The strange denizens of their stranger lands had requested four healthy little bundles of joy and he was here to provide. Well, the other mercenaries had helped as well, supposed Vtoleni. It had certainly been nice to let them take care of the more dangerous parents so he could... take his time with the old couple. Why had little Irene been in their care, rather than that of her mummy and daddy? Maybe he'd wondered once, in careless passing.

He didn't pay any mind to the other children as he moved, almost gliding across the distance that separated he and the reserved girl. Ice-blue eyes slitted halfway, a serene, unlikeable smile stretching over his pointed muzzle like a glasgow scar. The coyote drifted close, as though this was a hunt and she was the crippled rabbit with nowhere to go.

"Hello again, mausi."

The wilderness here was unclaimed, too rough and sprawling to be anything but neutral ground, but that did not mean there was no darwinian social order at work. Strong animals trampled the weak as they did everywhere else on this mudball planet. Those who lacked in strength or wits or just luck were snapped up for whatever use the mouth seizing them had, and unlike in an established pack, there was often nobody to care when some wayward wolf didn’t come home one night.

Vtoleni was born of this brutal element, one of its purest epicenters in fact, and he took to it like a duck to water. Discovering his trade had been a magnificent event, for it meant he would never go hungry, that he could amass gems and bones and pelts and trinkets and more and MORE... that he could have an endless supply of toys to play with between commissions and payments. Life was good, more so than he deserved, anyone decent would grouse.

He prowled, restless, as the sun was just starting to think about rising over the distant horizon. Ice-blue eyes settled upon a dozing little bundle of white fluff, her thorny leash secured to a massive boulder nearby. That mouthy one. Angel. The coyote moved in, all slick oil, and leaned down casual as can be, hissing into one velvet ear.

“Do you know vhat’s going to happen to you, schatzi?”

A cold night had turned into a cool dawn, evening spent curled against a long forgotten structure in the highlands to gaze up at the lights that danced above. Swirls of lime greens, purples, and pinks flashing like waves. Colours weaving into Fawkes' fur, and shining bright reflections on his eyes as he smiled upward. Crackles of static from the Aurora storm loudly echoed through the emptiness around him. At some point after a long fight against drowsiness, mottled nose tucked under a foot, long curly tail curled around over his face for warmth, and Fawkes had drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

A bundle of dark speckled curls were tugged by a breeze, that brushed them over the fluttering of deep rose eyes, a faint sunrise greeting him with a sky of pastels that had barely begun to appear. A few stars still peeking from behind thin clouds that moved quickly on the wind. A shiver ran up his spine, lifting his warm fur as an exhale puffed out from his nose. He'd raise up to his feet and begin to shuffle sleepily forward down a worn trail, heading in to direction in particular, but decided fairly quickly to tuck against the opposite side of the structure to watch the sunrise.

Out of the wind's grasp, and leaning firmly against stones, his body tucked into itself tightly for warmth. Lengthy tail curling back around the feet he'd just tucked against his chest, head stayed upright to watch the world begin to turn. Sun creeping closer to the horizon line as the navy blues receded the opposite direction, giving way to light that would burst through at any moment. Someone was approaching from the same direction, which had their figure silhouetted and wrapped in a warm light.

Cheerful, "Good morning." smiled toward them.

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Must stay awake. Keep your head up.
His lungs ache, every pull of the salty air like claws down his parched throat. His cracked lips stick to his teeth, his body in anguish. Every inch of him pleads to stop, to relax and let go, but his will to survive drags him out of the fog of exhaustion just long enough to keep him above water.

Bastion has been at the mercy of the seemingly endless ocean for days. He had traveled many miles in his years of wanderlust, but he’d never gone so long without rest, food, and fresh water. By the third day his strength flagged, and the currents carried him between bursts of paddling. At nearly a week, he could hardly worry about whether he lived or died, lost as he was in delirium and fatigue.
His only release came in the fleeting moments when he slipped into unconsciousness- or insanity, he couldn’t tell. Visions would drift up through the pain and fear; images of a sleek, shadowy femme with purple eyes dancing behind his lids. He could hear her eerie howl, mingling with the wind, taunting him. He saw the faces of the young wolves he’d trained to hunt and fight, each one like a family member.

Quite abruptly, the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves is gone. Though he can hardly feel anything beyond the agony of his burning limbs, the sudden change is enough to drag a painful wretch out of him. His gut twists angrily, but he’s been empty for days, leaving him wincing and panting.
He can sense he is no longer in direct sunlight, and without lifting his head Bastion peels his stinging eyes open just enough to see the expanse of dark sand around him and the foreboding cliffs beyond.

Sleep drags at him, and he struggles to understand how he ended up here. Instinct demands that he get out of the open and away from the water. Here, he is exposed and vulnerable.
Unable to lift himself, Bastion feebly digs his hind claws into the sand and pushes his limp body up the beach as far as he can manage. After a few feet, he can go no further and finally gives in to the darkness.