In Dire Straits

s v e y n

He was surprised to have woken up, he swore he was dead.

After falling during the attack, Sveyn figured he must have been out for a day at least. His head throbbed and the entire length of his body ached; his stomach hollow with hunger. He managed with the little energy he still had, remembering the soreness in his back leg gifted from one of his attackers, Sveyn was careful not to put any pressure onto this one. She must have broken it. There were very few times that he had foul thoughts of others, but this was one time he'd forgotten his manners. He blinked several times to adjust to the dim lighting within the caves he assumed he was dragged to, blood and dust still hugging tight against his white fur. Stains he was desperate to remove. It was too soon a reminder of his failure to save himself.

At least he managed to save Reath.

"Wide awake, beasty?"

Sveyn's eyes darted towards the opening of the cave, where large bones or antlers of some sort divided him from the source of the voice. He didn't respond, but instead limped towards the opening to get a better idea of his whereabouts. How had they gotten him in here? How would he get out?

"Hungry? Boss asked me to feed ya."

The guard threw him a small slab of meat. His instincts told him to devour it, but his pride slapped the meat back through the opening. A beady glare shot towards the guard. "I don't want that, I want your boss." Between clenched teeth he spat, as close to the guard as the barrier would allow.

The Alteronian clicked their tongue, pacing back and forth menacingly in front of Sveyn. "Patience, Beasty. Boss'll be here soon and you've got nothing but time."

o o c

Falco came when summoned. The mass of his form took up the entire entrance of Sveyn’s cell and blotted out what scant, misty light had once reached them. If Sveyn had found his accommodations cramped before, he had even less space once the Magus wretched the bones of his prison out of the earth with his jaws so they could speak more personally, tossing them carelessly aside, each knowing that an attempt to escape would be a death wish for the prisoner. He crowded the Bacchus against the stone walls and his lips twitched with a threat.

“You’re in no position to make demands, trespasser,” Falco told him in that cold, detached voice he wielded like a vorpal blade, “but if you want me, I shall oblige.”

He struck like a snake, fangs first in a decisive blow, slamming Sveyn into the rock with half his weight; he wouldn’t have minded if the crooked-nosed beast saw stars, but he didn’t want to knock him out again. They had things to discuss. Falco would release him as quickly as he had hit him, message received.

“Tell me why you were pressing into our borders, monster,” the strain in his voice was a subtle thing, a soft shadow against the bright sun of his focused demeanor. “You are no loner.” They smelled the other wolf in his fur, and he had sent the Jacks to look for the other, to no avail. He was only fortunate the great length of his travel had washed away all other information Alteron could glean of him. “You didn’t come here to contribute to this great nation, but you mustn’t be a spy unless you are an incredibly foolish one. What comes in your wake?”

s v e y n

The time between requesting the King and his arrival was short-lived, much to Sveyn's relief. A seed of hope grew within him, wishing to reason and explain the misunderstanding that occurred days ago? Was it weeks? How long had he been incomprehensive?

Allegations about the ruler of these lands could be easily made based on those that he ruled; minions act similarly to the way they are demanded. Sveyn did not welcome the attack he'd been given, tensing reflexively. In the state that he was in there was little he could do to fight back, but his grimacing curl of the lips did not stray. His threatening glare was worse than any physical damage he'd be able to deliver. "I am a Diplomat from the lands of Ancient Bacchus," Sveyn spat, his saliva tinted a worrisome red. "Your scent must have been masked by the rancid, decaying stench of your territory. I was unaware I was trespassing until I was ambushed by your leeches."

Until this time, he was speaking up towards Falco in a crouching position. It was his attempt to recover from the cobra's strike. He stood now, shakily, but confidently. "Is this a typical welcome to those who are not native?" Sveyn glanced beyond Falco, trying to reason with himself that an escape from here would be absolute suicide. Looking back to Falco, he debated whether that would be better than dying as a willing prisoner of the tri-colored savage.

o o c

Falco watched the bizarre wolf with his disgusting sloped face flinch and cower before him and then prove that the pain wasn’t enough to slow his tongue. At first he let the fool drivel on. Ancient Bacchus, he claimed, before slandering the name of Alteron and its Pages. Falco’s smile was a dangerous threat which contorted his dark face in ways it was unaccustomed to; he was typically expressionless but this situation was special.

“A diplomat, you claim,” he said and despite his expression, his words were flat and low. “Yet a diplomat would know to not be so mouthy, yes? Especially one in your circumstances. You didn’t answer my question, Diplomat of Ancient Bacchus.”

Before the pale beast could rise to his full height once more Falco directed his jaws over top of his. This was not a devastating blow, at first, a common tactic of a parent to their naughty pup to cuff them by the muzzle, but Falco’s grip would be tight and crushing if the white wolf did not defend himself and he would use it to pin his skull against the ground until he gave up or managed to struggle away.

“What follows you, Diplomat? Is it your Ancient Bacchus, or slavers, or more diplomats,” Falco snapped once his mouth was free to do so. “Name me a land in which ignorance of your crimes absolves you of consequence, Diplomat. You of all individuals should know the answer.”