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The Cry of Sodom

Book II, Scroll XI

Raguel's visits became a regular occurrence in Lot's jail cell, their lonely conversation trickling through the prison. The guards did not mind his visits, thinking him to be speaking of Lot's sins. It was true that they went over the upcoming trial in great detail but more explicit liaisons took place long after the guards had lost interest in their conversation. Whether they truly knew what was going on or not was up for debate, but Lot did not care if they knew either way.

Side by side, they sat inside the cold prison cell with their shoulders touching. In the distance, the guards murmured, speaking amongst one another to stay awake through the long night. To ward off the bone-shaking chill, they had lit a fire and the flames leaped and crackled to the sky, toying with the shadows so that they danced across the sand. While their attire, animal skins and so on, kept them warm, the unlucky criminals within the cells could not count themselves as lucky. They were far from the luckiest of the lot in Sodom. Raguel gave the dog a woven blanket whenever they were together, though the canine was loathe to accept it, feeling that he should bear the cold as part of his punishment. The guards did not allow the blanket to remain in the cell, forcing Raguel to reluctantly take it with him when he left, a droop in his ears.

Back ramrod straight, the Canaan dog stared at the wall, scarred with frustrated marks from his now ragged and broken claws. White lines trailed up to the tiny window, a pitiful slat, as if the canine had tried time upon time to look out. The rabbit doubted that he would have managed it for even more than a few seconds even in his desperation. Raguel traced the outline of the canine's muzzle with his eyes, observing him with gnawing, growing concern. The canine was colder than he and it worried him. Raguel could not stand the cold and it bit into his flesh like a ravenous beast whenever he visited Lot at night. It was one discomfort that he gladly bore for his friend, however, even if his concern grew night by night. Once, he had tried leaving Lot some other robes but Lot wore the same stained loincloth and tunic he had been wearing for days upon days when the rabbit visited next.

Need stirred in the rabbit's belly and he shyly stroked the canine's side, fingers teasing a patch of fur protruding through a rip in Lot's tunic. Lot shifted and exhaled slowly as if breathing a death rattle.

"Not tonight, Raguel, please."

The rabbit's ear twitched and he tilted his head into his paw, fingers curling around his cheek. Lot had never refused him before. Though he was yet to explore with females other than his still missing beloved, Raguel enjoyed his time with Lot and craved it increasingly. The only female he had eyes for was Ansha and he could not imagine seeing another lady without first having her in his arms. But his friend comforted him and he liked to think he could comfort him in return. Lot could not be executed, after all. If his story was true in all its retellings, the Canaan dog had done nothing wrong, though his daughters were another case entirely. Raguel doubted that they would ever be tried in court for what they had instigated, the pain and suffering they had caused.

Lifting his paw higher, Raguel rested it upon the canine's shoulder, smoothing down the orange-tan fur.

"What is on your mind, friend?" He had the good grace to appear abashed. "It is unlike you to turn me away."

"Many things." Lot sighed again, muzzle dipping. "I do not wish to place my burdens upon your shoulders, Raguel. It is too much for me to ask of you."

"You are not asking anything of me that I am not already offering," Raguel reassured. "Please, tell me, Lot. I may be able to help. I can at least listen."

The canine looked up at the ceiling, holding his breath so that his clothing stretched tight across his chest until he released the breath. There was too much that needed to be said and so little time that he had the inclination to spoil.

And time was running out, the trickle of sand through the hourglass as the day of his execution drew nearer. The farce of a trial would not save him, as optimistic as Raguel was about his future. The canine shivered, imagining the dark abyss. Only the experience itself would tell if it would be painful. Would he know anymore when the other life claimed him? Would there be another life or simple oblivion? No one could tell. He could only hope that the lord would be kind. He had not meant to hurt Pheine and Thamma, though Raguel assured him that they were well. That was one, small, blessing at least, although he could say very little for himself.

Lot closed his eyes. No, there was no saving him, not now, not ever. Lot dug his teeth into the inside of his cheek until metallic blood flooded his tongue. The pain cleared the fog from his mind. The only avenue that remained to him was absolution.

"Our relationship...as friends and more." Lot shook his head. "It has deeper roots than I have previously explained. Considering the trial is upcoming, though lord knows when, you may need to know."

Raguel's gaze was steady and he squeezed the canine's shoulder in a quick show of support. He would be by Lot's side whatever happened, but he dared not vocalise it for fear of the promise becoming less so in vocalisation.

"Tell me."

And Lot spoke and spoke until the tears dried on his cheeks and his mouth burned for water. And still he continued, for words were all that he had left at the crux of life, the pinnacle of death. Raguel held him as he wept, lips hardened into a grim line. It no longer mattered what his friend thought of him. It would all be over soon.

The next morning dawned with no rabbit at his side but he no longer had the strength to raise his head from the stone floor as it baked beneath him. The guards poked him with sticks and laughed, mocking him for what he'd done. And he believed them, that he deserved to die. So he closed his eyes and resigned himself to it, wishing for nothing more than the promised oblivion.

*

Lot fled as swiftly as his short legs could carry him, paws pounding the sand. The fires of hell - or as good as - scorched his heels and his ears were pinned flat, eyes rimmed in white. To his rear, another canine snarled, coming up behind in hot pursuit of his younger charge. Every breath scraped through Lot's lungs like a brand, searing the memory of fear into his mind. He could not stop, he would not stop. No good would come if he allowed himself to falter now. He must have faith in the lord, faith in himself and faith in blessed good fortune, whether it was to be granted or not.

But it was useless: a ten year old could not out run a fit, strong Canaan dog. He had no hope and yet he set his jaw, leaning forward into the motion as he willed his burning legs to give him just a little more speed, just enough to make good his escape. He ran past the last house on the estate, not caring if the occupants saw him - he was sure they had seen it all before. It was a regular occurrence, after all, and not all that uncommon for a youngster to flee an older male as if he had stolen the last sweet meat from the kitchen.

The rock came out of nowhere and caught his hind paw, sending the young dog tumbling to the dirt in a bodily thump, rolling over once. He wheezed, breath knocked from his lungs, and then his father was upon him. Breathing heavily, Haran met his son's eyes with his sharp blue pair and grasped his collar, lifting him from the floor as easily as a servant may pick up a sack of flour. The young canine squirmed but did not protest otherwise, knowing that it was futile. Lifting his paws like a feral dog caught by the scruff, Lot made himself as small and as repentant as was physically possible. He swallowed hard and looked down, the pressure on his neck from the twisted collar increasing by the second.

He did not expect the fist that sank into his abdomen. The dog twisted in pain, eyes watering. He had only been cuffed about the head before and that was bad enough! Yet he had done wrong... Did he deserve the punishment? Lot shook his head as if trying to shake an answer from it. Lot struggled to regain his breath, but before he had opportunity to do so, another blow caught him about the head, making his ears ring like they had that time he had been unwell with fever.

Breath was slow to return and Haran displayed odd patience for the moment, storm seething below the surface. His kindness, if it could be called such, in allowing his son to catch his breath was ill-advised, however, and as soon as air returned to Lot's lungs he screamed at the top of his voice, hurt echoing across the fields.

"Quiet!" Haran growled, fury rumbling in his throat. "You have done enough! Have you no shame? Do you not repent for the sins you have committed?"

Lot trembled, took a deep breath and screamed again, only to be cut off by his father's free paw closing around his throat like a vice. Jerking his small, lean body back and forth, Lot twisted as if to wrench himself free, finding the hold upon him too great only after pain ricocheted through his throat. He panicked, clawing at his father and whimpering without air all the apologies and requests for forgiveness he could utter, eyes wide and pleading with innocence. The older canine only released Lot when his eyes bulged, paws scrabbling wildly through thin air as the lack of oxygen led his body to fail, vision slipping slowly into misty grey. Gasping, Lot shook, sobs interrupted much needed breath, and did not scream again.

"Haran?" An alarmed voice caught their attention. "What has possessed you? Release him immediately!"

Still holding his son aloft, the Canaan dog turned slowly to look at the approaching canine. He was a Canaan dog like himself but pure white, muscled so that they could have otherwise been the spitting images of one another. Haran licked his lips, tracing his tongue across his pointed canines. A bird sang somewhere across the fields, warbling song standing out in stark contrast to the conflict taking place beneath the blasting noonday sun.

"That I cannot do, brother."

The Canaan dog dropped his son on the ground and folded his arms across his broad, muscled chest, which rose and fell noticeably in restrained anger. Perhaps it was just as well that his brother had emerged from his home to raise a paw within the conflict. He would not go as far as he had initially planned, if he had another of his family to keep his paw in check.

Yet the sin was great.

"Are you well?" The white canine demanded of Lot, half-extending a paw to help the young dog to his paws.

Shrinking back on the ground, Lot kicked himself away, bare hind paws scuffing through the dirt. He held one paw over his throat as if he feared he would be choked again, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as if he could not get enough air into his lungs after the incident. The white Canaan dog turned on Lot with a steely edge to his gaze, one paw balling up into a fist.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded. "Why is there commotion? What has he done this time? And what in the Lord's good will drove you to choke the pup?"

Kicking dirt in the direction of his son, Haran sighed, slumping forward. It was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been placed upon his shoulders - an unwelcome burden. He already had enough to deal with. And now the pup engaging in such acts? It did not bear thinking about. He was not unmarried.

"I caught him with her daughter."

Lot jerked his head to the left, indicating the land to the south of his, sun beating overhead. He would not say her name, that foul female with a razor tongue. She did not know her place.

"What do you mean?" The white canine asked more cautiously, not wanting to believe in the realisation he was slowly coming to.

"Lot was with her daughter."

Haran quieted his voice, glancing left and right for observers, though he could see far across the fields and there were only slaves and servants working.

"I found him in one of the outbuildings with the oldest one." Haran wrinkled his muzzle. "A fennec fox at least will not cause our family trouble down the line, but it is a sin nonetheless. He should not have been with the female at his stage in life. It is not right."

The white canine shook his head, jaw slightly agape. He could not believe that the kind little pup could be capable of such debauchery. That was reserved between those joined before God. It could not happen otherwise and between two different species was another taboo in itself. How could one mate if they did not intend to produce offspring from the coupling? It was beyond the purposes of producing young and further than he was willing to forgive the fault of the young.

Lot sniffled.

"She asked me to do it," he mumbled, eyes fixed upon the ground. "She...she's the one that made me do it. I did not wish to...but she insisted. She said that it was time that I learned. I did not know anything."

Lot fell quiet, a sob catching in his throat. He watched a beetle crawl through the dirt and disappear into the sparse, wiry grass. Haran unfolded his arms, arms hanging loosely at his sides, though his paws locked into tight fists.

"What did you say?"

Haran's eyes narrowed and Lot shuddered, quailing beneath the bitter glare he felt upon his skin. He had to try. He had to give his side. He could not be completely in the wrong. He was sorry.

"I -"

As Lot tried to continue his defence, a solid kick landing in his ribcage, silencing him as pain raced. Through his daze of fear and overheating, he hoped that the strike had not broken any ribs. The most he could hope for right then was any lessening of the pain, whatever that entailed in the Lord's forgiveness. He knew what he had done was against scripture, was against the Lord's word, but he could not explain why it had felt right in his heart.

Until he was caught.

Abraham shook his head, finding no argument in the matter. It was how the world was and they could not anger the Lord. His lambs should never go against his will and that was something that Lot needed to learn. And swiftly too. He extended his paw to Haran, patting his shoulder before dropping his paw to his side, the enormity of Lot's sin swallowing him. Lot did not know but Lot would learn.

"Your actions will appease the Lord," Abraham sighed, shoulders slumping forward. "His wish is to keep his sheep pure, clean of sexual impropriety. This must be corrected."

Haran straightened, tail twitching as he rounded on Lot, fist drawn back as if to swing another punch at the downed pup.

"See what your uncle says?" Haran snarled, lips curling back from his teeth. "I'm doing this for your own good."

"One day, you will thank me for all I have done for you, Lot."

Abraham looked away, refusing to watch as his brother raised his fist to Lot again. Even if it was right, he would not watch. Even if it was the Lord's will, he would not watch. Yet Lot would learn.

The pup yelped as the paw sank into his stomach for the umpteenth time and Abraham only walked away when Lot's sobbing became too much for even him to bear. The sun beat down and he closed his ears to the sniffles, hardening his heart as he opened it to the Lord, his word and wisdom.

Later, Lot would shun marriage and contact with females, dreading the same treatment. He had not done anything wrong, but one could only associate the liaison and all it entailed with pain. His body ached for days afterward and the lesson was one that sunk deep into his psyche. Curiously, Haran never truly understood why Lot was so indifferent to females, when he did come of age. But he found the perfect match for him in Edith. With her mother being from the sex trade, she would ensure the continuation of Haran's line with her lusty ways. Wide hips too, she had: good for birthing. Yet Lot would still not be interested for one very simple reason.

Sex was not worth it. The pleasure that came with it led to pain. A simple lesson to learn for a young canine, yet one that would have saved him, had it truly stuck with him. Lot cowered and whimpered as the blows rained down. No! Sex would never be worth a beating. He would not, he would not he would not.

Sex was as blind to differences as love.

Sex was not worth a beating.

Sex was not worth pain.

It could even lead to death.