Bearclaw Valley By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

The panic hadn't quite set in. It might not for a while, at least while he was focused on the hunt.

Fraser Campbell loved to chase the rabbits that emerged within his family's spacious back lawn, but this was something else entirely. He'd gotten loose, wriggling his gangly frame through a depression in the earth under the fence. He'd spotted a deer, and something within him. . .snapped. The call of the wild, or so he'd heard it named.

He had never yearned for the wild but now, now, finding all the space in the world—no fences could hold him in. He didn't have to stop, didn't want to stop, and by the time the adrenaline faded, he was very far from home.

And, yet, he persisted. The thrill of the chase kicked in once more as a large hare rocketed past, and Fraser took off, baying like a hound. He did not chase to kill or eat but for some other reason entirely, one he couldn't name. Fun? Freedom? Simple instinct?

Whatever the feeling was, it was so heady that he had surged past well-marked wolf borders without a thought and soon found himself slowing—having been outrun—in the entrance of a vast valley.

His eyes rolled upward, staring at the rocky walls that now threatened to close him in.

Oh. There it was. The panic.

and after the stranger came merrick.
he knew the valley of his birth,
he kept low low low low low low
stalking and prowling and hunting the odd strange creature who had dared to enter his valley and steal his prey.
and as with all living things, there came a fearful pause, in which merrick, hidden from sight, let out a dark and long spiral of haunting laughter.

And then came a voice from the bowels of hell, or so it seemed. A frightful peal of laughter that brought each and every hair on his pelt erect and trembling. Fraser turned quickly, like a puppy chasing his tail. Stopped again, floppy ears pinned back.

H-hello? he called out, his own voice echoing off the walls of the valley. He could still hear the cackles— Who's there?

He sounded like a baby, not the man of fifteen seasons that he was. Fifteen seasons gone by and he had always been in his element, never wanted for anything, never suffered. . . Perhaps he had truly never grown. In body, yes, but his mind and soul were tremendously soft. Soft, weak.

His tail lashed, hackles raised as he continued to look for the source of the hellish guffaws.

merrick laughed harder. he could not help himself, for the scent of fear was a reek that sharpened his lusts into a spearpoint.
"it's me, god," he mocked, before dissolving into another fit of malevolence that ended with a pleased sigh.
and then merrick showed himself; there, on a leftside ridge not far above the man, the single eye blazing down toward the other. laughing laughing laughing teeth glinting in the light.
a place of screaming
echo them from the rock walls
merrick leapt from the stone with a gleeful screech and lunged for the creature.

God. No, this was no god. No god that he would claim. This was some demon from the underworld, and the sight of the ruddy male above only served to solidify that fact. 

Dipped in fire and brimstone. Not a dog. . .something more.

And Fraser had little time to ruminate on what exactly this demon could be, for then he pounced, flying toward the deerhound, a flaming coal.

Ach! he exclaimed, voice guttural and caught in his throat. The laughing boy barreled into his side, and he only kept his footing for a moment before going down, down, his gangly legs unable to hold his wobbling weight. 

Fraser hit the ground and saw stars, felt his breath leave his lungs with a dramatic gasp. There was barely room for panic, now; he was fighting for his life, and turned his virgin fangs to the devil's pelt.

If he could—if he could just —

merrick's voice continued to ring in loud, mad guffawing; he was
tickled absolutely 
at the flailing of the creature beneath him. between his gasping sounds of mirth, the young wolf struck down, viciously, snapping at all he might grasp.
fangs glanced, snatched his cheek open in a neat filet. merrick gasped, more surprised than hurt, and pulled away from the odd thing at once, this scraggly beast who dared insult a god.
"move your legs, you cunt," he lashed in a low and hateful chuckling, flicking tongue along the blood now dripping from his mouth.
his blood.

Laughter, laughter, all around— Fraser struck and tasted blood, and it made his stomach churn to find it on his tongue, his lips. The laughter stopped and the assault ceased; the deerhound found himself staring at the demon, mouth agape at the request that came.

M-my legs? he asked meekly. He had no idea what that could possibly mean. A crude way to say, Run, fool? Something else entirely? He was at the whim of the bleeding boy, those flashing eyes.

Baffled, Fraser began to rise to his paws again, extending his long limbs and tottering upward like a newborn foal. His knees were trembling, sides heaving. He cleaned the crimson from his teeth, salmon tongue moving furtively, nervously. He looked at the devil with a guileless gaze, ears swiveling in uncertainty.

He moved in place, pressing his forepaws upon the ground, one and then the other, a stationary jogger. Move—my legs? Fraser queried again, utterly flummoxed.

merrick stared at the beast as it questioned him, not the barest hint of instinct entering its innocent features. but in the next moment, the boy felt mocked; rage choked him and features contorted into a black look that dilated his eyes, sent ragged ears back against his skull.
was it a game the jester wanted? why not let merrick in on the joke, too? games were more fucking fun with as many players as you had.
an eerie croon flowed from merrick's throat, summoning his wolves. his hunters.
and among the echoes he sprang for the creature again, hoping for selfish reasons the message of RUN might click into place.

The distinct look of anger that overtook the demon sent hot, potent fear racing through his blood; Fraser pinned his ears as well, but in cowardice, not rage. His eyes were wide and watery in question—a question that was answered when his adversary lunged once more, having sent a call to the wind.

This time, he needed to run.

Without another thought, he wheeled, skidding in his haste to flee. His legs were long and able and would hopefully be able to carry him far, far from this place. To. . .to home? Should he have the sense of direction. . .

Fraser's breath came in hard, fast pants. He barely saw the road ahead.

You can decide whether or not Merrick catches him & attacks again! All damage except for death is fine.

finally, the long-limbed, scruffy devil began to run, and merrick gave full-throated chase. whatever this male might be, he was fleet, perhaps as fast as the coywolf himself. but the bear-worshipper did not have the impetus of fear. he was content to snap around the other's heels, chivvy him with bleak laughter.
stampeded into the teeth of the valley dwellers, a tall horse galloping madly across a plain only to have its ankle broken in a fall.
merrick snapped for the end of the other's tail, biting deep, hoping to provoke a shriek or grunt or cry of agony.

If what the devil wanted was screaming, he would be satisfied. Already in a panic over the incessant nipping at his heels, Fraser felt his heart leap into his throat at the white-hot bolt of pain at the tip of his tail. He whimpered—

No. He screamed. The shriek rose into the air, shivering into fragments, bouncing off the valley walls. 

He did not feel anything physical past that initial bite. Not the steady trickle of blood from his tail, the end torn away by hungry fangs. Nor the pounding of his legs against the earth. 

No pain—only terror. And terror was as agonizing a pain as any inflicted upon the body. His heart—

His heart! Fraser prayed that he succumbed to this creature before it burst altogether.

ohhh
there it was
resounding ringing clanging clanging thrashing a cymballing from a ripped throat!
merrick let go, laughed aloud, lengthened his gait until he was running alongside the beast, knowing he was not same-matched but lunging all the same, swerving inward to knock against the man again.

CRASH! went the demon into his side, and DOWN went the lanky man, down down down. He tumbled over in a heap of legs, tail tucked, spattering blood across his belly. He rolled and caught sight of his adversary, wherever he may be—

Why are ye doin' this?! he exclaimed, eyes wide as moons. Why don't ye leave off me?

Fraser struggled to find his breath, struggled to rise to his paws again. Up on his fores, the sensation of pain returning to his tail. He tried to run but like something hobbled, his limbs watery. His resolve was fading. He just wanted to be home.

Take me home!!

speech came. merrick stood above his quarry, tongue lolling, saliva dripping, sides heaving quickly as he sought to catch his breath. curiosity burned in the single eye. "because this is my home. because you came into it without asking. because you ran and did not fight," he chirped conversationally, backing away some feet with a flag of his plume announcing he would not attack again.
he doubted the other would be able to understand the silent lupine message, however. gaze scanned the creature with interest. "what are you? why are you here?"

He didn't expect reason. He didn't expect speech. Yet when reason and speech fell from the demon's maw, Fraser stared at him, the words sinking in, one by one. I'm sorry, he replied meekly. I d-didna ken—I wouldna have come here if I'd known. . .

Because Fraser had no real knack for scent markings. Because his life had been determined by fences put up by masters not of his species, of commands given by those betters. Fences and betters existed in this world, too, but they were different—and he did not know them for what they were.

Until now.

What are you? His brows came together, and he replied, I'm Fraser. I. . .am lost. I canna find my way home.

Reason. Questions. Why now, after all that trouble, after he'd been bloodied? Fraser didn't understand. He just wanted to go home.

merrick frowned. "you've got a nose, right?" but even as he spoke he was beginning to see dissimilarities between himself and this beast. fleet-footed, shaggy, accented.
"this is a place of wolves," he decided to explain, single eye scouring the man that had been his quarry until a moment ago.
"really gotta use your head. i went easy on you."

Fraser went slightly cross-eyed, staring down the bridge of his rather-long proboscis. Aye, he mumbled, feeling incredibly embarrassed. A place of wolves. But how was he to tell this fearsome devil that he was not familiar with places of wolves? Of places of anything but masters and servants, of friends?

He had never been treated this way. Not a single moment of his life had been spent in this kind of terror.

Ye did? the deerhound asked somewhat incredulously, feeling the tip of his tail sting as if in answer. He sucked in a deep breath and cast it aside—if the wolf said he had, then he had. It was not "easy" to Fraser by any means. . .but he supposed he could be more badly hurt. If not dead.

Yes, he could be dead.

I'm sorry, sir, he repeated, looking contrite. It willna happen again. B-but. . .I am verra tired, aye? Can I—Can I stay here, rest for a while? I will be your servant, sir. Whatever ye need me to do, I will do it. Until the time came to go home—but his bones were much too weary to make that meandering journey now.

"i did." the boy's mouth twitched, a boyish, surprised laugh sounding next. "i don't have any objections." merrick was transformed, friendly in a way that the earlier moments would have never implied. he had almost forgotten about all of it, so dazzled was he by the sudden offer of servitude.
"there's lots of food here. we bury it in the ground. keeps longer," the coywolf murmured, deciding to begin with a very basic lesson. "and there's lots of us here. they follow me. i'm merrick, by the way," he told fraser, tail beginning to stir at his haunches.

He was blown away. Never did he expect the devil to let him stay, not after his trespass. Fraser's head was filled with visions of fleeing the valley with his now-stunted tail—visions that dissipated quickly as the wolf spoke. His jaw fell and stayed there, as if he were trying to catch flies with his tongue. A stupid dog.

But a dog with a home, at least for now.

Thank ye, Fraser managed to whisper, choked. He fell to his belly in a reverent bow, recognizing Merrick—Merrick—for what he was. A master. When the wolf began to walk, he tagged along, taking heed of each and every word. The important ones, the ones not so much. Food. Bury. Follow. Merrick.

Merrick.

Fade out here?