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Blood filled the wolf’s mouth. His teeth tore into tender flesh still hot with life and they scraped across the bones underneath. The man beneath him screamed and thrashed and then, as the wolf sunk his teeth into his enemy’s throat, it all stopped. There was a gurgling sound instead, one final whimper elicited from his tattered windpipe. Dark, rich blood sprayed the wolf’s muzzle, surging with each final pulse of life. Wolfie ripped his head back and dug in again, leaving nothing in the man’s neck.
The man dead, the wolf turned on the other two. Primal eyes cut through them like a blizzard’s edge, and his chest crackled with a low, murderous growl. Blood and spittle spilled from his curled lips, skin and fabric caught in bloody claws and stained teeth.
The other two leveled halberds at the beast, yellow electricity sparking from the curved blades. Wolfie settled his weight low, his haunches tight like springs. He was ready to pounce, read to snap, ready to kill.
Pain consumed the animal. With a sharp whine, he crashed to the dusty floor, muscles seizing uncontrollably. He desperately tried to gain control of his body, to stand, to fight, but then those weapons were at his throat and that horrible warden stood over him with a smug smirk.
She wore gold plates around her neck and over her shoulders. Her narrow face was painted with vibrant red and blues, some odd symbol like a third eye on her forehead in glittering gold. Ornate tattoos latticed her hands and arms, a bandeau of red linen around her chest pinned with a gemstone brooch. She wore harem pants sashed with a silk belt and gold sandals on her feet. Golden cuffs set with precious jewels adorned her wrists and loose anklets jingled with each step.
“Vicious little pet,” she cooed. With a snap of her fingers, another shock of lightning coursed through the wolf. “Save your energy, dog . You have a show to put on.”
Wolfie snarled, but his muscles were too rigid to move. While he was paralyzed, the guards fixed a golden collar around his neck and with a heavy chain, dragged him through the dirt. They wore gauntlets fixed with topaz and Wolfie knew they would send a bolt of lightning through the chain if he resisted.
As his muscles relaxed, the wolf did all he could to set his weight back and delay his performance. There was little to be done–he had no chance of surviving if they shocked him time and time again.
They hauled the great beast into the middle of a coliseum. An audience roared as he was brought out and shackled to a plate in the ground by his collar. The chain gave him enough room to circle, but not to leap. Wolfie’s fur bristled, eyes searching the audience. Thousands of faces blurred together, their tidal wave cheering muffling everything except for cold bloodlost and pure hatred beneath the beast’s fur.
His bestial gaze settled on the emperor’s box. A man painted with intricate designs–gold, red, blue, and green–wore a purple silk wrap across one shoulder. It was tucked into a belt of gold and topaz and he wore a long skirt of silk underneath. Atop his head, a rich nemes fixed on a gold rim, a viper’s head perched at the front.
Wolfie growled, his ears pinned back. He could smell monsters and animals and strange new things. His throat and nose were full of the dead man’s blood, his fur still damp with it. His ear swiveled to a screech of metal and the crowd’s deafening cheers made his ears buzz.
Wolfie turned on instinct, face to face with a pack of much smaller starved desert wolves. They circled him, flanking and barking at each other. There was no intelligence in their sounds–it was all hungry! hungry! hungry!
The first wolf leapt. Wolfie skirted, throwing the animal aside. It whined sharply as it hit the dirt, but ravenous, it sprung up again. With the first pounce taken, the others didn’t hesitate. Wolfie was suddenly beset by the hungry beasts. Claws through fur, teeth into flesh.
The little wolves’ teeth were cracked and dull from chewing on nothing but cage bars and bones, but their claws were filed sharp from digging and digging and digging against the stony ground.
Pain stung Wolfie across his sides and flanks. They dug into him, all five working independently in some mass craze to taste anything . The skirmish was a short-lived explosion of ferocity. The desert wolves did not survive. Wolfie was smeared with their blood.
The wolves’ bodies were not cleared before the next gate opened. This time, Wolfie found himself against a mighty lion. Perhaps this animal was the current champion–it was riddled with gray scars in its sandy fur, one ear shorn off and mane regrowing in patches. Insects clung to its skin and one of its front canines was unevenly broken. Despite its condition, it looked well fed. No doubt it feasted on the losers.
It outsized Wolfie and outweighed him, but the wolf was fresh and the lion was overworked. It was hurt and exhausted, old injuries addling its joints.
The lion roared. Please! it begged.
Wolfie snapped back. We can work together! We can get out!
No, the lion lamented , there’s no escaping here. Kill me.
Wolfie tossed his head. No–I can get you out–
The lion decided his fate without the wolf. He attacked, forcing Wolfie to defend. Despite the lion’s wishes, instinct overtook the beast on its last breath and it fought back fast and hard. Claws ripped open the wolf’s muzzle and tore his ear. Teeth crushed one of the wolf’s front legs.
Wolfie sank his jaws into the lion's neck and wrenched . Regret filled the wolf as the lion’s blood flooded him. The great cat fell heavy to the sand, wheezing and gasping as it bled out in seconds.
The day went on. And then the next and the next and the next. Wolfie lost track of the suns and moons and there was more work than rest. His skin crawled after several days, wishing to be without fur, but he couldn’t recall how . And then, it was impossible to recall anything . It was only life and death, hot and cold, thirsty, hungry–
“I’ve got you,” Time whispered, unlatching the collar.
The shackle fell to the ground, revealing a matted mess of scarred skin and blood-crusted fur underneath. Fleas fled for cover. Wolfie’s emaciated neck still bowed, so used to the weight of the heavy gold chain.
Time offered his palm. The wolf snarled, unrecognizing.
“Pup,” Time soothed. “It’s only me.”
Time took up the Master Sword. Goddesses, how he hated that blade, but he would do anything for Twilight and so, Time delivered a prayer. Evoking Hylia, Time let his spirit charge the blue blade until it thrummed with power.
Its light smelled like a storm and Wolfie was so desperate to feel cool rain on his fur. He was thirsty ! Time offered the sword. Wolfie eagerly pressed his head to it, desperate for the wash of clouds and the filthy water which would flood his cell. When his tiny cage flooded as high as his chest, the animal couldn’t sleep but he could drink .
Twilight was too weak to hold himself up. Time caught the man, cradling him. The rancher froze as if mystified by his new body. Realization warmed a tired gaze. He would’ve cried if he’d had the means but instead, he crumbled into Time’s chest. Weakly, he grasped at his ancestor. He buried his face into the man, soaking up the scent of someone familiar, the pulse of someone kind. There was no electric shock as his bony hands clutched the man, no hideous laughter as Twilight desperately whined for food and water.
The rancher’s skin was cracked, blistered from sunburns, scarred from fights, shredded from sandstorms. Fleas left pocks across his skin, his hair was thin and patchy. He was sallow with hunger, waxy from dehydration. He looked barely human, eyes sunken and lips cracked. Time rocked the withered man, hushing him as Twilight seemed to try and merge with him.
“You’re safe now,” Time assured. “You’re safe with me.”
Twilight couldn’t speak. He couldn’t remember how. He didn’t remember how hands or feet worked, he didn’t remember how to breathe without panting. All he knew was to show his callused neck in submission, hoping Time would treat him gently.
Time scooped Twilight up, heartbroken over how light the rancher was. They’d joked once about Twilight’s weight compared to his height. He had muscle like granite, but now all that weight was gone, all his muscles devoured through starvation. There was skin and bones left, more the latter than former. His skin was a patchwork of scars and scabs, infections ate at the edges of festering wounds.
Time held his boy close. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured. “Thank you for staying alive.”