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Day 32

Morning

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This is it.

~ ~ ~

Smooth stone stretched out among dusty earth and fallen leaves and branches, smooth blue-grey shale rising up between a pair of ridges to the north-northeast. It was the best spot that Lannon had found to draw the circle of his ritual, and early this morning, a sleepy Sulla trailing behind him, he had come out here and done just that with the various colors of chalk he had acquired. At least, only one of them was chalk: the black outer ring was charcoal, and then the burgundy inner one was made of a mixture of berry pulp, ash, and water.

Three circles, the outermost one carefully measured once and again from Sulla's outstretched arms and legs over the previous few days, then the innermost one done with a bit of guesswork. This was another instance in which Lannon wished he could communicate with the other hunters that he knew still lurked about the woods - if he could just have one here with him, but... none of them would tolerate this strange "civilized" lynx pushing them onto their back and spreading out their limbs, belly bared to the sky.

Lannon looked up again, judging the height of the sun behind the trees from the color in the clouds. The morning was pleasantly warm, enough so that last night he'd had to throw off his blanket. That made sense, though: Sulla put off a lot of heat, even more so when Lannon had curled up tight against his chest. The two had skipped their daily bath today, the lynx wanting no distraction from the task at hand. It would be good to get it over as soon as possible, and besides, another of the superstitions told that Spirit rituals drew their power most strongly in the period of time just after dawn and just before dusk, when the sky held at a smooth, soft creamy orange, tinted with yellow at one horizon and deep strawberry pink at the other.

"Sulla."

The wolf perked his ears where he crouched, off to the side of the clearing a bit. One of those ears flicked as a little butterfly fluttered past it. Lannon smiled unconsciously, his mind fully focused on the task of the day: it would take time, and it would exhaust him, in more ways than one. There was excitement and anticipation both, anxiety warring with a deep want to see it done. He reached up and scratched at one of his cheektufts, then felt the tickle of the sprigs of lavender he still held in that paw. The light, pleasant scent wrapped around his nose and muzzle, though it did little to assuage his nervousness.

Today I intend to finally return him to the body that is truly his, and not this twisted monstrosity. He watched as Sulla rose and approached, tight and honed muscles showing through now-healthy fur, his gait steady and balanced, his shoulders broad yet relaxed. This was no longer the hideous creature that had pinned him to a tree in the forest in the dead of night almost a full month ago. This was something else entirely, a product of his own intervention and intent.

Hideous creature? Twisted monstrosity? Lannon's smile grew a bit as the wolf came towards him, then squatted down so that they could look each other in the eyes - though the lynx still needed to tilt his head back a bit. He stood up on his tiptoes and placed a little kiss to the end of Sulla's nose; the wolf's ears perked again, and his own tongue flicked out immediately after. Who am I kidding? He's beautiful. Always has been, in his way.

"Over there." Lannon pointed to the circles, the minerals in the chalk glittering in the rising sun. "Like I showed you. I'm almost ready."

He watched as the wolf nodded and then lumbered over, brushy tail swaying behind him. A peerless, wondrous entity, this odd half-man, half-beast conglomeration. Lannon knew that this body simply should not be, and yet Sulla had made it seem so natural - but there was no avoiding the little twinges and jerks that came from misbehaving muscles and misfiring nerves, the occasional shudder of the shoulders and imbalance in his step, the grimace that shot across his muzzle, or any of the other small signs.

Simply existing in this form gave Sulla pain. Lannon watched as the huge wolf looked down over the ritual circles, the carefully measured and outline radii encircling the runes and symbols that, again, may or may not actually do anything - further down on the lynx's research list was to devise a way to separate truth from superstition - and then as he stepped carefully over each ring to stand roughly in the center.

That made him smile, too. Hardly a month ago he was afraid to go out into the woods at night, lest the terrifying beast out there with its slavering jaws and deadly claws track him down and tear him apart. Now here they were, that same beast following his direction and suggestions without question, huge footpaws shuffling across dusty stone and tail swaying behind him.

Journal held open to the back in his other paw, Lannon looked over his notes one more time, double-checked the arrangement of the herbs and the setup of the rings and sigils and then, finally satisfied, sighed, closed the book, and set it against his back over to the side. He wiped his paws together and slowly made his way over to the circles as well, body moving slowly as if to put off the beginning. He stopped to watch the butterfly as it disappeared into the trees, paused to double-check the sky, slowed to look over the positions of the focal points... stood at the outer ring and looked up at Sulla standing there before him.

He smiled again, and then motioned down. "Lie down. Just like I showed you."

The beast showed a little bit of reluctance but then obeyed, slowly and awkwardly dropping first into a squat, then kicking his legs out from under him, and then stretching his arms and legs out. Lannon looked over his body, arms and legs bulging with tight muscles, chest smooth and flat yet still ridged, neck showing that sharp, clean line of silver-pink amid stony fur, tattered and marred muzzle tilted a bit so he could still watch the lynx. Lannon stepped carefully over his legs, bending down at one point to shift his left arm so it met the proper focal point on the circle, then continued around again. Then again, and again, and he started the incantation.

This part Lannon was certain was superstition, but just to be safe, he felt the words in his head even as they tumbled out from his barely-parted lips, light little murmurs caught and carried off on the morning breeze. Sulla's ears perked and the wolf lifted his head to look at him again, though Lannon straddled his body and lowered himself down, sitting lightly atop his belly while still speaking those words, an arrangement of Old Tongue cobbled together from passages in his books and other prior knowledge. He took Sulla's muzzle in his paws, one underneath his chin and the other atop his snout, and angled it back down into place along the shale platform.

Then he began drawing the power from himself, the familiar pull of Spirit magic feeling so close to any other kind of mental exhaustion yet different in its own way. Immediately his limbs felt heavier and his lungs tighter, and after a quick adjustment Lannon managed to keep that flow of energy properly regulated while it built up, held there in the side of his consciousness. This would be something like a drawn-out and expanded version of the basic healing he had used so many times before; once that tight ball of carefully entwined threads of Spirit took form and held steady, he shifted some of his attention away from that to being wrapping thicker cords of Water from the air around him, Fire from the sun's warmth, Earth from the stone and soil underneath.

It's just transmuting an entire body, said a small voice in his head. How much different can it be from restoring an arm charred to ash? Why would-

_ _

No. Lannon swallowed, mouth hanging open afterwards, and reached down to tug Sulla's other arm down into place. He shifted down along the werewolf's body, distantly aware of the firm heat that started to grow underneath his tail the further he pushed. He leaned back, balanced a paw on the wolf's thigh, and used his other to pull that leg into place as well. This will work. It has to. I'll make sure of it. And I'll do that... by...

Once he had reached a somewhat stable agglomeration of all of those different types, swirling and massing together under his tenuous control, the lynx tightened his legs around Sulla's body, swallowed, and then shifted to slip his cloak off over his shoulders. The wolf perked again but kept his head against the stone, but Lannon was too focused on other matters to feel thankful for that. His shirt went next, tossed to the side beyond the exterior of the outer ring; then the lynx braced his paws on Sulla's chest to lift himself up, shifted one back, worked at the fastenings of his trousers... lifted one leg and then the other and kicked those off as well.

Then, finally, he settled back again, his own fully nude body resting atop Sulla's, the warmth of the wolf's plump sheath in its _proper_place under the base of his nub tail. Holding that wad of magical energy tight, keeping his goal and aim and intent in mind, the lynx slid one paw down along Sulla's tight, tense stomach, dug his fingers into the fur there, and began to work his hips forward and back, forward and back, teasing along the lip and underside of that sheath, immediately feeling the stir and response.

Passion, he thought. The so-familiar sensation of slick, wet warmth slipping out of that sheath, bright and new with Sulla - the two had never gone past paws before - nearly derailed his thoughts and concentration, his weave almost coming undone at the surge of arousal that came with it. Passion, depth of emotion, is what drives Spirit magic. Rhowena with her intense desire to prevail over death. King Loradel of ancient Solm, calling down heaven's fire to secure the safety of his home and people. Lucius Kalla, swearing to uphold the health and safety of his queen and best friend.

_ _

Lannon Asaros, doing his best to fix a wrong that never should have occurred.

_ _

Sulla rumbled softly underneath him, his hips beginning to churn and lift the further the lynx coaxed him out of his sheath. Eyes half-closed and focus split between so many things at once, at first the lynx didn't even notice his paws coming down to rest along his hips, until the blunted claws dragged at his skin through his fur. Everything shook and nearly destabilized for a second there, Lannon stumbling to push his arms back into place and then whipping together a quick charm of Earth to bring out makeshift cuffs, extensions of the stone platform that wrapped around Sulla's wrists and ankles and bound them in place to keep the beast in the proper spot.

That turned that rumble of pleasure into a low growl of warning. Lannon's eyes fluttered open and he ran his paws up Sulla's chest again, using the shift in posture to push his rump back and line the wolf's slick tip up with his tailhole, something he had thought about, dreamed about, fantasized about nearly since the first night he had seen him. Sulla strained against the bonds, then redoubled his efforts once Lannon released that tight ball of magic and began to strategically, systematically entwine the loose threads with Sulla's own spirit, pushing and poking at that tight shield, prying it open.

The words of the incantation continued on his lips and tongue, both so close to Sulla's own. The wolf growled again, lips curling back in a threatening snarl. Unable to use his words Lannon met his eyes, looking first at the bright yellow and then the pale white.

Trust me, he willed, struggling to continue his trail of the spell unbroken, while a hundred different things warred at his body. Despite the discomfort and struggle, Sulla's growing erection still made itself known; Lannon reached a paw back, grazed his fingers along the underside of his length, tilted it up, pressed it against puckered skin, pushed back a bit. Trust me. Please. And he leaned in.

Sulla tried to tilt his head away at first, but Lannon followed him. A little nip at the curled upper lip, a nuzzle of his own lips along smooth glistening fangs... a bold flick of the tongue out along those fangs, following the curves and counters, finding a space between and slipping in. Intensely hot breath washed out over the small lynx's muzzle along with slick, sticky saliva, clinging and dripping as he pushed deeper. Gradually the growl receded, though the tension remained: Sulla's lips came forward and relaxed, settling heavily on Lannon's mouth against his own. Even as he pushed further into the kiss, as he drew his lips and tongue along the monster's teeth and gums and lips he continued his mantra, the words dripping out of his mouth and down into the wolf's.

The threads of magic pushed deeper, digging in through Sulla's consciousness, his spirit, and against his own energy. Lannon gasped as the tip of his length pushed in past his rim, then continued further - he was thick, and with no real preparation... he retreated from the wet, sloppy kiss for a moment, wiping the palm of a paw across his mouth to scoop up some of that mixed saliva, and reached back to spread that underneath his tail before trying again. The wind blew around them, stirring the herbs in their places and sending a little chill down his back.

And he leaned in again, returning that thoroughly moistened paw to Sulla's jaw, holding there with bold firmness so he could slip his tongue back into the wolf's muzzle. Hips still working, heart pounding in the huge chest underneath him, Lannon tilted his muzzle again and slid deeper into the kiss, the wolf's huge, broad tongue finally coming up, swirling around his, and then pushing into his own muzzle, choking the words as he still tried to list them.

Thus wavered his concentration and willpower again, thick slick muscle pushing in and exploring his maw, pushing up against the roof of his mouth, dragging across the interior of one cheek and then the other, squeezing in against his teeth, tickling at the back of his throat, forcing him to try to swallow once, twice, a third time, around the cloying stickiness. The lynx's paws came back down to settle against Sulla's chest so he could push himself backwards, working his hips carefully forward and back in coaxing his formidable girth up inside of him, all the while maintaining the effort that the spell itself took.

Soon he reached the end of his incantation, thankfully, and let the last of the words spread down over Sulla's tongue and into his mouth even as the first of these pressed up into his. Lannon's throat tightened against the thick, wet intrusion, and his body lurched in a slight gag, but still he remained in place sliding his hips gently forward and back, bringing the wolf deeper into him as he sucked and swallowed around that dense, searching muscle.

Each thrust from Sulla's hips lifted Lannon off the ground, the pressure rising underneath his tail and coming close to discomfort and pain, especially as he intentionally squeezed further back. One paw remained at the wolf's chest while the other slid underneath the base of his nub-tail, regulating and guiding his length further into him. The sensation made his legs shake and every muscle tighten, his entire body responding to the desire and the need that had been there for so long.

He pulled out of the kiss but did not pull away, simply parting his lips around Sulla's tongue and catching a few shaky breaths around him. The wolf did the same as well, slipping that tongue back into his mouth and swallowing down his own drool, his loose canid lips remaining open and fangs clicking against Lannon's teeth with each shared breath. For a moment Lannon forgot about the ritual, forgot about his spell, forgot about the wad of tightly bound magical energies that still siphoned out between the two of them from the back of his consciousness.

For a moment it was just him and Sulla, lynx and werewolf-beast, finally coming together in the way that both of them had wanted for so long. Lannon felt all of that desire and want pulsing through his body, pushing through the remnant nervousness and anxiety and replacing it with rich, hot, bright need. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath rattled through his throat; he could taste Sulla's saliva on his lips and tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, he could feel it soaking into the fur of his muzzle and chin and rolling down his neck; he straightened up a bit, ran that paw up from the wolf's chest, over his own twitching hard length, and then along his belly, the steady movements of his hips causing a slight yet firm bulge to grow and recede, grow and recede down there.

There was no way he would be able to push more than halfway down along Sulla's length. Already he could tell he was close to his limit - Emnis had been big, but nothing like this - but still he wanted more, the shared pleasure from both of them vibrating up through the small cat's body, making him gasp and shudder and moan and drip into a steadily-growing pool along Sulla's lower belly. Again he worked his paws forward and down, pressing and pushing at tight muscle beneath soft fur, feeling the wolf's pulse and tension as he rode.

The growling, the reluctance, was all gone. Just a flash of fear from a wild animal, a beast, suddenly chained in place. Sulla trusted him; Lannon knew this. He felt it, he saw it when he straightened up and wiped at his mouth, when he looked down through half-lidded eyes at the way Sulla watched him. He had grown so used to the sharp, appraising look in amber and white that it almost surprised him to see something else there this time, the softer, warmer look of someone looking upon a prized beauty rather than the hungry stare of a hunting predator. Still his wrists struggled against the unnatural stone holding him in place, but he still had enough space to grind and thrust his hips up against the cat settling back into his lap, panting and moaning, his own cock twitching and throbbing and dripping.

The last of his prepared magical threads seeped out, slid into Sulla's being, disappeared beneath the tight shell - and then, once inside, began stirring and pushing, pulling and shifting. The wolf's expression tightened and changed, then returned to sweet, indulgent pleasure; then it twitched and tightened again, and his lip curled back in a silent snarl. Lannon swallowed, mouth open and throat still slick and sticky, and continue pulsing his hips forward and back.

Then, suddenly, a new voice in his head: "I see you, Lannon Asaros."

_ _

It was not his own. It was not the Huntress's. Sulla?

_ _

"Is that who I am? It's been so long. Is that... all I am?"

It was so hard to concentrate among all of this, but he knew he needed the energy and passion. Not that he was complaining about that, of course. The lynx leaned in again, pushed his nose up into the thick fur of Sulla's neck, nuzzled there, then came up again, both paws coming forward. One thumb curled in and pulled his upper lip away, the other slid beneath two fangs of his lower jaw and tugged down to open his mouth; hot breath puffed out across his whiskers again.

I want to help you. Please. Let me do what I can.

_ _

"You want to... help? After twenty-six years trapped together in this body, someone wants to help?"

_ _

He paused where he was, open mouth hovering a half-inch above Sulla's, each shaky exhalation of wolf breath forcing its way into his lungs and making him lightheaded. Together? Who's...

_ _

"You called me Sulla. Is that who I am? Sulla, and not Tul? Are we not one and the same?" In Lannon's head flashed an image of a young feral wolfess, full and healthy, greyish fur speckled with sections of white and cream like the sun coming through the trees along smooth stone. Like..."Like the light, delicate frost flaking off of the edges of leaves and grass on a winter morning. That is what the word Tul means."

_ _

So the Huntress was right. You're both in there.

_ _

"Both of us. Sulla and Tul. Which one am I? Perhaps both. Which one was I? Perhaps... perhaps neither."

_ _

He remembers himself. He remembers you. Lannon tilted his muzzle a little further, closed his eyes, and still jumped when Sulla's lips closed around his own. The wolf let out a low, rumbling growl of pleasure right into his mouth and throat, vibrating his entire upper chest. Lannon took that hot breath in and then let it right back out in his own moan, echoing out of his nose. Can you remember?

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"Of course I can. I cannot forget. The wound hurts us still, keeps us stewing in agony, and yet we cannot escape. The pit grows deeper every time we try to scale the wall to climb out. Twenty-six years."

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Let me help.

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"Why?"

_ _

Was it not obvious? Another shudder racked Lannon's body, and the next time he lifted partially up off of Sulla's length, he felt another thick glob of pre ooze out and along his underside. He pulled his muzzle away from the wolf's again, though Sulla's tongue remained between his lips for a moment longer.

Because I... The emotions flowed and stirred, far easier to display and share in this mind-space than they were in person. Lannon thought about when he had first encountered the wolf out in the woods; when he had discovered just what was going on; his first encounter with the Huntress and the things she told him there; his determination to right this wrong, whatever it may be...

...then the growing desire to come closer to him, to feel the beat of his heart and the tickle of his breath. The want to ease his pain and reverse what had been done to him. The desire, the need, to feel his body close to his own, to run his fingers through his fur and push his nose up under his chin, to feel Sulla's low rumble of contentment against him. Lannon's desire to "fix" him, somewhere along the way, transformed from a matter of course, of scholarly study and the advancement of his art, into a genuine, honest desire.

Empathy, and sympathy both. Lannon straightened up again, not bothering to wipe the thick rope of hungry saliva off of his chin where it hung down, pulled, and then broke, and then leaned back. "A-aah..." He felt Sulla's length pulsing deep inside of him, felt the tightness and the pressure and the deep, hungry, insatiable pleasure. Again his own cock bounced and slapped against his belly, leaving another sticky wet spot there.

"You need him," Tul's voice went on. "You need him, almost as I did. You, little cat, meddle in matters you do not understand."

_ _

I don't care. Another wave of pleasure shot through his body, and he doubled forward over the wolf again. Sulla's eyes flashed open and met his; Lannon paused in his riding, just so he could reach down, caress Sulla's muzzle with a paw, and then lean in for another softer kiss, lips to upper lip, just a gentle press and then pull. At the edges of his perception, in that halfway realm between imagination and physical reality, he could see strands of magic siphoning out from the ritual reagents and mixing with the storm already brewing here in the center. I'll defy the gods if I have to, to see him better. I think I already have.

_ _

"You love him."

_ _

For a moment Lannon stopped. He opened his eyes and looked around himself: here was Sulla underneath him, twisted and hideous yet at the same time beautiful. There were the rings of the ritual circle, shifting and melding against his vision as though seen through stirring water. The forest all around, deathly silent save for the occasional whisper of wind or crack of a branch falling to the ground. And there was himself, settling back in this beast's lap, his pulsing arousal filling the entire lower half of his body keeping his own upright and twitching, sending constant waves and shocks of sharp need through his awareness, nearly pulling him away from his task every time he moved.

Breath coming and going in shaky, unsteady bursts, the lynx reached a paw up and felt at his ear. The three studs along one side, the hanging chain with its small ornaments... the tall cuff encasing the opposite side, which he foolishly thought he had earned already. Love freely given, and received in turn.

What he had felt for Sariya and Emnis, compared to what he felt with Sulla now...

Perhaps I do. I just want him to-

_ _

"You just want him."

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Is that so wrong?

_ _

Beneath him Sulla growled, a flash of pain crossing his muzzle again. Lannon leaned in and ran his fingers through the fur of his muzzle, pushing up towards his ears, rubbing behind them, touching nose to nose and lips to lips. He willed the wolf to be still, and managed to siphon out another little strand of Spirit magic to ease the sensation. This small extension of his ability just brought how exhausted he already was, now that he had slowed in his pace. His limbs felt heavy; his elbows felt weighted with stones and his chest filled with water. Surely his belly was already half-full of wolf saliva, his throat stinging a bit from the rather thorough scraping it had gone through at the end of Sulla's tongue. He swallowed, swallowed again, and shifted, trying to get back into his rhythm and searching through his thoughts for the next step of the spell. The sun continued to rise overhead.

"Your strength falters, Lannon. You risk drawing too deeply from yourself."

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I don't care. It's - worth it.

_ _

"Is it?"

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It is. It will be. It is.

_ _

There was that image of the wolfess again, of young Tul, this time standing beside her hunter with his broad shoulders, tight chest, sharp muzzle, warm green eyes. A bow slung over his back and a knife at his belt, wearing nothing but a loincloth and an over-the-shoulder sash. He looked down at her and smiled, and in that moment Lannon felt her return the look.

Then they were hunting side by side again, Sulla crouching between the bushes, Tul going ahead to flank the prey. A moment, a word, a feeling passed between them, and both wolves moved together at once, as one.

_ _

"As one."

Lannon grunted, his arms falling limp around Sulla's body, his chest coming forward to rest against his. Still the wolf thrust and pushed at him, wanting so deeply to wrap his huge arms around him and hold him tight, yet unable to against the stone bindings. Lannon's mouth hung open, each push, each thrust squeezing out another breathy moan, even as he no longer had the energy to continue himself.

Sulla's pace slowed in that moment, turning from quick, hungry, and deep to a smoother, softer rhythm, enough to change Lannon's noises to deeper and lower moans. He couldn't help but squeeze and throb against the huge wolf's belly, knowing that this pushed him close to his peak, unable - and also unwilling - to stop it. Emnis had been the one to first find out how to squeeze a hands-free orgasm out of the lynx, of course, but it had taken _him_nearly two years of trying. Sulla had almost gotten there on their first time.

Sulla and Tul lounging back by the river, hunter lying bare for the sun to dry his dripping fur, companion trying her best to snap at the salmon as they swam through in the current. Sulla and Tul sitting together at their encampment, countless other pairings walking by or absorbed in their own work or eating. Sulla sitting beside an older she-wolf huntress before a fire at night, her eyes bright yellow but her expression, the shape of her muzzle, similar to his own. Off to the side Tul wagged her tail and reared down, inviting the huntress's companion, a rather large male, to play with her. He snorted and flicked an ear, but after a moment rose to his full height.

A young Sulla and Tul, both puppies, leaving for the forest one day and coming back a few turns of the sun later, bond established and cemented, never to be broken.

"As one." This was yet another new voice, there and gone before Lannon could truly hear it. Was that...

"Never to be broken," Tul continued. "We are disliked by those around the forest. There are those who would burn the trees to smoke us out, those who construct walls around their towns against invasions that will never happen. Then there are those that go out of their way to seek us out and hunt us down, for sport, for triumph over our tribe recognized as the deadliest, most efficient hunters in the land. He was tall, broad-shouldered and sleek-muscled, fur snow-white and eyes a cold, sharp blue like the winter sky."

_ _

"He stood there in the clearing when I came through," that other voice picked up. It was more of a feeling, an essence, than a true voice to be heard. In Lannon's head, obscured and muddled with a hundred different feelings, with the burgeoning pressure of his approaching orgasm, it felt like soft, smooth velvet. "Sword in one paw, foot on Tul's side where she lay in a growing pool of her own blood."

_ _

"I remember seeing him there. I remember hearing his voice and understanding his words, though I do not speak Common. I remember... I remember the ground rushing up to meet me, a stinging ache in my stomach and the side of my face, a dripping gash somewhere on my body - or was it on Tul's? The bond mixed and muddled. I begged for the gods, please, help me. The white wolf, the hunter, knelt down close to my face.

_ _

"'No,' he said. He heard my words as well as I did his. 'The gods don't speak your language, savage.'

_ _

"He didn't even do it himself. He handed his sword to one of his lackeys, one of the two soldiers in mail plate and tunic that he had brought with him. Kill her, he said. Use my sword. Cut her throat. Let him see. He stepped back and watched.

_ _

"The true power of this heightened bloodline lay in the depth of the bond we maintain with our companions - mine with Tul, my mother's with Stike. We can draw from the deeper power that pulses through all of us and connects all life and everything in existence, bringing our spirits closer together and, with enough practice and skill, sealing our bodies together as one. I remember Tul's words in my head, desperate, calling for me to hold on, to retain my control."

_ _

Lannon wriggled where he sat, distracted, trying to continue with his spell. It was so hard to focus, yet he still managed it: bit by bit the shield peeled back, retreating and chipping like cold wax instead of solid steel. Sulla let him in.

_ _

"Never shift in anger, I was told. From her and my mother both. Never draw from the power with unstable emotion, as it is emotion that drives it. Never in anger. I remember watching as the soldier, hesitant, lifted her head into his arms and held her against his chest. I remember him position the sword, remember seeing his muttered prayer, remember...

_ _

"I remember the rage shocking through me, at once chilling my heart and igniting a terrible flame in my stomach. I remember the sensation of something inside me, something deeply entwined and embroiled with my own being, suddenly shattering into a thousand pieces. I remember the great, consuming emptiness, shifting and pulling, tugging at every part of me that still somehow remained, as white water roars through a waterfall into the abyss below.

_ _

"I remember the sensation of my body shifting and morphing, skin bubbling and molding, bones tightening and re-knitting to take on my companion's form. But there was no companion. Not anymore. Just that terrible, hideous void, the ragged, pulsing wound in my heart and my soul."

_ _

The glaring brightness, the intense emotion, the wave of want and need and hope all mixed with despair and agony. Lannon wrapped himself as best he could around that little glowing wad of Sulla's spirit, pulling it against him, willing it to heal as he pulled from his own deepest reserves of power. Still his body pushed closer and closer, his exhausted muscles spasming, his aching rump struggling to clench yet unable to, his jaw soaked with dripping saliva both Sulla's and his own.

_ _

"The world fell away. The rest of what I knew as myself, as Sulla, son of Noma, fell away. All that remained, all that still remains, is that rage and pain. I tasted the hunter's blood, I gashed his chest, tore his shoulder, pulped his leg, shattered his sword, with a body that was neither mine nor Tul's, but it was not enough. The great, sucking void continued to pull at me, hungry and insistent, infinite.

_ _

"Like any wound, it becomes infected. It sears and burns and festers, and spreads its awful poison until every movement, every breath, every second, suffuses with its taint. Tul is gone. So is Sulla. All that remains is rage, terror, and vile, horrible, consuming agony."

_ _

Lannon squirmed and tried to pull himself up, desperate to stop. He could feel it coming, the pressure, the pleasure, the growing heat and brightness. Beneath him Sulla's lips pulled back, this time in a snarl approaching ecstasy, while his own body shook and shivered and bucked. As he lifted himself up that pressure peaked and he bucked once, twice, a third time - and then felt himself rocket over the edge, shuddering and panting, painting the dark fur of the wolf's chest despite the images and memories swirling through his head.

_ _

"Then, suddenly, there is Lannon. And I begin to remember again. Tul and I, as one. Lannon and I..."

_ _

"As one." This was Tul again. Panting, Lannon propped himself up on Sulla's chest, the wolf still thrusting, grunting, grinding, completely separated from the rest of the world around him. Nothing had changed about him."You cannot do this, Lannon Asaros."

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I must, he told her. Desperate, exhausted, wholly drained, he dug deeper into himself. His vision swam before him; his heart fluttered in his chest. I must. It must be done. I... must...

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"You cannot."

_ _

Something inside of him, somewhere, snapped. A flash of pain, now unbelievably sharp, now numb, vibrating out through his limbs like a hammer-stroke on metal. For a second he couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't feel- and then there rushed in the deep, lurching dread, the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, not with his body, not with the ritual, but... slowly, one by one, the threads of magic began to trickle away out of his grasp, the lynx unable to hold onto them any longer.

_ _

I must try. He struggled to gather them back together. He was so, so close. He could not fail. He is... I need... I have to...

_ _

Tul appraised him. He could feel it. He welcomed her in, let the strange presence comb through his identity, his memories, and his being. He opened his heart to her, her presence bright and full, as though she were a part of him now, too. One of his arms gave out; Lannon yelped and then flopped limp across Sulla's chest, the wolf lifting up into him, bucking, growling... pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. Thick, intense liquid heat dumped out inside of him, swelling his lower belly, filling him with pressure and distant pleasure.

"Lannon..."

_ _

I must. Tul...

_ _

"You will not fail. You cannot."

_ _

Suddenly, a surge of energy burst into him, wrapping him in warmth and comfort. The lynx opened his eyes, blinked the tears away, straightened up, looked at the contented wolf underneath him... then churned his hips a few more times, smirked, and began weaving another handful of threads together. Sulla's ears flicked; his mouth twitched; a rumble echoed in his chest.

His shoulders shifted. His muzzle changed, bit by bit, the angles adjusting, the muscles flexing, tightening, moving. The arms moved as well, stone crumbling away as Lannon's energy faded, huge monstrous paws returning to the handpaws of a hunter, twisted bulbous knuckles retreating to regular fingers, broad cracked claws becoming short and sharp.

The pressure inside his lower body shrank as well - and then the lynx jumped and yelped as the wolf's suddenly smaller knot, fully swollen, slipped up inside of him. Exhausted, drained, yet so, so relieved, he chuckled softly, squeezed, and tugged, sending a brief flash of mixed discomfort and pleasure across Sulla's muzzle.

"You deserve him," Tul went on, still in his head. Bit by bit, Lannon pulled the threads free, the shell fully opened and retracted. That bright energy inside pulsed still close to him. "Every bit of him. Everything he was, is, and shall ever be. You and him, Lannon, you deserve to be together."

Lannon watched as Sulla's muzzle became that of the hunter he saw in his dreams and borrowed memories, with the sharp ears, sleek muzzle, short whiskers. He leaned in, smiled, ran a thumb back along that snout, and then pressed lips to lips, Sulla's mouth fitting against his own rather than around it.

As one?

_ _

"As one. Take care of him, little cat. You are the world to him."

_ _

And she was gone, like a light dusting of frost melting beneath the rising sun. Lannon straightened up again and, with a bit of effort, extricated himself from Sulla's carnal embrace, shivering at the sensation - I'm gonna feel that for a few days. Tired, he rolled off to the side and sprawled out alongside the wolf, draping an arm over his chest and a leg over one of his, nuzzling into his neck, breathing his scent. No longer was it tainted with anger and pain and fear; this was just Sulla. Finally.

"Hey," the lynx murmured, nose buried in the warm fur of his neck. "Sulla. Can you hear me?"

Nothing for a moment. He lifted his head, frowned, peered close... then straightened up again. He was beyond exhausted, but Tul's final passing of energy had at least given him enough to complete the ritual with a little bit to spare. Lannon sent in another careful thread of Spirit magic, seeking and searching, and...

And found the shell inside Sulla's being, cracked open and spread apart, with nothing inside. A cicada's empty husk, no longer bearing the sweet life and music it used to carry. The wolf, the hunter, remained beside him, still and quiet, lips parted, throat still bearing the single hairline scar.

Lannon's paw drifted down to rest in the middle of Sulla's chest, fingers settling among soft fur. A different kind of pressure welled up in his chest and behind his eyes, hot and tense and ugly. But he was too exhausted to let it free. The wind picked up again, rustling the leaves overhead and blowing his herbs and reagents from where he had carefully placed them around the ritual circles.

In the trees around them the birds began to sing, filling the silence.