The Weasel's Playpen: Chapter One, Page Two
"It's funny how well they get along. They're almost inseparable."
He was being held, he couldn't move at all. By what, he couldn't tell, but he felt blood dripping down his body and sharp objects in his skin. He tried to turn towards his sister, but as he moved, a sharp metal beam dug into his skin.
"W-what is h-he doing?"
There was another man in the room, smiling at them. Even if he was smiling, he looked guilty, and scared.
"W-why?" That was the last thing he heard before the world faded out.
He blinked. So… he really did die…
But why was he blinking, breathing, and struggling to move?
He used all of his willpower to nudge his torso. He was on a table, and rolled off, crashing onto the ground. Oddly, he felt very little pain from the fall; even if it was a small table, it should've felt like something, right?
He stared ahead. There, leaning against the wall, was a dark gray wolf. Her eyes were closed, but she appeared to be… breathing? He remembered the wolf from his nightmare. Arctic, it was called. He urged himself to get closer, but his body still remained still.
He decided to try a different approach.
"H-hello? A-are you awake?"
The wolf stayed still for a few moments. Just as he was about to give up, it opened its bright blue eyes.