that led to the backside of the mountain beneath the fortress.
It seemed to know where it was going, and since that was exactly the direction Ben needed to head in, he followed. Wondering all the while—
Why did this fox seem so familiar?
And why were the fine hairs at the back of his neck raised in attention?
He was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu, and yet he knew he’d never been here, done this, or encountered a creature like this before.
With an inexplicable sense of foreboding and anticipation, he followed the white fox where it led.
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
After Sin ate his fill and snoozed for a while, digesting the food in his full belly for the first time in far too long, he stretched to his paws and let out a jaw-cracking muted roar.
It felt superb to be free again. Out in the open, fresh air. To run and hunt and devour his kill.
He could feel his body knitting together faster than before. It had been less than a full sun cycle and already his ribs no longer gouged into his hide from starvation. Already, his muscles were rebuilding, filling out his large-boned frame.
When he was imprisoned in the pit, it took days, if not weeks, to heal from the wounds he sustained during each public spectacle. That they kept him malnourished served to prolong the already agonizing process.
Now, the blood in his veins churned hot and strong. Made him hungrier even though he just ate. Made him lustier as well, something he hadn’t felt for decades.
Which brought his attention, as it always did over the past many hours, to his prized captive a few yards away.
There were still a few strips of meat clinging to the bones of the antelope carcass he’d been working on. He could tear off those scraps and toss them to his prisoner, who hadn’t eaten in at least a day.
But he didn’t feel like it.
The Dark vermin could learn what hunger felt like. And if Sin kept him alive long enough to know it—what starvation was.
