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For context
If you want to participate in the aftermath of this thread, either as a slaver or as a rescuer, please post in this thread so I can keep track
Anyone can join. This takes place in the lowlands, just over the border.
![[Image: parents1_by_omniwitch-dbs9qsn.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/60dc/f/2017/304/8/4/parents1_by_omniwitch-dbs9qsn.png)
Dawn spilled over the grasslands and shone gold in puddles of blood left behind a staggering behemoth. The black and white coat must have been striking at a different time, but here on the last dawn it was matted shag, dripping grime from terrible, fly bitten wounds. The great, bearish head swung to and fro with each painful roll of his proud shoulders. The massive paws struck the grass and in their determined, forceful stride flowed a wake of red.
On his back lay someone else, a smaller body who was not moving and never would again of its own accord. She felt heavier, somehow, though the beloved soul had gone with the last breath in the only way Gwen would have it.
"TO YOU," she had cried while they mobbed her, and he could not get there fast enough, damn him. She rose onto her hind paws and bellowed, for him, for her, for all they had seen in their lives cut too short, beneath a starry sky that struck the brilliant green eyes aglow. "TO YOU."
They dragged her beneath their fangs because she would not go down otherwise. His heart and marrow shuddered from the fire of those green eyes, and when he barreled into their murder he cut them down, throat by throat, spine by crunching spine. Alastair roared her name as they broke before him, his fury, and the legacy of love in war. With his wife's wreck upon his back, he chased the vanishing voice of their daughter over the hills.
He had trailed them, through their twists and turns, until the rain and the blood in his nose cut them clean. How he had cursed the wicked wild and ran blindly into the wastes, challenging death and those would try to bring it. It was chance he found the scent marker, and he took that chance and with it plowed into the territory of strangers.
Come. What. May.
In the distance he could just make out the form of some sort of structure—mountains, perhaps? Though he had never seen a range in such a neat, uniformed way, he would take it, and he would take THEM if necessary.
"BE YOU COWARDS," he slammed his forepaws into the dust and rose the bloodied maw. "VILLIANS, HEROES? TO ME, WHATEVER YOU ARE, WITH AIDE OR DEATH, I WELCOME EITHER."
On the stiff ear of Gwen, a single blue butterfly took roost.
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