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For Tyde

The Rat Hunt

What a lovely day for a hunt. Shame about the apocalypse.

But hey, Tyde was the last animal to let death and decay stop him. And all said and done, this had been an easy journey so far. Now the rat found himself in a new and completely unfamiliar part of town. It always amazed him exactly how many streets and neighbourhoods existed in this little burg, and how there was always another path or another area to explore. Tyde wouldn't be here by choice: this was far from his usual patch and the relative safety his pack enjoyed. From what he could tell from the multitude of blacked-out graffiti tags, this territory was contested. Although this meant he didn't have to bribe a gang for safe passage, there was always a chance one of them could round on him anyway. Or a Stray could pick him off. That said, the principles of city survival applied anywhere urban, and if any animal had an advantage at urban survival, it was a rat.

The route crossed a park, a vast and empty expanse which had at one time been green and grassy, and which now resembled a scene from a film the men in white used to watch, with sand and battle cars and a great deal of witnessing one another. But no, all said and done it was a fairly uneventful crossing. The only noteworthy encounter was that badger by the playground railings with his leg sawn off - yeah, that was a bit disconcerting. As the animal was still alive (just), it couldn't have happened that long ago. Thankfully though, Tyde never did meet the badger's attackers. Maybe they were long gone, or maybe a rat just wasn't worth picking on.

Still, it emphasised why Tyde wouldn't have walked given the chance. There was a reason he spent so much spare time tuning his Triumph motorbike to keep it in top nick. Amazing how quickly you miss something when it's gone. The main problem was always gasoline: and to think they called it 'black gold' before. Now some animals would give their left kidney for a can of gas. And did. The days when you could siphon it from an abandoned car at the roadside were all but gone. Tyde still had a couple of jerry cans stored at home. Unfortunately though, this time he hadn't just run out of fuel. Riding home on a routine errand, the engine suddenly spluttered and the bike drifted to a halt. After pushing the bike home for nearly a mile, he dismantled it and soon found the problem - his engine was completely kaput. Now, his trusty Triumph was now little more than an expensive sculpture. He needed his ride, and soon. And that required a hunt for replacement parts. Yes, he could make-do or strip a washing machine or something. But far better to have a part designed for automotive use - or at least see what was available first. Thankfully, he had found out through a friend of a friend that a wolf-husky mechanic had a stash of motorcycle parts. The animal had actually disappeared, but if Tyde was quick, he could raid the den and see what he could scavenge. Even if there wasn't an exact match for his model, Tyde was more than capable of jimmying a cylinder to his bike.

Back onto city streets. This was better: here the rat was in his element, free to scurry among the concrete, or into the nearest pile of rubble at the slightest danger. He pulled a crudely-drawn map out of his leather jacket and uncrumpled it. Once he had plotted a course to the X, he set back off down the street, bounding among the cracks and potholes.

It would be pleasant to see somebody walking down the street, just once again. Then again, it's not like they would have spoken. Before or after the War. This road was broad, and would have once been leafy. Now however, the gnarled and blackened trunks of trees stood sentinel on either side of the avenue. Large houses were set further back, obscured with brick walls or hedgerows (or at least the remnants of them). Most were now in disrepair, but some looked occupied (anywhere between five and ten per cent, on Tyde's estimation). Tyde hastened past the occupied houses. An animal's home is his castle, they used to say. Doubly so when it cost more than the average animal would earn in his life. And these mini-castles were only defended more fiercely now that civilisation had been rude enough to disintegrate.

Half a mile later, the smarter houses gave way to long terraces. Tyde took a right and followed one along as directed by his map. This part of town was all new to him. With more houses and more doors, there was more chance of running into another creature, not all of whom would necessarily be friendly. Scents filled the air where dozens or even hundreds of animals had claimed and re-claimed the territory. He stuck his nose inside a house without a door, and immediately reeled at the smell of raw fox piss. A few seconds later, a canine barked somewhere in the distance, maybe two or three streets away. Tyde stuck to the shadows, keeping close by the wall. Now he could hear a dog growling. Around the next corner, he saw them: not one dog, but two, squaring each other off with deathly stares. They were crossbreeds, with a good percentage of German shepherd and greyhound in them by Tyde's estimation. Tyde sneaked behind a cluster of bins, curious to see the cause of the commotion. The dogs were circling each other, keeping well away from the other's claws and snapping jaws. Between them stood a carcass, too mutilated to identify as any particular species. Tyde watched, waiting for the best moment to dart away and leave the canines to their skirmish.

A sandy wind picked up then - and Tyde realised too late that he was upwind of the canines. First one dog, and soon the other, fell silent and turned their attention to the bins and the crossroads where Tyde was concealed. The larger of the dogs growled to the other in a thick inner-city accent.

"Stranger nearby, there is, there is. Smells like no packmate or friend of mine, brother."

Street Dog language was as varied as the canine species itself. Although Tyde understood the basics of the language, it varied wildly from district to district and even from street to street, as individual packs mixed and combined words and grammar, often adding their own slang for added flavour. Tyde listened carefully, picking out a few words from the growling drawl of the mongrel tongue.

"So then... you smell that too?"

"Yes, brother. I believe we have company."

The smaller dog grinned, showing the many gaps in his teeth, drooling from the corner of his drooped muzzle. "Very stupid, brother of mine. Very stupid."

The larger dog took a step or two in Tyde's direction, to get a better sniff of the animal in hiding. He barked in the common wastelander tongue: "Who goes there?" But a scramble of paws on the gravel drew his attention back just in time to see the smaller canine running for all he was worth. The meat was gone too, stolen in a split second. The larger dog gave chase, and sensing his chance, Tyde broke cover and ran for two streets before stopping to catch his breath. From somewhere, he heard the dogs utter loud warring growls before a painful 'Yelp! Yelp! Yelp!' sounded across the crumbling terraces. Mercifully the animal's pain sounded short-lived: within seconds those desperate howls faded away, rapidly, into silence. Tyde shook his head. Not every animal was lucky enough to die that quickly.

From there, Tyde kept his nose up, taking a quick detour once when he thought he scented a cat on the move. He never found out for certain whether it was a genuine threat, but especially after his previous encounter, better to be safe than sorry. This diversion reached a dead end, with a passageway between the houses the only way to continue. It was dank and shadowy, and Tyde's near-silent paw-steps were amplified fivefold by the wet brick walls. A chance glint of light illuminated something shiny at paw level and yikes! A trip wire. Keen ears and eyes surveyed the passage, seeking out anything else which could present a danger: further traps, cameras, or even the eye or whisker of a watchful wastelander. For now however, the coast appeared to be clear. When the rat stood upright, the wire was just low enough for him to step over. Hoisting his tail well out of the way, he arched one paw over the wire, followed by the other. Taking care to watch his step, he crept through the final few metres of the passage, and poked his nose out, still scenting for any danger. Clear and in the open, he scurried out and turned left onto the next brick-strewn and potholed road.

Back on track. At the end of this road stood a cluster of buildings: old warehouses, garages, and storage units rather than houses. If his contacts and their map were to be trusted, he was in the right place. Darting behind the warehouses, Tyde kept a lookout for anything resembling a vehicle workshop. The first building he tried was full of wood furniture. Down and across the yard, over to another building - the chemical smell greeted the rat long before he saw the piles of half-dissolved bones inside. Next, he glanced through a window, wiping away some of the mud. Tools, cans, wires, machinery, scrap metal and engine parts. Shiny: a car garage! He squeezed through a gap in the outer wall, inspecting these new surroundings. There had been an animal in here recently, and it wasn't a canine. It smelled like a rodent, but not one that Tyde could identify. It could have been something exotic, like a capybara - apparently one lived across the river now, although some maintained it was actually a baby camel. At any rate, the air was also thick with oil, and he tried not to breathe it in too much. Stacks of old machinery and tools were piled all around, while in the centre stood a polished grey soft-top car, the only object in here not covered in grime or rust or both. There were a lot of objects still in here - objects of value. How strange this place hadn't been raided yet. Maybe word hadn't got around that the wusky had disappeared. Or maybe the place was still booby-trapped. That said, Tyde hadn't noticed any traps - or any victims of any. Just as well - one trap in a day is too many.

Tyde's tail knocked a table leg and he froze, hoping he hadn't disturbed anything. No. Good. He continued his trail and a can came crashing to the ground. He squeaked and jumped around just in time to see a snarling animal leap at him and wrestle him to the ground, twisting and snapping and scratching at him. One day, he'd remember to watch his back. The creature wasn't much larger than Tyde, but it certainly wasn't afraid to use its claws or its teeth. On one twist, Tyde managed to kick himself free and leap a few feet away before spinning right around. The creature was an opossum, white-faced with a dirty smear across one side of its muzzle. Although Tyde had landed one scratch to the animal's snout, the possum had dealt the most damage. Claw-marks peppered the rat's torso, and as he laboured for breath, a single drop of blood fell from his muzzle and landed on his front paw. Sensing its advantage, the possum leapt for the rat once more and slashed its claws straight through a rat-shaped cloud of spectral fog. With only the rat's jacket to break its trajectory, it landed awkwardly and tumbled crashing into a pile of scrap metal which clanged and clattered to the workshop floor. Once the metal had stopped tumbling, silence returned. For a moment, the tangle of claws and grey fur lay motionless on the oil-stained concrete, surrounded by a host of metal sheets and shards. Its lips were curled back to reveal a dangerous array of sharp teeth, its four paws sprawled in every which way, and a rat-like tail of its own trailed formlessly behind it. Tyde remained in his ethereal form and drifted over to the animal, leaving his leather jacket crumpled to one side. Was it dead? It certainly smelled dead. But no, maybe sensing the rodent's presence, it slowly began to come around. Tyde stood over it, chuckling softly as it twitched a speckled ear and slowly opened its eyes.

"You weren't expecting that, were you?"

The animal rolled onto its feet and instantly backed off, kicking a piece of rusted metal to the side so it could retreat further. It stayed low and defensive, this time keeping its distance from the apparition before it. It darted to the side before Tyde could back it into a corner. Then, it began circling the rodent, fixing him with its own bright green eyes.

"Okay fine, I'll change back if that'll calm you down."

And true to his word, the rat-wraith reassumed the appearance of a regular grey-furred rodent. The claw-marks on his front were slightly faded but still visible. And, although his eyes had returned to 'normal', they still retained a trace of their ghostly glow. The possum edged one forepaw back, then stood its ground. Tyde held up his paws, showing he was unarmed, but the possum was having none of it. Jagged yellow teeth filled the possum's maw, and the little beast was clearly making a point of showing them off.

Then suddenly, he scarpered away and disappeared.

But it was still in there, somewhere. Tyde could hear the patter-patter-patter of paws and claws on the metal floors and rafters. He glanced up, sideways, all around, following the footsteps as best he could. He knew the marsupial was likely planning a surprise attack. Time then to make himself scarce and re-think his plans. He ran for the exit, grabbing his jacket as he went, hearing the possum break cover just in time to shift to his ethereal form as something hit his back and a metallic fizz, like sodium on water, filled the workshop. The little rodent squealed, his body shaking and his eyes snapped open, gurgling like he'd been caught in a snare. His muzzle and gnawing-teeth pointed straight up, his forepaws raised and quivering. His grey-black fur had returned, but from a point on his back, plumes of thick black smoke rose into the rafters of the den, where it lingered among the twisted steel beams. Through watering eyes, Tyde saw the possum circle into view, clutching an open jar in one paw. The rat tried to spring at his assailant, but only managed two steps before falling onto his forepaws, overwhelmed and evaporating fast. The possum stared at him, cold, sometimes licking his paw, sometimes licking the blood on his muzzle.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, ratty." The possum spoke in a soft sibilant sotto voce, his accent rising and lilting. It was a musical, distant yet familiar accent: that of the mountainous land named Cymru in the old tongue, Wales in the new. "I've been dealing with you vermin for ages. There aren't that many of you, but you are multiplying, and I've certainly encountered a fair few recently. Although it does still make me smile that I can stop a demon like you with something as simple as peanut butter. It's a little bit of a shame that we don't get to scrap like good old-fashioned animals. But you've clearly shown you're not willing to play fair. Plus, hey, a win's a win, however I achieve it. Oh, and don't give me that look, trying to guilt-trip me. I know you'll heal. Eventually."

Setting the remaining peanut butter well out of Tyde's reach, the possum scurried to one of the many scrap-piles littered around the workshop. Tyde could hear the chink of metal links, and sure enough, the possum returned with a bundle of chains. He slung them around the smoking rodent, around his midriff and over his shoulders, linking them behind the rat's back with a number of padlocks. Then, he climbed a heavily kinked support beam into the rafters, with his tail wrapped around the trailing end. He jerked on the chain, hoisting the rat's arms up with a squeak and a wince. Soon the rat was secure, arms raised and tail fastened to body with hind paws just touching the ground. The possum crouched, curled his tail around the beam, and lowered himself paws-free, his long prehensile tail unwinding as he descended. There was still some distance to the floor, so he dropped and landed, forepaws first, instantly skittering over to admire the trussed-up rat. One of the rat's arms was limp and disjointed in the shackles, the shoulder dislocated from the joint.

"Stopped fighting already? That's a shame. I wanted to see how long you'd resist me."

The rodent hissed and snarled. "Why resist something which you enjoy?"

The possum jumped up, claws on the rodent's ribcage. He stared his prey deep in the eyes. "If I were you, big mouse, I'd be careful saying things like that around me." There was decay on the marsupial's breath, the faint mouldy must of a diet of carrion. "That might wrong-foot the few cutesy animals too stubborn to die or too unlucky to still be alive. But not me. So you're a masochist, big deal. You're not the first fucked-up animal I've dealt with. And, as far as twisted psyches go, you'll soon come to find you're in very good company."

The possum flicked his tongue snake-like and tasted the rat's cheek. He backed away, smacking his tongue-tip to savour the rodent's aroma. From this distance, he admired his catch. Then, he slunk in close, circling and wrapping his body tight around the rat. Claws, tail, drool and fetid breath all brushed over the rat's fur, the marsupial holding his prey tightly in his clutches. Paws scrabbled all over the rat's fur, back and front, and the possum scanned every inch of the rodent, rolling his gaze slowly while uttering a constant low growl. He seemed particularly focused on the rat's ears, and he rubbed the left one between two foreclaws, inspecting what was pierced through it.

"What's this, then? ID tag? Figures you were a lab rat. They generally didn't last long."

He dashed to the other side, examining the rat's right ear.

"And what are these? They look like teeth."

"They're from my Master."

"Your master?"

"Yes. He's a dire wolf."

"And he's the one that turned you?"

"Brought me back."

"So I've got him to thank that I can do this."

Claws hooked into Tyde's back, and the possum dragged them downwards in a rough scrape. Yet rather than squeak or beg or any of the countless other cries for mercy which Delph had ignored over the years, this rat gave an almost pleasured murr. That was new. He'd never drawn that reaction before. Now the rat was leaning back within his bonds, pressing into Delph's claws. Its eyes were lidded and its breathing was heavier. Delph placed his claws at the back of the rat's neck, and scored them right down. Once again this drew a little moan of pleasure from the rodent. With his spare paw to the rat's gut, he scritched the rat's lower back, sharp and quick, smirking at the rather obvious pleasure the rat was experiencing, but he drew his paw away when smoke began rising from the rodent's back. He inspected his paw, which already shone with traces of the rat's blood. A quick glance showed a line of horizontal claw marks, some of which were open and bleeding, with a final few steaming wisps rising from them. He lapped the blood from his claws (yes, definitely blood), placed them poised and tense on the rodent's shoulder, scritched a few times more, then dug them in deep. The rat gasped, frozen, his eyes wide open and his muzzle curling and twitching. He gave a soft hiss, and as the possum dragged his claws through the rat's flesh, rending his back into a crosshatch of scratches, that hiss turned into a full-on snarl. More blood greeted the possum's claws, while smoke billowed from the fresh wet wounds. The possum pressed himself to the rat's bound form, snarling over the rat's shoulder, then bit down into his neck. Tyde's squeak was long and shrill, as drool and blood trickled down his neck-fur. He could hear the thump of the marsupial's tail, feel the twist and the writhe of the marsupial's form, sense the creature's rotten breath and the nasty puncture wounds it was inflicting. And if Tyde wasn't mistaken, the possum was asserting himself in other ways, too. Famously fecund creatures, rats can always sense when an animal is succumbing to its carnal nature. And this possum - with its hunched stance, its forceful full-body strokes (powerful considering the creature's size), its breaths interwoven with sniffs of excitement... but by the gods it was a filthy little thing. A near-blackened paw splayed across the rat's chest, smearing dirt and engine grease onto the rodent's fur, while something else smeared across his lower back. Firm, thick, near to his tail. Tyde felt it pulse. He knew full well what it was.

This was the moment of truth. The time which would tell how far this rat would submit. And there it was. The gentle backwards nudge, the near-silent panting, the failed attempt to swish his tail. And Delph needed no more invitation.

Their copulation was fast, snarling, and spectacularly brutal. The possum loved penetrations like this, where he was just that hard and that ready that he could simply thrust into his submissive with no lube and no foreplay and revel in the sheer rawness of an animal mating, assisted only by the (admittedly generous) precum he was drooling. Tyde hung limp, his manacles shaking under the constant growling assaults of the possum, each of which drilled the marsupial a quarter-inch or a half-inch deeper into the rat. Paws and claws grabbed him and groped him, finding ever better holds, ever more tender flesh to penetrate, ever more blood to spill. What wasn't staining his fur a dark dirty shade of crimson was dripping to the concrete from fearsome scratches the length of the rodent's body and back. Sometimes the possum would lay his bloodstained claws on an already open claw-mark, and curl them in deeper, drawing up yet more squelching glistening blood, carving those wounds again and again into deeper gouges. It hurt, yes, of course it hurt. But never did Tyde want it to stop. The fangs, the claws, the musk, the sheer ferality of it all... it had been so long since the rat had last indulged these fantasies. The possum's orgasm was similarly fierce, marked by the marsupial bearing down his full weight onto the rodent's back, scrabbling claws raking over the rat's torso, and those hissing possum jaws taking a delicate grip on the rat's ragged ear. The first wave of ejaculation rocked them both, and was followed by several more, haunches pounding rapidly to pump it all into the rodent. Whether in pleasure, or appreciation, or in helplessness, or all three, Tyde squeaked for all his ratty worth. As for the possum, all he cared for was beautifully filthy bliss which filled his poisoned body, his reward for this sly and sinful breeding. Neither knew exactly how much possum cum was being injected into the rodent, but from the force of those shots and the now deliciously messy sounds which each thrust caused, it had to be copious.

The possum breathed with hard drooling drags, locked in its post-coital state, its body tense and stretched to full height. Its claws were poised on Tyde's shoulders, and every so often an erratic jerk would shoot through its body, rocking the rat too. Tyde tried to glance backwards, uttering an inquisitive squeak. But the marsupial roughly pushed his muzzle forwards and resumed his tight shoulder-grip. Tyde had to smile. After a mating that brutal, the possum probably deserved a moment or two to catch his breath.

The animal was slipping out. Tyde clenched on the possum's maleness, and got a sharp neck-bite in response. The withdrawal was long, impressively so. This was not a small animal. The possum slipped free, making Tyde hiss as his tail was finally permitted to close. The possum's musk was everywhere. It dripped in thick viscous loads from the rat's tailhole to land in a musky pool which was spreading to the rat's paws and rendering them sticky. It ran down the rat's thighs. And of course, much more was lodged deep within the rat, warm and perverse and delicious.

Keys rattled somewhere behind him. The padlocks were being unfastened, the chains clinking, the tension on the rat's arms loosening. His dislocated arm was the first to slump down, a sharp twinge of pain lancing through his body and a breathless curse aimed in the possum's direction. The second arm was freed, and out of instinct Tyde cradled his limp arm. A strong paw grasped the rat's neck-scruff, and he found himself hauled across the concrete floor like two trolls dancing the paso doble. A door was opened, and Tyde found himself being thrown from the den, stumbling and landing in a pile on the gravel. Stones and chips of rock had cut into him, and dust swirled all around. His dust-weathered jacket landed next to him, throwing up a dust-cloud that made him cough. He shot a glance at the possum standing in the doorway.

"Have I made my point?" the possum asked. A smirk of mischief twitched on the rat's muzzle. And that wasn't the only part of him that twitched.

"Yes. And more besides."

But the marsupial was undeterred. "I know what you rats are like. Little gossip-mongers. So spread the word. When you return to your master, and to any pack that claims your allegiance, before any more of you try something stupid, you tell them: this den is still very much occupied. And it is defended."

Now that sounded rather familiar and science fiction-y. But rather than probe further and risk the creature's wrath, he kept silent.

"Go."

And with his forearm still dislocated, Tyde scurried away, empty-pawed, into the wastes.

-

The possum belched loudly. He licked his lips, slithered his tongue along each of his claws, and rubbed his little belly in satisfaction. He was full of meat: some of the freshest and most tender he had yet caught. Bones littered the floor beneath his nest, the larger ones cracked open and cleaned of their marrow. Not that there were many he could harvest this way: femurs and tibiae of course, those thick leg-bones which support an animal's whole weight. But it had only been a little kitten. He was such a cute thing. Probably had only ever known his mother and his litter. Indeed when Delph found him hidden under an upturned crate, the kitten didn't run, didn't cower, but actually drew closer to him. No fear, just curiosity. It reminded the possum of a saying.

Up above, a monitor switched on. Delph watched it, seeing who had triggered the motion sensor. Remarkable. It was the rat. Leather jacket, wounds, and all. He watched the rat raise a paw to the den's metal shutters and rap them hard. What on earth did that rat want? With a grumble and a softer second belch, the possum rolled onto his stomach, then onto all four paws. From his nest, he emerged onto the landing. There were three rooms on this upper mezzanine: Delph's nest, his office, and a store room filled with his most prized possessions. Stuffed in the rafters were various crates and boxes filled with yet more objects and trinkets he was yet to find a use for (he would do some day, though). Although it looked like chaos to the untrained eye, everything in here had its place. He skittered down the staircase which followed one side of the workshop wall, then turned a corner and followed another. There was no banister, some of the steps were broken, and one was even missing, but Delph easily skipped them all. He was a nimble animal, even when stuffed with food.

A second set of knocks thudded from the shutters as Delph reached the concrete workshop floor. Of course the rat didn't know how far Delph had to come to answer the door. Still, he didn't hurry. His peanut butter was still nearby from the previous night. He swiped the jar into his claws, setting it by the shutters, out of view behind a paint can but within easy reach should he need it. There was a side door to the workshop, the same he had used to eject the rat yesterday. Delph often used it rather than roll open the noisy shutters. He clicked open the door and stuck his whiskery snout around the frame. The rat heard and scampered over, grinning like he'd found the largest truckle of cheese on the scar.

"You came back."

"Yes. It would appear I did." The rat's stare was deep, confident, unafraid.

"Why? There's nothing for you here." And Delph shut the door.

But Tyde stuck his paw through the frame before the door slammed shut. If that hurt the rat, he didn't let on.

"Actually, there is. I'm looking for engine parts for my motorcycle, and I know you have a few going spare. I realise now I should have asked before trying to take, and for last night, I hold up my paws. But you look like an animal of your word. So I'm sure the two of us can reach a more... business-like arrangement."

Delph scored the door, leaving three deep claw-marks in the metal. "You are tenacious, I'll give you that. I'll stop short of saying I respect that: you're still a rat, you're still a thief, and I clearly didn't fuck enough sense into you last night. But you know what, seeing as you're such a determined little furball, and as bartering is the name of the game these days, I am willing to cut you a deal. I reckon I can fix the rat with what he needs, or something close enough. The question is: what can he offer me?"

Slowly the rat's grin returned: lowered muzzle, incisors on show, and a lithium-green flare igniting in his eyes.

"You said you've dealt with my kind before. But have you ever... played with us?"

Tyde gave it a few seconds, then chuckled at the flicker of understanding on the possum's face. True, the possum hadn't done anything with the undead besides ward them off his property. His companion Zieg, a mountain goat, had once mated a 'surprisingly strong and bity husky' who claimed to be a vampire. But Delph could claim no such deals with demons. He hadn't survived this long by getting too close to these creatures. But if past experience had taught him, this rat wouldn't transform once he laid claws into it. The mixture of pain and endorphins would render the critter frozen. The rodent wanted one thing. And that demanded a physical, flesh-and-blood body. And to tell the truth, the concept rather intrigued the possum. He had never encountered an animal such as this rat, living or dead. Though he could not yet fathom why, meeting this rat was an opportunity he wanted to explore.

"You had better come inside."

Delph retreated into his den. He held the door open and the rat squeezed inside. The scent was largely the same as yesterday: the damp coolness of the garage, uninsulated brick and concrete, cold cast iron and motor oil. Tyde could also detect the warm moist metallic aroma of a freshly butchered animal - that would explain the fresh blood on the possum's muzzle. Yet there was another scent, still lingering, that of spilled marsupial musk.

"I see you've healed rather rapidly, rat."

"Heh, yep. One side benefit to this affliction of mine. Some of your back scratches are taking longer to heal than usual, mind, but I'm sure they'll heal soon."

Tyde took a good scan of his surroundings. His paw-steps slowed to nearly nothing. The dusty sunlight was filtering through various windows and slats in the structure, daylight filling the workshop with a brighter kind of gloom. Light only illuminated the oil and the grime which covered the floor and most of the surfaces. He spotted a pile of motor components by the far wall. Maybe the part he needed was over there? But he couldn't just scamper over and start rummaging through the pile. That would have him turfed out quicker than yesterday. No, his search for parts could wait.

A snap of the fingers drew Tyde's attention. The possum was standing at the foot of a staircase.

"Follow me."

Up they climbed, skipping from step to step up the wooden staircase. They rounded the corner and crossed the landing, high up in the workshop roof. There were three doors up here, and the possum headed through the second. This must be the possum's nest. An assortment of shredded foam, paper, tufts of grey fur, and the odd animal bone here and there. A rather large pile of bones sat in one corner, some of them still coated in fresh and gleaming gristle.

"Killed for food or killed for fun?"

"For food. I would never kill without a good reason."

"Killing for fun is a reason."

"I said a _good_reason."

"Okay." The rat held up his paws. "Tasty though, I hope."

"Tasty enough. Young, tender, you know. Now are you going to take off your jacket, or do I have to tear it off you?"

The rat grinned a toothy rodent grin. He slipped the jacket off his shoulders and hung it on a nearby protruding nail. The possum growled a little, then nestled back into his well-bedded nest, arms crossed and his gaze fixed on the rodent. The rat slunk closer, and with complete ease and confidence, he raised his paws to the possum's bedding, leaning over to touch whiskers with the marsupial. The bigger animal did not flinch.

"Bold little rat."

"Yeah. You kinda have to be in this world. The animal that dares, survives. And thrives."

The possum growled again. He reached over and teased his claws under the rat's chin. The rodent closed his eyes and smiled, uttering a soft squeak.

"But remember, ratty, no tricks. I've already shown you I'm capable of dealing with them."

"What me, trick a smart animal like you? I wouldn't dream of it."

"And we can dispense with the charm offensive too. There's little that's attractive about me."

"Again, that depends on your perspective. And as we discussed yesterday, I'm a pretty messed-up little animal."

"Alright then rat, indulge me. What do you find so attractive about a nasty little marsupial like me?"

"Oh, lots of things." The rat began a slow inwards stalk, his show of charisma well underway. "His intelligence, as we have already mentioned. That delicious feral display he puts on. And of course that wild, dominant and possessive streak that courses through him. I am used to being underneath another animal's paws: I am only a rodent after all. So to come across another small scavenger, who also enjoys taking control... you have no idea how delectable that is."

"Oh, I reckon I know."

The rat nuzzled and poked the possum with his snout, provoking the marsupial to roll over to his paws and return the action. It was classic 'stand your ground' - albeit with ground that yielded underpaw. Still, they dug their paws in and brushed muzzles together. One would sniff, and the other would sniff, the pair coaxing each other into firmer prods. Rat and possum muzzles lifted into small growls, the first flecks of drool tinging their teeth and lips and muzzle-fur. The possum hefted himself closer, pressing himself broadside against the rat and forcing the rodent to respond. Tyde was well aware that size advantage was against him, but a rat's going to put up a fight... or try a trick or two. They lifted forepaws, interlocking them and rising to their hind feet. . The sniffs turned to growls, the two animals locked in a fearsome stare, baring their teeth, rodent incisors to marsupial carnassials. And then they grappled. First they tried to take each other off balance, sweeping and hooking with paws and tails. The rat gave as good as he got, given his smaller size. Delph was the first to bring his claws into play, scoring them rapidly on the rat's flesh and drawing some soft little yelps from the rodent. Undeterred by the scarlet which soon began to tinge his claws, he dug deeper, and soon the rat responded with a few scratches of his own. And the fighting only escalated from there. Neither were afraid to use their weaponry and inflict scratches on the other. They brought each other to earth, still tightly bound, claws wrenched into each other's pelts, a seething mass of feral animal. Delph was perfectly happy to get underneath the rat, until Tyde spotted a chance and hooked his arm around the possum's neck, pressing his paw to the animal's carotid. That triggered the possum's death reflex for a few seconds - just long enough for Tyde to gain the upper paw. Now he had the limp possum against the ground. He dug his hindpaw into the bedding, purchase for when the possum came around and instantly tensed up, yet still Tyde mustered enough strength to prevent the marsupial throwing him off. He snapped at the larger creature, threatening him with sharp front teeth - and a few flicks of his paw towards the possum's neck, which made the marsupial flinch and the rodent chuckle. But Delph, thinking fast, grasped the rodent's sides and rolled him sideways into a wall, slamming his back against the hard brickwork. In the ensuing confusion and melee, Delph wrestled himself on top of the rodent and mounted him from the rear, grasping him by the neck scruff with one paw and reaching underneath to hold his chest with the other before delivering a powerful buck which made the rat squeak! All movement stopped at that point. Delph grunted and bucked again, forcing a second breathless squeak from the rodent. Satisfied at those cute rodenty calls, he gripped the rat tighter and bucked again, and again, manipulating the smaller animal nice and roughly. When he had gained full purchase with paws alone, he added his claws, sinking them slowly into the rat despite the twitches and shaking he felt against him. Those twitches intensified when he dragged those claws backwards, carving along the rat's spine. He loved that. The warm gooeyness of a newly butchered animal, combined with the heat of the creature's blood rising into the air. This was different, though. It was smoke, not merely heat, which greeted the possum. It was thick, and cool, and misty, and Delph snapped at it, lapped at it, breathed it deep into lungs already charred from many years of smokes and substances. Tyde twisted and turned, even landing a few retaliatory blows. Yet nothing deterred the horny possum. Deeper he cut, happy to let the rat yelp - whether those yelps were borne of protest, or a perverse pleasure, Delph loved to hear them all the same. He tightened his grip of the rat's chest, and with dark thoughts washing through his mind, he squeezed down. There was something peculiar, something morbidly satisfying about crushing the dead rat, feeling whatever energy animated the rodent seep out, enhanced since the rat's reincarnation but finite all the same, crushed by an animal that not even death could deter, who too was adept at redefining what it means to be dead. Those lungs which heaved under duress, more from subconscious habit than a need to supply oxygen to a long-dead brain... they too were punctured, ripped open by those deadly-sharp claws. But it was when the possum gripped the rat's throat that the rodent froze in shock, gulping and gurgling, twitching hard from whisker to tail before being battered by a renewed assault from the bigger marsupial. The rat was at his mercy, and the possum's revelry in his feral dominance was becoming more and more apparent. He rubbed backwards along the rat's rump fur, smoothing it down, before driving forward and brushing it the wrong way. He spent a good long while grinding the rodent, the fur between them growing pleasantly sticky. Then, he flipped the rat onto its back, one forepaw dug into his chest to hold him still, five little pinpricks of blood in a circle on the rat's smoky grey chest fur. And there he was, the possum, in full sight for the rat to behold. The forearm latched into him was taut, the lower half covered in short black fleecy fur, while the upper half bore the same pale grey fur which covered most of the marsupial. His slender frame held a good amount of muscle and sinew - he was no slouch, that much was apparent, but there was still something dirty and unkempt about him - in the muss or the muddy tint of his fur, in his scent, in his breath. And never once did that open-jawed scowl diminish, lips curled back to show the dull shine of his tainted teeth, those gleaming green-yellow eyes locked on his natural prey. Behind him, a thick mottled tail, not dissimilar to a rodent's, swooped and dove in languid arcs. And all the while, the bifurcated male stood fully to attention. Finally, Tyde had a full view of the animal who had claimed him so brutally last night. And yes, it was fair to say that the possum was not a small animal. Tyde himself was handsomely endowed, particularly in terms of thickness at the base. But this possum was meaty throughout, surpassing the rodent in length and more than a match for thickness. Glancing down, always snarling, the marsupial lowered himself to the rat's crotch, rubbing himself on the rat's firm sheath and part-emerged length, both of his tips dripping an impressive amount of precum. With a delighted squeak, Tyde began a slow writhe, putting up resistance while the two animals rubbed their lengths together. The rat broke into a low murr, while the possum uttered a series of growls, snapping and gnashing his teeth as he asserted himself over the rodent. Rat and possum pre drooled and pooled on the rat's gut, and Delph scooped up some of the slick stringy fluid with two claws, and used it to lubricate the rat's tailhole. Then came the firm grip on his sides again, a little firmer than necessary perhaps. However if there was any doubt before what the possum wanted, that was obliterated now. Tyde watched in fascination as the twin-headed shaft rubbed and jabbed under his sac and against his taint, partially obscured from view, and he silenced a squeak as the possum found his target. Then, gripping his length, Delph thrust himself forward, fresh precum from the possum's balls adding to the fluid already there and giving the bare minimum of slickness needed for the wild possum to break through and penetrate the rat, a mutual moan of pleasure erupting from the animals, spontaneous and heartfelt. Glances were exchanged, the rat and the possum grinning at each other, squeaking back and forth before the possum gave a sudden louder mrowl and a snap of the teeth. Tyde shied away, paws slightly raised in defence, eyes wide and innocent, to which the possum roughly grasped him and drove in deeper, the two animals sharing all manner of little squeaks and grunts and gasps. If this rat was going to play to Delph's inclinations, crafty little shit, the Delph was going to play along too. Possum jaws locked on the rat's neck, not biting in, but gripping with enough teasing force to subdue the rat. Hot breath and drool trickled onto the rodent's throat. He sunk in as far as appeared comfortable for the rat, and a little further for good measure. And then they mated, rapid bucks shaking the breathless rodent for all he was worth. A few seconds later the possum would pause, tightening his grip again or even nuzzling the rodent now under his auspices. Then he would begin again. It was frantic, and erratic, the rat squeaking for more and the possum more than happy to deliver. However when the possum felt his climax approach, he slipped himself from the rat, the roughness and sudden emptiness drawing a deep gasp from Tyde. By the time the rat had steeled himself, the possum had mantled him once more, a sharp-clawed hind paw in his stomach while the marsupial pawed above him. The animal's tongue hung from its maw, and it snarled as it pawed itself towards its release. Tyde, battered and covered in musk, blood, precum and now fresh drops of possum drool, tried his best to shield his face from the possum, tucking his whiskery nose under his arm. But the bigger animal pulled his arm away and pinned his head sideways against the ground, while still pawing, and still growling. Shuddering, eyes tightly shut, Tyde felt every shot, every thick load of the possum's cum covering his face and his underbody, the marsupial's climactic snarls resonating in his ears.

Tyde lay still. Liquid seeped through his fur, still warm, but rapidly cooling and congealing. His cuts and scratches stung, even more so where the ejaculate touched them. The possum's breath was still harsh, but it had softened considerably since the height of their mating. Thankfully none of the musk had covered his eyes and so, slowly as he dared, he opened his glowing eyes to witness the animal who had claimed him and marked him so thoroughly. He gave a pained and innocent squeak, twitching his curled-up paws, and the marsupial responded with a little satisfied snarl. Bounding to the side, Delph climbed to a higher patch of bedding and nestled down, his tail trailing almost to the rat below him - but just out of reach of course. He licked his paws, smiling at the rat who lay scratched, broken and marked in his nest. Patches of crimson had stained the fur and paper of the bedding, while remnants of the possum's lust lay similarly scattered in the rat's vicinity.

"Looks like you won't be moving for a while yet, ratty. Well, you can't say you didn't know how feral I'd be. It's fine though, I'm ready to go rummaging whenever you are."

Tyde nodded. It would indeed be a while before he could move. Yet even if he could... would he? There was something strangely comforting about lying here, in the nest of this fierce little animal, breathing in its dust and its scent, and wearing a good helping of its musk. He couldn't place a paw on why, but something about this felt right. Felt primal. Felt natural.

And yep. He could see himself sharing a fair few more encounters with the possum.

By Ziegenbock