by Desiree Holt
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard Branson’s voice again, full of alarm, calling my name. A familiar sound filled my ears next, one I knew to be the howls of a dying Dog. I realized with terrible lateness that the sound must have come from me.
On the corners of the world, darkness began to tug at me, its strength growing with every moment that passed.
When a sudden rush of energy filled me, I recognized it as if I’d known it for a lifetime, rather than a handful of hours. As the shock of this jolt subsided, I realized that Branson was transferring to me more of his precious aura, the power that he would need to call upon for his own fight on this endless summer night.
“Get up, little Wolf,” he commanded. “I told you to win this fight.”
With this, I pulled myself up from my submissive position, using every ounce of life left in me to charge The Bear, who had been savoring the cheers of the crowd before going in for the final blow. Moving with a speed I could not entirely credit to myself, and energy that was almost wholly borrowed, I shot forward and got a grade A grip on The Bear’s throat, snapped my teeth shut around it, and tore it away from her neck.
Scarlet sprayed my paws and soaked my fur, and the taste of warm, fresh blood filled my mouth. The Wolf they called The Bear collapsed to the dirt before me, body twitching as it leaked of life.
With a mind that was swimming and a body that was screaming, I titled my head back and howled up at the night sky.
Chapter 6
My call was met with the enthusiastic reply of the crowd. Most of them had lost money with this surprise outcome, but I’d put on a hell of a show, and Wolves who bet on dogfights liked nothing more than a spectacle.
Using strength I wasn’t sure I possessed, I forced myself up onto all four paws and allowed the power to coil in my hind legs before leaping out of The Pit. The crowd watched with intrigue to see if I would make it. Even if a Dog won a fight, if he or she couldn’t leap out of The Pit at the end of it, most of the time their masters put a bullet in their head and took them around to Murphy’s field. If a Dog was too weak to get out of the hole on her own, their value decreased drastically.
In fact, nearly twenty percent of Dogs died this way; after winning in The Pit, they were unable to get out and shot on the spot. This was another reason Branson’s winning of so many fights was even more impressive. Not only had he won, he’d been strong enough to get out after.
When my paws landed on the earth outside the hole, I suspected that much of the strength it had taken to do so had also come from Branson, this Wolf who owed me nothing, yet kept giving me everything.
Once I was out, the crowd parted and allowed me to pass. I could hardly believe what had happened, couldn’t quite equate the fact that I had survived. Since I’d made the leap out of The Pit, I was free to return to the barracks and nurse my wounds in private. It was the only prize other than living that a victor won.
I managed to make it away from the crowd, the buzz of their excitement fading behind me as I limped and dragged myself toward the tiny hut where a cot and a stool waited to receive me. If I’d died tonight, that hut would’ve been given to another Dog without fanfare or ceremony.
But I hadn’t lost. I’d won.
And I wasn’t sure I could make it all the way back to the hut. When I was deep enough into the cornfield near the barracks that no one could see me, I sank down to my stomach, rested my head in my paws, and closed my eyes. With the way my heartbeat seemed to be slowing, I realized I might not be out of the woods just yet.
My eyes popped open as a rustle in the stalks grabbed my attention. Then, Branson, in his human form, appeared over me. The first real smile I’d seen from him was tugging up his lips, and even with the limited color of my Wolf vision and the lowered prospective, I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. If I’d had the energy just then, I honestly might have professed my absurd love for him.
As it was, I did not have the energy.
Branson squatted down beside me and his strong hands stroked gently behind my ears, making me lean into his touch. In his deep, comforting voice, he told me, “You did good, little Wolf.” Then he scooped me up into his arms and carried me away.
* * *
Darkness threatened to claim me, but I fought it with everything I had. We didn’t have much time, and depending on the outcome of his fight, I may never see Branson again. He was strong, but I knew he’d given me a great deal of his energy, and that would play to his disadvantage big time.
As he carried me back to the barracks, he asked me which hut was mine, and I lifted my muzzle enough to point at one at the far end. He had to bend double to enter it, but once inside, he set me down on the cot so gently one might think I was made of porcelain.
I made a snap decision to shift back to my human form, and did so before I could change my mind. I needed to heal, but I wanted to be able to touch his skin with my own, at least one more time. It was a stupid, pointless thing to want, but there it was.
He sat beside me as I made the change, shaking his head as his eyes ran over me. “Foolish,” he said. “You should stay in Wolf form. You’ll heal faster.”
I lifted my head to survey my wounds, which were raw and many, the smell of blood hanging in the air over me. When I rested back again, I reached up with my hand and placed it gently on his arm.
“Thank you,” I said. “But… why? I don’t understand. You have a fight soon. I know that took a lot out of you.”
Branson stared down at me and shrugged. He gently brushed some of my brown hair off my forehead. “I told you, little Wolf, I don’t know why I keep saving you. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind.”
I swam in the onyx that was his gaze. “I’m pretty sure that makes two of us.”
The hint of a smile touched his mouth, and if I’d been able to without causing pain to shoot through various parts of me, I likely would have grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down to me.
“How do you feel?” he asked, taking stock of my injuries. “Will you live?”
This made me laugh, even though it hurt to do so. “I guess I ought to, huh?”
He nodded. “I guess so.”
“What the hell is happening?” I asked.
“I’ve risked my safety to ensure yours,” he answered without pause. There was no bravado, no boast to this statement. Only a slightly bewildered honesty.
My next question bubbled up in my mind like something hot and urgent, and my voice came out small when I spoke. “Do you have the strength to win your fight?”
His hand came up and stroked my cheek, his eyes pinning me with an intensity that made it a feat not to squirm. “I guess we’ll find out, little Wolf,” he said.
I was too afraid to ask him what it meant for us if he did come back, and too afraid to wonder what it meant for me if he didn’t.
* * *
I wanted to go watch. I’d never wanted to do so in my fifteen or so years as a Dog. When you’ve been the one on the inside of The Pit, it sort ensures that you have a limited understanding of those on the outside who enjoy the show.
I wouldn’t enjoy it now, but I still wanted to watch. Sitting and waiting in my hut, lying on my cot in Wolf form and trying to speed my healing seemed an eternity that crawled on like turtles through molasses. Would he come back? Would Branson win? It was all I could think about as I writhed in pain.
I knew he’d been right when he’d demanded I stay in the barracks, letting my wounds close, because a female Dog was at risk of all sorts of things when she was fully healthy. Being in the condition I was currently, venturing away from the quarters would be downright stupid.
And Branson couldn’t watch over me, because he was in The Pit right now, fighting for his life with limited energy. Not that I’d ever needed anyone to watch over me in the past. Things in my world seemed to have shifted so suddenly that my head was still spinning.
I pushed up onto my paws, intending to take the risk and just go see
for myself. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to know if he’d lived or died. I couldn’t take the waiting.
A yelp escaped me, tearing past my teeth as my right flank buckled. Gritting my jaws through the pain, I practically fell off the cot and began limping my way toward the exit. Because of the size of the hut, this was luckily only two feet away, and I braced myself on the doorframe as I panted, my head hanging down by my front paws.
I closed my eyes. The pain was excruciating. I’d come closer to death tonight than I’d even realized. Just then, there were cheers and hoots and hollers from the direction of The Pit, the crowd raucous over the death of one Dog… or the other.
I got two more steps out the door before collapsing under the stars, the world swimming into darkness before my eyes. There wasn’t much else to do, and I’d never been the praying sort, but just then I sent up a silent request, and really hoped someone was listening.
* * *
A sigh. The sound of footsteps. I peeled my eyes open to see that I was still lying in a heap just outside the door of my hut, the rear end of my Wolf form inside the structure and my head under the night sky.
When Branson’s face appeared over me, I thought I must be dead or dreaming, for he was beautiful, and beauty was not something that existed in my world. Then the odd turn of recent events came flooding back to me.
Branson scooped me up into his arms, his skin soft and warm against my fur, and carried me inside as he had done earlier in the evening. “I told you to stay in bed, little Wolf,” he said in his soft, deep voice.
I spoke back telepathically. Even in my head, my voice sounded weak and weary. “I’m not really good at following directions.”
A smile almost came to his face. Now that my vision was clearing and I was getting a better look at him, I saw that he was in a great deal of pain himself.
“We’ll have to see what we can do about that,” he mumbled, and placed me down on the cot.
I tucked my tail and rested my head. Healing in Wolf form was much speedier than healing as a human, but it was an exhausting process. Branson pulled his shirt over his head and kicked away his pants. Then he shifted into a Wolf and hopped up beside me, his body big enough to hang over all four edges of the cot. We curled up together, fitting around each other perfectly.
In this way, we healed.
Chapter 7
Morning came, because that’s what mornings do. At some point during the night, Branson and I had shifted back into our human forms, and when the sun rose over the Missouri hillside, it brought with it a sense of dread, a tight knot that formed in the base of my belly.
Both of us had healed a great deal, and were likely no longer in danger of immediate death. All in all, that was a good day for a Dog. We’d survived another turn in The Pit. We’d lived to see another sunrise.
“Where are they taking you next?” I asked. These were the first words spoken between us on the new day, though we’d been lying awake in silence for a stretch of time that could not be long enough.
Stolen time, it was, like all time in the life of a Dog.
I felt his strong shoulder rise beneath my head. “I don’t know,” Branson answered. “To another pit, another fight.”
“You only have fourteen left. What will you do with your freedom?”
He crossed his hands behind his head, sighing. I nuzzled my head against his chest and ran a finger over a scar there. “Freedom’s not mine until it is.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Part of me thinks even if I make it to one hundred, my master won’t let me go. I’m his top Dog, his top earner, and he’s one greedy Wolf.”
Silence followed for a time. In it, I could hear my heartbeat.
“Are we fools?” I asked, though I knew well the answer.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“When do you leave?”
“In three hours.”
The disappointment that fell over me was immediate and intense. My throat felt tight and my chest ached in a manner that was wholly unfamiliar. A voice in my head chastised that it shouldn’t matter. None of this should matter.
But it did.
“I wish you hadn’t saved me.” The words fell out of my mouth as if of their own volition. They hadn’t even formed as a thought in my head and then they were out, spoken into the ether and henceforth not retractable.
In all my life I’d never uttered a more vulnerable statement, and my body tensed up as a result.
But when Branson ran his hands gently over me, caressing the skin of my arms, my bare thigh, I relaxed again, because that was just the effect.
“Don’t say such a thing, little Wolf.” His head tilted as he looked down at me where I was resting on his chest. “Maybe you could come with me. Would your master make a trade?”
My ears perked up at this, my head tilting in a canine-like manner. “Your master listens to your trade suggestions?” I asked, incredulous.
“Like most masters, he listens to no one, but there are ways to be heard.” His grip on me tightened, and I felt safe under the pressure. “I could try. I’m pretty sure he’d be interested the Wolf that took down The Bear.”
“You took down The Bear as much as I did,” I replied. The thoughts in my head were flying a mile a minute, trying to catch up with the entirety of it all. I sighed. “This is madness. All of it. We’re Dogs. We die. It’s what we do.”
His fingers came up and tilted back my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. I could only watch his lips as he spoke. “And, yet, for the first time in my life, little Wolf, I feel very much alive.”
Like that, my heart began hammering in my chest. “Madness,” I mumbled.
Branson gave a single nod. “Madness,” he agreed. “Shall I try? Shall I try to get you traded or sold, so that we can be in the same camp together?”
I spoke my next words in a whisper, for they get could me whipped or killed. “You mean the same prison,” I said.
He captured me with his dark gaze again, holding me the way the night sky holds the moon. “Life turns on a dime, little Wolf,” he told me. “That which is will not always be.”
I had a nagging feeling in my gut that whatever I said next would set off a chain of events that could unravel life as we knew it, like tugging the right thread on a tapestry.
Feeling as though it was a decision that had to be made immediately, I told him I wouldn’t object to his trying, and attempted not to let my foolish hope bloom in the process.
At this, I failed.
* * *
Once again I was waiting for Branson’s return. This waiting was almost as difficult as the waiting to find out if he’d survived in The Pit. If he managed to convince his master to purchase me, we’d be in the same camp. Where he travelled, I would travel. Where he fought, I would fight. When he finally met his maker, likewise I would be there. Though the other way around was more probable.
When the flap of my hut was pulled back, I jumped up from where I’d been sitting on the single stool beside the cot in the small space that was my living quarters. But it wasn’t Branson who had entered my space. It was a Hound with a sneer that seemed stuck on his sharp face. I knew he was a Hound (One of the Wolves that were paid to keep Dogs in line, and to track us down like Bounty Hunters if one of us escaped) because they all have a look to them. This look was a mixture of disgust and disinterest, an expression and air worn by those who feel above others, and yet know they can never be above some.
Hounds were as much slaves to the masters as Dogs were, only they had to hunt and wrangle for their lives, not fight for them. Like the gravediggers and The Pit announcers, we all had our roles.
“Rook?” asked the Hound standing in the entrance of my hut, blotting out the sun with his silhouette. It was a question, but not. He knew who I was. Hounds always knew who’d they’d been sent to get, like missiles locking on target.
“I’ve been summoned?” I returned. It was a second question with an obvious answer.
Without a word, he gesture
d for me to follow him, and having no choice but to comply, I stepped out into the midday heat. The sun was bright and hot overhead, making my eyes close to half-mast and an instant sweat break out on my neck.
Something had happened. Was it that Branson had succeeded in securing my transfer? I didn’t know, but when we cut across the field and began heading toward the master’s house, I knew that it was no small matter.
Fear shot through me—a rush of blood, a sense of something urgent pending. The Hound who’d retrieved me said nothing as the dry yellow grasses crunched under our steps, did not so much as glance back at me.
In the endless blue sky to our east, a red-tailed hawk circled, its sharp eyes searching the farmland for a field mouse or an unsuspecting bunny. My sensitive nose tested the air and picked up the scent of a wood fire somewhere nearby, of the cattle and livestock that dotted the hillsides to the south.
The sudden urge to shift into Wolf form and take off running stole over me, a sensation that started in my feet and shot up through my legs only to spread like wildfire through the rest of me. Some more evolved part of my brain recognized this as a futile, foolish idea, and luckily overrode the other.
The grasses continued to yield to our venture, the hawk continued its search and the cows their grazing.
The master’s house was easily the most imposing structure on the near three thousand acres of land that was home to the largest Wolf fighting ring in the Midwest United States. This private world existed right in the center of the human’s world, shrouded only by a thin cloak of magic and a clever everyday Farmer Joe appearance.
The land itself was lovely. The hills rolled on like an endless sea of green and yellow waves frozen in place. Only a handful of roads and interstates passed through, black strips that cut through the rock and wound around the countryside to offer views of livestock in the golden light of the day.