At first, there was a feeling of relief that washed over him as he finally felt the call of sleep tugging at him. But then a realization hit him. Why? Why was she giving him what he wanted suddenly? No, this was all wrong! Indeed, the thought came too late; his body had already given way to exhaustion. The aether that flowed in him wanted to obey her whims. In that moment of relief, it let her in, and his mind went blank.
Â
When he opened his eyes, it was a clear day. The autumn air was thin and cold within the mountains where his father hunted. He would bring his son to some of the hunting trips, and Gharen remembered how tall his father seemed then, with a long thin spear strapped to his back.
Â
Gharen was tall for his age, at five winters at almost four fulms, "Almost." his mother would say, even though he barely passed three fulms in spring. But with her smile reassuring him, Gharen could not argue. Something tugged at the back of his mind, as if to say something was out of place, but... he could not quite remember what. But this, this was a relief beyond measure. To be hunting by his father side, his mother waiting for him at home. What else could a boy want?
Â
A breeze blew past them as he and his father lay in the tall grass. The leaves of the surrounding trees swayed with each other to mark the passing of an autumn wind, even though it all looked like something out of a painting as the colors ran together in his memory. The child did not care.
Â
His father had been tracking a buck all morning, and in doing so teaching his son how to read the signs of the wilds. Together they watched as the buck entered their line of sight, his father muttering quiet words of wisdom to the boy. A part of Gharen wondered why he couldn’t hear his father’s voice, nor could he remember what it sounded like. But the boy knew what was expected of him. As his father got up quietly to attempt to get within striking distance of the animal, Gharen watched as he had been instructed.
Â
In what felt like an eternity passing as he watched and waited, a chill ran over the boy and the hairs on his neck stood on end. Moments passed as they watched the buck, but then something happened that seemed odd. Suddenly his father was next to him, thrusting the spear into young Gharen's hand.
Â
Gregor nodded to him, his deep set eyes expectant. He looked from the young boy to the full grown buck ahead of them.
Â
Gharen took his father’s spear in hand, his jaw agape that his father wanted him to make the kill. Curling his small hands tightly around the shaft of the spear, he tried to get up without making a sound and approach the buck as he’d seen father do previously. His heart raced now as was close enough to see the buck grazing; he was within throwing distance. He glanced back to his expectant father who nodded. But as Gharen turned back to focus his aim, he could not shake the feeling that just beyond the edges of his vision there was something there watching him.
Â
The young boy was careful. He was taught well by his father. And yet there was a slight blurriness to the ground he stepped on, and his foot cracked on a dry pine cone, shattering it to pieces and breaking the careful silence. The buck turned in an instant, and spotting the boy with the spear in hand, it stomped the ground once. Gharen thought that it may attack in panic, but then he heard the footsteps of his father behind him, and the buck spun and bolted into the woods.
Â
Gharen was not given the moment to consider or even react. Soon as he turned, his head snapped to the side with a hard backhanded slap from his father. The boy fell onto his back, as his hand reached up to his cheek that was now burning.
â€Yer a worthless sod!†he heard his father say. And yet… something in the back of his mind said this was not his father’s voice. It was someone else. Someone else that he should not have yet known. Gregor stood over him, angry, sneering, and with a bottle in his hand. When did the bottle get there?
Â
"I... I'm." Gharen started to stammer as tears started to well in his eyes. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t focus on it beyond the pounding in his chest. He wiped his eyes to clear the moisture there, and for a moment he glanced to a lingering darkness behind his father. He could swear for an instant he saw the flash of yellow-green eyes and heard a distant growl.
Â
His attention returned to the towering man before him who was now seething with anger. Gharen tried to stammer out an apology, but was cut off as Gregor spun from him. The man was never one for many words, this he remembered. He snatched up the spear in one hand and walked away from him in long quick strides. "Home!" he barked. "There be no meat fer ye this eve."
Â
As he pushed himself up off the ground, Gharen rubbed his cheek and watched his father’s back. He looked down to the ground and followed his father quietly, afraid that anything he might say would set the man off again.  And yet, as he followed, he was sure of it. The feeling of being watched. He glanced to his left and right, and occasionally he'd catch a glimpse of something else, perhaps someone else just outside of the periphery of his vision.
Â
They walked back in silence, Gregor’s stride angry and long, swaying with drunkenness. Gharen had not remembered him this way, but he saw it now as clear as day.  His mother waited outside their home, as usual, waiting for their return. Her hazel eyes were warm, and she always had a smile for young Gharen. She would welcome him with open arms. But when she saw the dark look on Gregor’s eyes, her smile gave way to a frown. “What happened?†Again, Gharen could not remember the sound of his mother’s voice, and like his father, this was someone else that he should not have yet known.
Â
“Th’ uselessh boy shcared off th’ buck we’d been huntin’ all day. It looks like he’s goin’ tae go hungry.†Gregor’s speech was slurred with anger and alcohol.
Â
Aline clucked her tongue, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “My oldest and only son. Gharen m’dear, sweetling. When will you be of use?†Her voice was sweet as honey. One eye seemed to have gone somewhat pale.
Â
The boy’s shoulders drooped as he looked to the floorboards, "I... I'm sorry." He had no excuses, he had indeed failed to bring down the buck, scared it away. There was a cold feeling within his chest as if an icy hand slowly gripped his heart and began to squeeze. Then the cry came from within the house. That of an infant babe. The young thing was wailing, her cry echoing into the woods around them.
Â
“Shut that thing up!†Gregor bellowed. He was becoming angrier. Gharen recognized it easily enough. He knew what would happen when … his guardian, no his father, became angry. It would not go well for him. Or any target of his temper.
Â
“She’s hungry, my dear husband.†Aline shrugged, shaking her head with a sad pitying look to Gharen. “But since we have no meat for the dinner table, we shall all go hungry, I’m afraid.†Gregor kicked back a wooden chair on the porch. He threw his empty bottle away, letting it shatter against a tree, and snatched up another one near the door. “If she doesn’t shut up, I will shut ‘er up.†He stormed inside the house.
Â
Realizing what was about to happen, Gharen rushed to the doorway after his father. "It was my fault, I'm sorry!†That brought Gregor to spin around, easily redirecting his anger at something or someone else. He gave Gharen's chest a hard kick, knocking the air from him and sending the young boy to the ground. There was a painful crack at the impact, and his chest burned. And still the baby wailed behind them, now screaming in fear.
Â
"I said.. shut up!" Gregor yelled angrily, taking another swig from the bottle in his hand. Â He spun back towards the cradle on the other side of the room. Gharen clutched at his broken ribs as tears rolled down his face. Somewhere in the forest beyond, he heard the growl again, louder now, though it didn't seem to register to his family. He pushed himself up to his knees and looked to his mother pleadingly, but her indifference was clear. This was all wrong, none of it felt right.
Â
The thought of Ortolf harming his sister made Gharen’s blood boil. "Leave her alone!" he shouted after his father. Gregor -- no Ortolf -- Gharen could see both men standing there. His memory transposed the face of his abusive guardian, whose voice he did remember, over his father's visage. The images began to flit back and forth. And both... were furious. He ceased to advance towards the cradle, instead he stomped back towards young Gharen and brought his booted heel down on his hand hard. The bones of his fingers cracked. “I dinnae tell ye te get up boy!† Another drunken angry sneer. A fist flew at him, landing a hard impact to one side of the boy’s head.
Â
As the pain in his hand shot up his arm, young Gharen called out in agony, and the force of the man's punch bounced his head off the floor. A gashing wound began to pour blood and clouded his vision, and Gharen felt his body going into shock. But as his vision blurred as unconsciousness began to take hold of him, the angry growl of the wolf rang in his ear.
Â
"Let the beast out, Mister Wolfsong." A soft distant voice echoed from the darkness he had spotted earlier. Who was that? The boy could not place the voice. But she sounded familiar. Calm. Yet forceful. "Or you will die... as will she."
Â
Aline seemed not to hear it, she stood there, her arms crossed. She wore a sad expression. Completely fake. Gregor -- Ortolf? -- no Gregor, squatted in front of him, sneering. He set the bottle on the floor next to Gharen. "Ye be a good little boy... and stay right there while I shut 'er up. Then ye will be next." His father stood, and Gharen blinked through his blurry vision to see his booted feet walking away, towards the cradle. The wailing was now deafening. The babe was terrified.
Â
Panic. That was the only thing Gharen felt now, he saw movement and looked to the door of their home. There stood a great grey wolf, snarling at his father’s back. The beast was easily taller than the five year old boy. The snarling animal and the boy shared a look for but a moment before Gharen reached out to touch the animal.
Â
Gharen watched as the great wolf disappeared into dark wisps of smoke, just before he slipped into unconsciousness and his muscles went slack. The growl was coming from him now as the wolf pushed them up off the ground and reached for the bottle set next to him. He felt his muscles coil with bloodlust and breaking the bottom of the bottle agaist the floor, he lunged at his father, at Ortolf. The jagged edge of the glass cut deep into the man’s heel severing the achilles tendon causing his prey to fall while screaming in agony.
Â
As soon as Ortolf hit the ground, the wolf went for the throat, hand wrapping about his father's windpipe. He felt the flesh squeezing beneath his grip as the glass in the other gouged a deep wound in the man’s neck. The wolf tore the ragged flesh free as his father lay there gurgling helplessly.
Â
The wolf rose as the cries from the crib drew its attention. But the babe was not a threat, not prey. Its gaze then fell to Gharen's mother still standing in the door way uncaring. Blood began to boil again, and the wolf lunged. Aline let out an ear piercing scream, but it was short lived.
Â
The memory faded into a blur of red, and a new one began. One by one the memories of people he loved were visited and defiled, Qaeli, Miss Jara, Miss Brynhilde, all ended the same, in some form of betrayal. Each time, the wolf was present, and each time it took control more easily than the last. And each dear friend and loved one that fell to its fury left a deep wound upon his soul.
Then finally he found himself within Ul’dah. He could recognize the entrance to the Quicksand, but before he could remember why he was there, he saw Obsidian Hornet standing before him. He recalled this memory with some hesitation, for it was the day she left him. She had told him goodbye and that she was going to help people and bring balance to her life. But as it did with the rest of his memories, an icy hand gripped at his heart again as they exchanged farewells.
Â
"But not only that," Hornet said, her voice turning cool, "I am leaving YOU, Gharen. You're not the man I thought you were going to be." He felt that tightness in his chest constrict. He looked to the ground between them attempting to remain stoic in the face of what she was now telling him.
Â
"You're..." Â Hornet paused, searching for the right blade, "too weak. Â I realize that I was blinded by what you could have been but you're just not that man. Â You're this man." Â She makes a gesture towards him. "Weak and ugly. Â The scars were novel I suppose, but why would I want to spend a life with something so hideous? Â You understand of course." The words weren't delivered with malice exactly. Instead they were delivered with a cool, uncaring dispassion. As if she were talking to a dog.
Â
This was what he'd always expected to hear, he'd wondered why she'd shown such interest in him from the start. He continued to look to the ground between them for he was certain that if he looked upon her, the facade of his stoicism would crumble away. He nodded in understanding and spoke just loud enough for her to hear. "...Aye."
Â
That meek response seemed to infuriate her and she sneered, venom seeping into her words. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You're nothing! A man would have fought for me! You're no man! You're barely a dog! Sniveling and shrinking. Disgusting."
Â
He could hear the Wolf's growl again, its pitch changing to that of a vicious snarl.That voice echoed amidst the streets. "Even she betrays you Mister Wolfsong." Hornet and the faceless citizens that passed did not seem to hear or react to it. "Give in, and the pain will end." Hornet said something else that Gharen could no longer understand, but the look of disgust on her face was clear as she started to turn away. There was a sudden feeling of numbing disconnect, it was a feeling that was becoming more and more familiar. The wolf took control easier than ever.
Â
The faceless citizens did not react to the attack, instead the colors of the memory became that of a painting smeared. The only clarity was that of the Wolf and Hornet. Before she could fully turn away, it lashed out at her, a closed fist striking her in the throat. She collapsed to her knees gasping desperately for a breath that would not come, her hand rising in front of her to try and  hold off the rest of the wolf’s assault. Somewhere, a part of Gharen cried out for it stop, as he watched another loved one destroyed by the wolf’s rage.
Â
“Well done," came the voice from the shadows, even as the dark crimson pool grew on the floor, flowing and expanding out over the stone.
Â
Then there was that familiar high pitched hiss, the door was opening to his cell. His senses were waking, brought back to the world by the blinding light that flooded his room. Silhouette of guards stood at the door way, rods in their hands. Gharen knew this sight well. Except this time... his hand was not bound. Nor were his ankles. Manacles were gone.
Â
"Let the beast out, Mister Wolfsong." That voice rang in his head again. The silhouette eclipsed the light of the door as figures entered his room. There was little to no goading required, this time the wolf was in control now. The beast heard the hated female’s voice and a deep, angry, feral growl rumbled from the man's chest as he rose. The wolf grabbed its dislocated left thumb and pulled it back into place with a sickening pop. Its upper lip quivered as it bared its teeth at the guards entering the room. The wolf remembered these ones as they approached, with weapons at the ready. All were threats, and none were leaving this cage alive.
Â
The wolf lunged at the first guard, going straight for the man's throat. In a sudden tackle, Gharen's hand crushed the young man’s windpipe as teeth came down on to flesh breaking skin. Repeated strikes from batons were leveled onto as it killed the first of its prey, and the blows it suffered only angered it further. It snatched up the dead corpse’s weapon, as the wolf spun around and attacked two more.
Â
All wore the Garlean masks and the uniforms. All held the rods that had prodded and beaten him before. All screamed as they met their death, those that did not have their windpipes crushed and ripped. And one by one, they dropped, and the dark red pool of blood grew at his feet. And the cell door hissed closed behind the grisly scene, even as blood splattered the walls.
Â
When he opened his eyes, it was a clear day. The autumn air was thin and cold within the mountains where his father hunted. He would bring his son to some of the hunting trips, and Gharen remembered how tall his father seemed then, with a long thin spear strapped to his back.
Â
Gharen was tall for his age, at five winters at almost four fulms, "Almost." his mother would say, even though he barely passed three fulms in spring. But with her smile reassuring him, Gharen could not argue. Something tugged at the back of his mind, as if to say something was out of place, but... he could not quite remember what. But this, this was a relief beyond measure. To be hunting by his father side, his mother waiting for him at home. What else could a boy want?
Â
A breeze blew past them as he and his father lay in the tall grass. The leaves of the surrounding trees swayed with each other to mark the passing of an autumn wind, even though it all looked like something out of a painting as the colors ran together in his memory. The child did not care.
Â
His father had been tracking a buck all morning, and in doing so teaching his son how to read the signs of the wilds. Together they watched as the buck entered their line of sight, his father muttering quiet words of wisdom to the boy. A part of Gharen wondered why he couldn’t hear his father’s voice, nor could he remember what it sounded like. But the boy knew what was expected of him. As his father got up quietly to attempt to get within striking distance of the animal, Gharen watched as he had been instructed.
Â
In what felt like an eternity passing as he watched and waited, a chill ran over the boy and the hairs on his neck stood on end. Moments passed as they watched the buck, but then something happened that seemed odd. Suddenly his father was next to him, thrusting the spear into young Gharen's hand.
Â
Gregor nodded to him, his deep set eyes expectant. He looked from the young boy to the full grown buck ahead of them.
Â
Gharen took his father’s spear in hand, his jaw agape that his father wanted him to make the kill. Curling his small hands tightly around the shaft of the spear, he tried to get up without making a sound and approach the buck as he’d seen father do previously. His heart raced now as was close enough to see the buck grazing; he was within throwing distance. He glanced back to his expectant father who nodded. But as Gharen turned back to focus his aim, he could not shake the feeling that just beyond the edges of his vision there was something there watching him.
Â
The young boy was careful. He was taught well by his father. And yet there was a slight blurriness to the ground he stepped on, and his foot cracked on a dry pine cone, shattering it to pieces and breaking the careful silence. The buck turned in an instant, and spotting the boy with the spear in hand, it stomped the ground once. Gharen thought that it may attack in panic, but then he heard the footsteps of his father behind him, and the buck spun and bolted into the woods.
Â
Gharen was not given the moment to consider or even react. Soon as he turned, his head snapped to the side with a hard backhanded slap from his father. The boy fell onto his back, as his hand reached up to his cheek that was now burning.
â€Yer a worthless sod!†he heard his father say. And yet… something in the back of his mind said this was not his father’s voice. It was someone else. Someone else that he should not have yet known. Gregor stood over him, angry, sneering, and with a bottle in his hand. When did the bottle get there?
Â
"I... I'm." Gharen started to stammer as tears started to well in his eyes. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t focus on it beyond the pounding in his chest. He wiped his eyes to clear the moisture there, and for a moment he glanced to a lingering darkness behind his father. He could swear for an instant he saw the flash of yellow-green eyes and heard a distant growl.
Â
His attention returned to the towering man before him who was now seething with anger. Gharen tried to stammer out an apology, but was cut off as Gregor spun from him. The man was never one for many words, this he remembered. He snatched up the spear in one hand and walked away from him in long quick strides. "Home!" he barked. "There be no meat fer ye this eve."
Â
As he pushed himself up off the ground, Gharen rubbed his cheek and watched his father’s back. He looked down to the ground and followed his father quietly, afraid that anything he might say would set the man off again.  And yet, as he followed, he was sure of it. The feeling of being watched. He glanced to his left and right, and occasionally he'd catch a glimpse of something else, perhaps someone else just outside of the periphery of his vision.
Â
They walked back in silence, Gregor’s stride angry and long, swaying with drunkenness. Gharen had not remembered him this way, but he saw it now as clear as day.  His mother waited outside their home, as usual, waiting for their return. Her hazel eyes were warm, and she always had a smile for young Gharen. She would welcome him with open arms. But when she saw the dark look on Gregor’s eyes, her smile gave way to a frown. “What happened?†Again, Gharen could not remember the sound of his mother’s voice, and like his father, this was someone else that he should not have yet known.
Â
“Th’ uselessh boy shcared off th’ buck we’d been huntin’ all day. It looks like he’s goin’ tae go hungry.†Gregor’s speech was slurred with anger and alcohol.
Â
Aline clucked her tongue, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “My oldest and only son. Gharen m’dear, sweetling. When will you be of use?†Her voice was sweet as honey. One eye seemed to have gone somewhat pale.
Â
The boy’s shoulders drooped as he looked to the floorboards, "I... I'm sorry." He had no excuses, he had indeed failed to bring down the buck, scared it away. There was a cold feeling within his chest as if an icy hand slowly gripped his heart and began to squeeze. Then the cry came from within the house. That of an infant babe. The young thing was wailing, her cry echoing into the woods around them.
Â
“Shut that thing up!†Gregor bellowed. He was becoming angrier. Gharen recognized it easily enough. He knew what would happen when … his guardian, no his father, became angry. It would not go well for him. Or any target of his temper.
Â
“She’s hungry, my dear husband.†Aline shrugged, shaking her head with a sad pitying look to Gharen. “But since we have no meat for the dinner table, we shall all go hungry, I’m afraid.†Gregor kicked back a wooden chair on the porch. He threw his empty bottle away, letting it shatter against a tree, and snatched up another one near the door. “If she doesn’t shut up, I will shut ‘er up.†He stormed inside the house.
Â
Realizing what was about to happen, Gharen rushed to the doorway after his father. "It was my fault, I'm sorry!†That brought Gregor to spin around, easily redirecting his anger at something or someone else. He gave Gharen's chest a hard kick, knocking the air from him and sending the young boy to the ground. There was a painful crack at the impact, and his chest burned. And still the baby wailed behind them, now screaming in fear.
Â
"I said.. shut up!" Gregor yelled angrily, taking another swig from the bottle in his hand. Â He spun back towards the cradle on the other side of the room. Gharen clutched at his broken ribs as tears rolled down his face. Somewhere in the forest beyond, he heard the growl again, louder now, though it didn't seem to register to his family. He pushed himself up to his knees and looked to his mother pleadingly, but her indifference was clear. This was all wrong, none of it felt right.
Â
The thought of Ortolf harming his sister made Gharen’s blood boil. "Leave her alone!" he shouted after his father. Gregor -- no Ortolf -- Gharen could see both men standing there. His memory transposed the face of his abusive guardian, whose voice he did remember, over his father's visage. The images began to flit back and forth. And both... were furious. He ceased to advance towards the cradle, instead he stomped back towards young Gharen and brought his booted heel down on his hand hard. The bones of his fingers cracked. “I dinnae tell ye te get up boy!† Another drunken angry sneer. A fist flew at him, landing a hard impact to one side of the boy’s head.
Â
As the pain in his hand shot up his arm, young Gharen called out in agony, and the force of the man's punch bounced his head off the floor. A gashing wound began to pour blood and clouded his vision, and Gharen felt his body going into shock. But as his vision blurred as unconsciousness began to take hold of him, the angry growl of the wolf rang in his ear.
Â
"Let the beast out, Mister Wolfsong." A soft distant voice echoed from the darkness he had spotted earlier. Who was that? The boy could not place the voice. But she sounded familiar. Calm. Yet forceful. "Or you will die... as will she."
Â
Aline seemed not to hear it, she stood there, her arms crossed. She wore a sad expression. Completely fake. Gregor -- Ortolf? -- no Gregor, squatted in front of him, sneering. He set the bottle on the floor next to Gharen. "Ye be a good little boy... and stay right there while I shut 'er up. Then ye will be next." His father stood, and Gharen blinked through his blurry vision to see his booted feet walking away, towards the cradle. The wailing was now deafening. The babe was terrified.
Â
Panic. That was the only thing Gharen felt now, he saw movement and looked to the door of their home. There stood a great grey wolf, snarling at his father’s back. The beast was easily taller than the five year old boy. The snarling animal and the boy shared a look for but a moment before Gharen reached out to touch the animal.
Â
Gharen watched as the great wolf disappeared into dark wisps of smoke, just before he slipped into unconsciousness and his muscles went slack. The growl was coming from him now as the wolf pushed them up off the ground and reached for the bottle set next to him. He felt his muscles coil with bloodlust and breaking the bottom of the bottle agaist the floor, he lunged at his father, at Ortolf. The jagged edge of the glass cut deep into the man’s heel severing the achilles tendon causing his prey to fall while screaming in agony.
Â
As soon as Ortolf hit the ground, the wolf went for the throat, hand wrapping about his father's windpipe. He felt the flesh squeezing beneath his grip as the glass in the other gouged a deep wound in the man’s neck. The wolf tore the ragged flesh free as his father lay there gurgling helplessly.
Â
The wolf rose as the cries from the crib drew its attention. But the babe was not a threat, not prey. Its gaze then fell to Gharen's mother still standing in the door way uncaring. Blood began to boil again, and the wolf lunged. Aline let out an ear piercing scream, but it was short lived.
Â
The memory faded into a blur of red, and a new one began. One by one the memories of people he loved were visited and defiled, Qaeli, Miss Jara, Miss Brynhilde, all ended the same, in some form of betrayal. Each time, the wolf was present, and each time it took control more easily than the last. And each dear friend and loved one that fell to its fury left a deep wound upon his soul.
Then finally he found himself within Ul’dah. He could recognize the entrance to the Quicksand, but before he could remember why he was there, he saw Obsidian Hornet standing before him. He recalled this memory with some hesitation, for it was the day she left him. She had told him goodbye and that she was going to help people and bring balance to her life. But as it did with the rest of his memories, an icy hand gripped at his heart again as they exchanged farewells.
Â
"But not only that," Hornet said, her voice turning cool, "I am leaving YOU, Gharen. You're not the man I thought you were going to be." He felt that tightness in his chest constrict. He looked to the ground between them attempting to remain stoic in the face of what she was now telling him.
Â
"You're..." Â Hornet paused, searching for the right blade, "too weak. Â I realize that I was blinded by what you could have been but you're just not that man. Â You're this man." Â She makes a gesture towards him. "Weak and ugly. Â The scars were novel I suppose, but why would I want to spend a life with something so hideous? Â You understand of course." The words weren't delivered with malice exactly. Instead they were delivered with a cool, uncaring dispassion. As if she were talking to a dog.
Â
This was what he'd always expected to hear, he'd wondered why she'd shown such interest in him from the start. He continued to look to the ground between them for he was certain that if he looked upon her, the facade of his stoicism would crumble away. He nodded in understanding and spoke just loud enough for her to hear. "...Aye."
Â
That meek response seemed to infuriate her and she sneered, venom seeping into her words. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You're nothing! A man would have fought for me! You're no man! You're barely a dog! Sniveling and shrinking. Disgusting."
Â
He could hear the Wolf's growl again, its pitch changing to that of a vicious snarl.That voice echoed amidst the streets. "Even she betrays you Mister Wolfsong." Hornet and the faceless citizens that passed did not seem to hear or react to it. "Give in, and the pain will end." Hornet said something else that Gharen could no longer understand, but the look of disgust on her face was clear as she started to turn away. There was a sudden feeling of numbing disconnect, it was a feeling that was becoming more and more familiar. The wolf took control easier than ever.
Â
The faceless citizens did not react to the attack, instead the colors of the memory became that of a painting smeared. The only clarity was that of the Wolf and Hornet. Before she could fully turn away, it lashed out at her, a closed fist striking her in the throat. She collapsed to her knees gasping desperately for a breath that would not come, her hand rising in front of her to try and  hold off the rest of the wolf’s assault. Somewhere, a part of Gharen cried out for it stop, as he watched another loved one destroyed by the wolf’s rage.
Â
“Well done," came the voice from the shadows, even as the dark crimson pool grew on the floor, flowing and expanding out over the stone.
Â
Then there was that familiar high pitched hiss, the door was opening to his cell. His senses were waking, brought back to the world by the blinding light that flooded his room. Silhouette of guards stood at the door way, rods in their hands. Gharen knew this sight well. Except this time... his hand was not bound. Nor were his ankles. Manacles were gone.
Â
"Let the beast out, Mister Wolfsong." That voice rang in his head again. The silhouette eclipsed the light of the door as figures entered his room. There was little to no goading required, this time the wolf was in control now. The beast heard the hated female’s voice and a deep, angry, feral growl rumbled from the man's chest as he rose. The wolf grabbed its dislocated left thumb and pulled it back into place with a sickening pop. Its upper lip quivered as it bared its teeth at the guards entering the room. The wolf remembered these ones as they approached, with weapons at the ready. All were threats, and none were leaving this cage alive.
Â
The wolf lunged at the first guard, going straight for the man's throat. In a sudden tackle, Gharen's hand crushed the young man’s windpipe as teeth came down on to flesh breaking skin. Repeated strikes from batons were leveled onto as it killed the first of its prey, and the blows it suffered only angered it further. It snatched up the dead corpse’s weapon, as the wolf spun around and attacked two more.
Â
All wore the Garlean masks and the uniforms. All held the rods that had prodded and beaten him before. All screamed as they met their death, those that did not have their windpipes crushed and ripped. And one by one, they dropped, and the dark red pool of blood grew at his feet. And the cell door hissed closed behind the grisly scene, even as blood splattered the walls.
