Am I dead? Hell, I don't know. I know that something is off. Where am I? Last thing I remember was that prick poking me with his sword. Not that it hurt, mind you, but I did black out after that…

Wait. Am I dead? Shit. I lift my furry paw up to my face in shock, willing myself to reform into a human. Yet the deadening sensation, the slightly overbearing hotness that is having a damned big coat of fur, remains, and from the sensation of having a tail and the elongated snout, I can only assume I'm still a wolf.

Shit. Just what I needed. Some jumped up little shit who messed with our pack. Why do they always do that? If you mess with me I'm gonna blow your friggin' brains out. All I can hope is that Prince shithead or whatever from Snow's past has met his rightful end. How did he do that, by the way? Kill me? I thought that was easier said than done…

I gingerly trot over to a small burbling brook and look around my surroundings curiously, sniffing deeply, allowing the multitude of smells to cascade over my body.

I'm in a forest clearing of some kind, and by the smell of it, the forest is immense. I can smell the fresh smell of brisk air, the sharp smell of grass, the sweet smell of animals, and the revolting smell of animals that awakens a warrior's sense in my chest.

There are monsters here. Then again, I'm one too, but perhaps my rivals do not know that. The excitement of the hunt bursts in my gut, and an elated sense of freedom grips me, and I howl loudly, the sound of my howl echoing across the entire forest.

Here, I'm free. No human form. No stuffy walls. No noisy streets. No… rules. There is only the hunt, and I am the master of the hunt.

I sniff again, taking stock of my surroundings. The groomed-fur smell of cyclopean beasts hits my nose first, then the ashy, brimstone-tinted smell of dragons. The cloying, sickening stench of Giants hits my nose also.

The temptation to destroy these usurpers, these whelps is strong, but the rumbling in my stomach takes precedence. Eventually, I will test myself against these great foes; what is the point in having a hunting ground if it hasn't been won in a great battle of strength, cunning, and pure, bestial rage?

I trot through the woods, my paws pressing against the cool grass, and I'm reminded of my younger days, before shit hit the fan; The days of wandering the wilds, preying on hapless men and women. The days of not being outwitted by girls in red hoods and lazy woodsmen, or being defeated by a simple brick house that would just not blow down? Then friggin' Colin and his brothers tried to cook me in a pot of Bigby stew.

I pick up the scent of a deer-type creature, and I follow the scent, pounding through endless miles of trees, hills, mountains, and valleys. Then, I slow my pace and pad around silently. The prey is near.

I see the creature in a distant clearing; a golden mustang-deer creature who detects me quickly.

Damn. I was getting too used to Mundy animals. I forgot how crafty animals from the Homelands were.

The chase is exciting and rapid as we wind through the tangled forest in an endless game of chess. I am the King, and my prey is the pawn, and this is the game of chess that has been played, won, and repeated throughout the history of the Mundy world and every world, even in the darkest holds of the Adversary.

Friggin' Gepetto couldn't stop this primal dance.

I forgot how much I missed this. The last time I got a chance to hunt was when I was running from Fabletown after the cubs…

I push this thought from my mind. As much as I love Snow and the Cubs, I need to focus on the Hunt. I've been cooped up too long in the Mundy World, in being complacent, to ruin the moment.

Anticipation builds as I lunge forward, biting deeply into the animal's flank, anticipating the spray of coppery blood across my muzzle. The way it used to be. The first bite, of course, is the disabling one. Now I can eat.

The piercing sound of a horn stabs through the silence, and I snap my head upwards, smelling for the source, and I realize too late that my prey has escaped.

Damn it all to hell. I was looking forward to that.

Then, the rage begins. Why are there hunters in my realm? How DARE they? I will show them the true meaning of fear. The Wolf is on the prowl.

Then I smell it; human flesh. It is slightly familiar, but I do not recognize it right away. I sprint towards the sight, leering victoriously.

"Found You!" I bellow joyously. "Can't escape now that I've got the taste of you well in my nose."

I crest the hill, and am faced with a figure in a flowing, blue robe, a golden hunting horn glinting in the sunlight. I prepare to pounce, but a deluge of recognition and realization washes over me, and I hold myself back.

"There you are," the figure says, looking across the valley in front of him.

He turns, the hood shrouding his face in shadows, but revealing an all too familiar arm and blue-gloved hand.

"Bigby," he says, "I thought I'd find you here."

Recognition flits across my consciousness, and disbelief, guilt, and grief settles over me like a warm summer's day.

"Blue?" I ask tentatively.

"You're alive?"

The familiar boyish face of my old friend emerges from the shadows of his blue hood, and joy mounts in my heart.

"Nope," he grins. "Very much dead; like you."

Shit.

"I guess you could say we're alive, then again," he says, plopping himself down on the rock spur, smiling broadly.

"Being alive is really more of a location-based distinction, really. Not a condition. Alive over here is being dead over there, and vice versa."

I stand there motionlessly, thinking back to his desiccated, shadow self that had wasted away in an unforgiving hospital bed, with tubes rammed in everywhere. Jesus, he looks like he did when he was at his prime; heroic, proud, unbeatable. Like his entire life stands in front of him.

"How are you, Bigby?" he asks, seriously. He leans against his arm, looking towards the rolling mountains in the distance, and the rushing river that penetrates the soft belly of the valley below.

"Been through some tough days, huh?"

No shit. My wife was stolen by some entitled douchebag, a friggin' Dark God tried to kill us all, my father tried to kill my son and I, then killed himself, and my friggin' cubs are missing. I'll say it's been a tough couple 'a days.

However, the grief at his recent loss overwhelms me, despite myself.

"I- I don't know what to say," I mutter.

My anger, frustration, sadness, and fear must read through to him, and he smiles reassuringly.

"It's okay, buddy. I was the same way at first."

He explains why he's here; to offer me guidance through my first day in heaven, or the afterlife, or wherever the hell I am now.

"By the way, I wasn't trying to chase off your dinner," he apologizes. "Just bad timing on my part. Wouldn't be the first time."

He talks for a while, chatting about Stinky's damned cult (I'm glad that at least someone else say how mind-numbingly stupid that was) and that he'll never return to the Mundy world, or any world, as a living being.

"You act as if I can go back," I point out, the desolation of my now- apparent isolation from everything important in my life dawning on me.

I'm torn between trying to claw my way back to my wife and the cubs, or chasing another creature and going full Wolf on everybody.

After all, I've done my work, right? I've sacrificed enough. And I've never gotten praise or love; just fear and polite redirections. Maybe I deserve a vacation.

"Can't you?" he asks.

"I don't think it's up to me," I state bluntly. No doubt some prick of a god is watching with satisfaction. Or something.

"You're the son of the North Wind and the father of the new one," he points out bluntly.

"Different rules apply to those that shake the worlds."

The background, I've noticed, has melted away, and there is only whiteness in every direction, yet we haven't moved an inch. I notice that for the first time, I can smell… nothing. There is only the familiar scent of myself and Boy Blue. Nothing else. It's relaxing and terrifying all at once.

"Let's walk towards the exit. I have to leave soon."

I pad along beside him, walking towards the blank distance.

"You don't really need me to explain more. Your new life is pretty basic, assuming you decide to keep it," he says. "But if you choose to return, they'll have need of you."

That doesn't sound good.

"Bad times coming?"

"Do you really need to ask? There are always bad times coming."

Again, shit. Well, I guess there's no rest for the wicked…

"Back in the Home worlds," he says, casually striding forward aimlessly.

"You were meant to be a Great Destroyer. One of the Bad Things in the worlds. But something threw a giant monkey wrench into the works and everything went off track."

I answer without hesitation.

"Snow."

He looks at me curiously.

"I had no trouble being a monster, back in the day. In fact, I enjoyed it. Preying on humans, beasts, and anything else that strayed across my pass, I was content in eating more until I became a monster of colossal proportions. But when I met Snow in one of the Emperor's slave gangs…"

I remember back all those years, the slain bodies of the Emperor's guards, the fleeing forms of scared prisoners, and the beautiful woman in ragged clothes clutching a jagged sword, a determined expression on her face. Behind her, another woman, with bright red hair, hiding behind her sister reluctantly, whose raven black hair, pale skin, and ruby lips sparkle.

"Just like that?" Blue asks.

"Instantly. Anything short of being with her would have been complete and utter misery."

He nods, silently walking forward.

He reminisces about his failed attempts at love, and my potential of reverting to my former self, and I'm forced to remind myself that he's not a child. His boyish looks exude youth, but I know that he was once a hardened warrior. And once again, the grief comes; his life ended too soon.

Then, he changes the topic, and readies himself to leave. Much remains unsettled, however. A dull but building fear rumbles in me, and fear of losing Snow, uncertainty about my death, and a sense of guilt for having failed my wife settles on me.

I once again ask him, out loud this time, what the point is. What's the point in even trying if we're so insignificant? If, of the billions of worlds that apparently exist, one single mundane world exists? There's no point. No point in trying, loving, feeling.

"What if that's a blessing?" Blue asks.

"We can concentrate on what's important to us rather than the big picture of life. You fight for Snow and the cubs, and for those who matter to you. That's the whole rhyme and reason to life, Bigby."

"Tribalism? That's it?"

"Why not? If there's a greater intent, it isn't going to be imposed on you—on us. You get to decide what that will be, all by yourself."

I remain silent, and he looks into the distance, as if someone is calling to him.

"Looks like I gotta go. Hang around a bit; you have another visitor. He'll be along in a moment."

He begins to fade, and I struggle with putting my thoughts into words.

"Bye now," he says with a grin. "Take care."

I struggle to hold back tears from running on my muzzle and my wolfish heart aches.

"Goodbye, Blue."

Then, there is only silence.

And then, in the distance, a familiar, diminutive figure appears, and I immediately recognize the form of my son. Shock, confusion, and joy runs through my heart, and I immediately shift back into human form, gathering the boy into my arms, holding back tears.

"Dare?" I ask, as if he's not really there.

"Daddy?"

"Is it really you?"

"It's me. They said I could talk to you before they send me away."

A feeling of dread begins to build. No. He couldn't be. Why… would…he…be…here?

I manage to say as much, and Dare simply looks at me, a serious expression on his face.

"The one lady said any boy who wouldn't put off going to paradise to see his dad first isn't worth the real estate."

I'm struck by the sense of fatigue, exhaustion, and wise, dull sadness that exudes from his boy. Nothing like the excited, eager voice of a cub that I had heard only a few days past.

"Why are you here, son?" I ask, scared of what he might say.

"I thought maybe you already knew. I can tell you, but you have promise to tell me, honesty of the pack, man to man, wolf to wolf, whether I did okay. Whether I did the right thing."

I drape my arm around his shoulders comfortingly, and we walk fearlessly towards the distant whiteness. I don't know what he's talking about, but I know that he'll fill me in, and that we'll figure something out.

As we talk, I think of Wolf Manor. Of Snow's loving embrace. Of the cub's joyous playing. Blue's trumpet. Colin's escapades. Rose on Christmas. King Cole's foolishness. Beast's passive nature. Fly's silently wise observation.

Most of all, I miss Snow. I don't know whether I'm truly dead or not, or even whether I'll return one day into her loving arms, but I hope with all my heart that she's doing fine.

Hope. For the first time in a long time, I feel hope.

After all, we're Fables. We deserve a happily ever after.