A/N: This stand-alone fic features the same two SM protagonists from "Blood Reckoning", and takes place several years prior to the fateful events that occur in that story.
Kasvo licked his fangs in satisfaction as he took a deep breath of dry desert air thickened with the heady scent of fresh blood. The pack had dragged down a big grayhorn ibex mere hours after they had been released from the Tower and with their incessant flesh-hunger sated the eight Lost Ones now sprawled idly about the kill-site, gnawing on bones, snapping at the ashwings trying to steal scraps and engaging in lighthearted scuffles. Kasvo crouched apart from the rest, waiting for Varsoreth to return from his roaming, examining his chainsword's few remaining teeth, his clawed hands and bestial face wet with gore. It had been a good hunt, a good kill; his pack-bothers were content and the stars were burning bright; there would be no challenges to his leadership tonight.
A fierce snarl drew Kasvo's attention from the weapon and he looked up to see Beshca, the newest addition to the pack, jerk back from Sarkai as the bigger neophyte swiped at his head with the leg bone Beshca had been trying to steal. Kasvo snorted in disgust. All the Lost Ones were cursed with animalistic mutations: ugly, dehumanizing deformities resulting from their bodies' failure to accept the gene-seed of the Great Angel during the insanguination process, yet Beshca was a particularly wretched creature, with a withered arm he kept pressed to his chest and a twisted leg that dragged uselessly behind him wherever he walked. He could not keep up with the pack when they hunted and the other neophytes begrudged him every morsel of meat from their kills; to them Beshca was a weakling, and if Varsoreth had not forbidden it they would have torn him apart without hesitation on the night he was first introduced to the pack.
Drool dripped from Beshca's malformed jaws as his yellow eyes remained fixated on the bone gripped in Sarkai's hand. Privation had left his body gaunt, exposing his ribs for all to see; it only worsened the pack's contempt. With a growl Sarkai spat at him and Beshca flinched as the acidic spittle burned into his shoulder. Backing away, he looked around at the others; hunched over their bones the Lost Ones showed their needlelike fangs, denying him their meat. Then his gaze fell upon Kasvo and the large piece of ibex haunch lying on the stone next to him; hope kindled in his eyes and he began crawling towards Kasvo on his belly, emitting plaintive whimpers as he approached.
"No!" Kasvo growled, rising swiftly from his crouch and brandishing his chainblade in warning. "Var's meat! Not yours!" Of all the disfigured neophytes consigned to the Tower of the Lost by the Sanguinary Priests of the Charnel Blades Chapter only he possessed the capacity for rational speech. Beshca moaned piteously, gnashing his teeth as he dragged himself closer. Kasvo raised the chainsword, prepared to behead him if he tried to snatch Varsoreth's portion. Sarkai and the others looked on eagerly, their murderlust aroused once more by the prospect of bloodshed.
"Wait, Kasvo," a harsh vox-modulated voice commanded from the boulders above them. The Lost Ones raised their heads as a Space Marine in night-black armor descended from the ridgeline, his ceramite boots dislodging smaller rocks as he moved. "Beshca wants to take Var's meat," Kasvo explained as the skull-helmed Chaplain came to a halt beside him. "He is thief. Kasvo will slay him."
"Beshca is your brother, Kasvo," said Varsoreth, "he is a part of the pack; he must have meat also, just like the others."
"Beshca is weak!" Kasvo's retort was instant and vicious, "He is not pack! He not hunt with others! No hunt, no meat!"
Varsoreth stooped and picked up the piece of ibex Kasvo had set aside for him. Beshca pawed at the Chaplain's boots, his emaciated sides heaving. "Beshca has the blood of the Angel inside of him too, Kasvo," Varsoreth said, turning his fearsome countenance upon the alpha-leader, "Just like you and just like me. It is not his fault he cannot hunt; if he has meat he will grow stronger, become faster. A good leader takes care of his pack; a good leader makes sure all of his pack has meat, for that is the way of true brotherhood." He handed the hunk of flesh to Kasvo; Kasvo stared at the meat for a long time, struggling to understand what the Chaplain was trying to teach him. Then he regarded Beshca in thoughtful silence.
"Would Great Angel see Beshca as pack?" he asked at last.
"Yes," Varsoreth replied, though there was a heavy sadness in his voice, "All the Lost Ones are the Angel's sons, even Beshca."
Dropping back into a crouch Kasvo held out the bloody ibex flesh to the crippled neophyte. "Have meat. Grow strong. Beshca is pack; Beshca is brother."
Beshca snatched the meat from the alpha-leader's hand and tore into it with his fangs, gulping it down in great chunks; Kasvo glanced up at Varsoreth. "Kasvo will be good leader; Kasvo will take care of pack-brothers – all pack-brothers. Like the Angel wants."
Varsoreth watched in silence as the two Lost Ones loped back to the others, Kasvo partially upright, Beshca on all fours, bumping his shoulder against Kasvo's hip, his loyalty and devotion forever secured. Soon all the neophytes were romping g about, wrestling and play-fighting, their feral growls and wolfish howls echoing throughout the ravines and canyons of the Defile.
"I did not speak falsely, father," the exiled Chaplain whispered to his long-dead primarch as he turned away and was swallowed up by the night. "They are your sons, even in their debased state. I am merely the shepherd; but you…you are the example, the light that guides our hearts even in the darkest of places."
No reply came – yet high above the stars continued to shine, still burning bright.