"Cry Havoc and let slip the dogs of war" –William Shakespeare
Callum shouldn't have walked the dog.
Havoc got jumpy from being penned up inside, and besides, he needed to go.
So Call had taken the makeshift leash in the middle of the night, and snuck out. It had been completely quiet, the hollow, windy sound of the corridors, water dripping from stalactites, and the river the only sounds. He had climbed into a boat with Havoc, who obediently stayed quiet until they were outside.
The night had been cool, the moon was new. Call could barely see without it, but Havoc had tugged on his leash and led him to the edge of the woods, where he ran off. Call had dropped the leash, and now he was stalking through the woods, calling Havoc's name as loudly as he dared.
It was just as quiet as it had been in the corridors, with owls hooting and twigs breaking occasionally.
Call shivered, knives of apprehension slicing through his back, lodging in his stomach.
A yelp of pain twisted the knives and sent him running, as fast as he could. That was definitely Havoc.
There was a gunshot, another howl, only a few feet to the right this time. Call stopped short. "Havoc?"
Call could hear twigs breaking, the shadows of deer scampering through the woods.
Call looked down.
"Havoc!" He choked.
It was Havoc, looking up at him with bleary red eyes. His breathing was sporadic. He was on his belly, panting with his tongue lopping out of his mouth. If Havoc wasn't hurt, Call would have laughed.
Call knelt down, gently petting Havoc's scruff.
Havoc's paw was caught in a metal trap, mangled like Call's own and bleeding. Poachers? Here? Call shook his head, inspecting the trap. He couldn't find the release, and the metal was cool on his hands. Havoc yelped piteously every time he touched it. Tears had started streaking down his face.
The gunshot, the second howl. Had he been shot? Where?
Call looked up. He couldn't see the hunter, but he or she must be around somewhere, ready to collect the precious pelt. Was wolf hunting even legal?
Call shook his head, inspecting Havoc's side. There was a definite gunshot wound, bloody and probably not survivable.
Call laid a hand on Havoc, trying to call up every ounce of Earth magic he could. Nothing happened. Could he even heal a Chaos-Ridden? Was there something about them that made them unhealable?
Call tried again and again. His legs were going numb, and his fingers were stiff from the cold.
Call opened his eyes, burying his face into the soft fur of Havoc's neck
He couldn't feel him breathing anymore.
