Pain.
He had forgotten how much pain.
The ever-present grinding throb of his right wrist, the continuous dull ache of the abused muscles in his spine, the smart of his battered knees and grazed paws, and above all – drowning them all out now with its constant howling – hunger.
He had to eat. His time was running out; he was going to die.
And this, quite clearly, was his last chance.
The wolf in front of him watched him intently. He was puzzled by the fact that her eyes were brown, not blue, but that didn't matter. She was vulnerable. She was food. She was going to die, and he was going to live. It was as simple as that.
The touch on his head just as he was about to launch himself at her throat scared him so badly he yowled and shrank away from the anticipated punishment, baring his teeth in fright.
There was another wolf beside him, a much bigger, male wolf. There was something in its jaws that smelled good: something that made the saliva run in his mouth.
He couldn't understand why the other wolf was patting him gently on the head, letting its paw run softly and repeatedly down the back of his neck. Ordinarily one wolf put a foreleg across another to establish dominance, or as a prelude to mating. Since he too was a dog wolf, this must be a dominance display, and it would be suicide to put up even a token show of resistance. He lowered his head in a display of abasement, trying to make himself appear small, weak and non-threatening; this animal was far too big and strong for him to tackle. *NotEnemy! NotHurt!* He let the smallest breath of a puppy-whine escape, reinforcing his harmlessness.
It seemed to work. The paw was withdrawn. He was unsure whether this was a good sign or a bad one; it depended on whether his submission had been accepted. He waited for the beast to swallow that enticing mouthful and attack him.
It didn't. Instead, it brought its muzzle closer to him and gently proffered the food.
It was a trick. It had to be. He snarled with fear and cowered down as low as he could get to the floor without crushing his injured foreleg. *HungryDieEatAfraidHungrySmellAfraidPainFoodHungry.* He had to kill. He had to eat. He had to obey.
Their muzzles touched. The edge of the meat brushed against his flinching mouth.
Almost against his will, his tongue shot out for a lightning lick, even as the sickening fear of retaliation dragged a terrified whine from him.
No retribution fell. The wolf remained where it was, its hazel eyes full of an emotion he couldn't read in his snatched sideways glances. Its paw began stroking him again.
Trembling with tension and fear, he gathered his courage and licked the meat again. The wolf was holding it very loosely between its teeth, and on a sudden mad surge of desperation he snatched the food into his own mouth and began trying to choke it down, turning his shoulder to take the brunt of the anticipated attack. He didn't dare chew it; it went down in lumps, almost untasted. The relief of taking nourishment, any nourishment, was so great that for a few blessed seconds he was only conscious of the sensation of eating. Even his ruined paw had vanished from his awareness, and whatever payment his shoulder might take in the meantime would be worth it.
Nothing had happened. The stroking went on. And when he finally inched his head around to see what the situation was now, the other wolf had another piece of meat in its mouth.
Its ears were upright. It whined encouragingly. The paw patted between his shoulders.
He couldn't lower his own ears in submission, and had no tail to wag in tentative friendliness. He could only watch fearfully and keep his head low as he angled it in slowly and cautiously towards that beckoning, delicious meat.
This time he didn't snatch and turn away. He closed his teeth on the very edge of the steak and dared a glance at the wolf holding it.
It released the food at once. Its eyes blinked peaceably, as though it wasn't hungry.
He still turned away, but he didn't bolt this piece, though he was still rigid with tension. He held it down with his usable paw and tore manageable bits off it, and each moment in which he was allowed to eat in peace fed into the unwilling sense of trust that had begun to steal over him.
*FoodGoodEat!Safe?HungryGoodEat!*
Then – the shocking thought stole over him: *NotObeyEatLive?*
His gaze darted around. The female was still sitting in front of him. He did not have to kill her. He did not have to obey. There was food. He would live.
The wolf beside him laid another piece of meat carefully on the floor beside him. After so long, his stomach had shrunk. It would not take much food to fill it; he was already starting to feel the pangs of hunger being replaced by those of indigestion. Nevertheless, he would not stop eating until he literally had to. Who knew when such an opportunity would come again?
Other, unfamiliar emotions were stirring in him. Very tentatively he licked the other wolf lightly on the muzzle, trying to convey his gratitude. It seemed surprised, and wiped its nose with its paw, but otherwise seemed to accept the gesture. At any rate it produced another piece of meat when he'd finished the third, and watched patiently while he ate that too.
The food was warm and heavy in his stomach. He was tired and full. He yawned and lay down.
The gully around him seemed dim and indistinct. The other wolf was still beside him, however, and he felt protected and at peace. He curled up and laid his head against one of his benefactor's paws. He was too tired to think and too full to care, though somewhere in him there was a dim realisation that there was an abyss into which he had not fallen, despite being intended to do so.
There was something not quite right about this, but nevertheless as sleep stole over him he was once again conscious of gratitude. A feeling that in itself was surprising, for there had been so little in his life for which he'd ever had cause to feel grateful. Survival was a matter of strength, not kindness. Or so someone had told him once, long ago….
He forgot whom. And when.
It no longer mattered, anyway.
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