[ P ] bite the hand that feeds

reuben serein

The warm, amber hues of the dawn sky were not enough to give him hope that the sun might grace them with its presence today. Reuben’s paws were numb with the cold and he couldn't feel the tips of his ears anymore. The rookie soldier was getting used to the early starts, but there was still a glaze of sleepiness over his bright green eyes as he waited for the infamous Lt. Major to arrive. He had heard whispers of the man that he had been assigned to today. None of it had been positive. Some of the bolder rookies had joked about him being a mad hunting dog turned loose on his own kind. A Royalist highlander that hunted Jacobites paired with a Jacobite pretending to be a Royalist. It made him nervous that he might be discovered and he felt the pressure to prove that he was as he appeared to be, a loyal imperial. Even if he had to once again betray the wolves whose banner he had fought beneath he would do it for Sulliven.

Their latest intel was that Jacobian insurgents were taking refuge in the remains of the old college. Reuben was one of a few that had been assigned to the squad tasked with flushing them out. It was hard to believe that the ruins had been a place of peace and learning only a year earlier. The beautiful flowers that Melrose was famed for were buried under a wasteland of white and the remnants of the college itself were encased with undisturbed ice. It would be hard for the Jacobites to cover the tracks in the current conditions, Reuben realised, and the same was true for the Imperials.

Dawn was about to break. Their window to strike at the presumed Jacobite hideout was closing, and fast. Thankfully, the Lieutenant-Major did not need much time to do what needed to be done, to stomp out but one flame of the inferno that was dissension against the rightful order of Rionnach. It was almost routine to him by then, but for so many weary, undisciplined soldiers… they had so much to learn. After all, they had been taught how to stick out, when they ought to learn better on how to blend in. They learned how to obey, but not to follow. They were told that their cause was so because it paid… not because it was duty and loyalty, and what a wolf is as a soldier is s reflection of every detail of themselves. Falltore had his reputation about him… and yet his popularity. But what separates intrigue in him as a wolf, and the cause he chases? He had no use for those who worshipped him or his methods, and for most of the wolves who had gathered with him on that morning, only a few, if any, would be given another chance. What nobody but him knew, was that this operation was a test, a difficult one at that. Not every wolf is worthy to join The Eternal Promise. And it would be quite clear who that would be.

The bandaged soldier knew better than to pretend he could be inconspicuous. A hushed tone gathered over the dozen or so rookies eager to prove their merit as the large wolf made his entrance. He eyed each one of them with judgmental glares, a scowl etched into his very soul. There were rumors about him, stories no doubt. But those who had decided to participate in this exercise were mistaken. The truths to those stories were far worse than any of them could have realized. One wolf, who was particularly intimidated, visibly shaking from the cold, a young looking white-furred wolf, who looked far too ill-equipped, stood out to him first. As he walked past to inspect the soldiers, his gait stopped, as if frozen in time, as he saw this wolf. Falltore turned to him then, an icy stare to his eyes, as the young soldier all but buckled. “You are cold,” Savard said flatly, his tone mockingly sympathetic, “your weakness… will get one of my soldiers killed. Get out.” The soldier, embarrassed, perhaps overwhelmed, took his leave quickly. And so the party got smaller.

He was not a man for words, or for introductions. He was not a wolf of speeches or of moral lessons. He did what was needed to be done, and said only what needed to be said. After all, they had discussed the intelligence last night, and were instructed to meet before dawn at the gates. They were told exactly how many miles it was to the ruins, the number of wolves that they were expected to encounter, what the protocol was for their apprehension. At least… all those things as they were formatted for the sake of those listening in that were not here now. After all… some of those in high command seemed to have a backwards way of thinking. And Falltore was one to change that. If he had had his say… and if his words had perhaps been heeded… maybe the war would not have been lost.

“You know what it is we are setting out to do,” Falltore said, coldly, “but do you understand why now?” There was silence. “Because,” he continued, “an attack during the day or during the night are equally ineffective. Your instructors have failed you, if they told you anything different. At dawn, the night guard will be exhausted, soon to be replaced by a new shift. Breakfast will need to be acquired by some… prayers needed to be given by others. Those who sit in the ruins of our academy are weakest at dawn. And they will be dealt with. Quickly.” It was a strategy that worked quite well. The Jacobites had perhaps been worried quite well about the possibility of an attack. Hell… they had been expecting one for weeks. But day by day… there had been silence, uneasiness. And with that uneasiness, they had gotten sloppy, careless. To not know what to expect of one’s enemy is a dangerous situation indeed. And Falltore had his lowly criminals right where he wanted him. So confident he was, in fact, that he was willing to send in untrained, uninitiated fodder on them. Many of the new soldiers talked a big game when it came to what they said they’d do to Jacob when they caught him. Few, alas, knew what that required.

As Falltore continued to inspect each and every soldier before him, he eyed them in turn. Eleven recruits stood before him. Eleven failures, unless proven otherwise. Some seemed to be almost smiling, their dumb idiotic grins hidden away like scars under a salve. But he knew some were eager, too eager, for this. "I will say this only once," Falltore said, "do not underestimate the Jacobites. You may not think of them as much, fishers, tailors, cowardly curs that hide in the shadows. But they are every bit as vicious as any animal is when backed into a corner. They tore this country apart, and they did it on our own soil. Remember that. Now fall in and move out."

reuben serein

The end of the war did not mean an end to the power struggles. Remnants of the Jacobite forces and sympathisers remained like the dying embers of a fire that refused to be snuffed out. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to be fighting under the banner that he had once called his enemy. Reuben still considered himself a Jacobite, though it was not a cause he wanted to die for. He had betrayed them twice now. Once when he deserted and twice when he enlisted with the Imperial Army. He realised that his loyalty wasn't worth much because he would make the same choices again if it meant saving his or his brother's life over anothers. He was even willing to subdue his former comrades if it meant earning their trust. It was the only way he would gain access to the dungeon and to Sulliven.

Seeing how easy the commander dismissed one of his fellow recruits made Reuben wary. This was his first proper assignment since finishing his training and he didn't want to screw up before he’d even begun. He moved out and scouted around the area as thoroughly as he could without alerting the rebels to his presence. Sometime later he returned, having failed to find any obvious signs of anyone hiding out around the arboretum. “Reuben Serein, reporting for duty, sir. No signs of rebel forces so far. The snow is undisturbed around the old arboretum so it's possible they’ve made camp in the library instead,” he explained, giving his report to the notorious Falltore. It was hard not for him to feel nervous. This was a man who hunted Jacobites and he was a Jacobite, albeit a poor one.

The march to the abandoned college had gone quietly, quickly, thankfully. The fresh snow was always advantageous, as it tended to muffle the sounds of pawsteps, as well as give away one’s tracks. There was an ironic, idyllic peace to the landscape, the ruined dens a backdrop to a wintry paradise. Not a soul seemed to stir, besides themselves. What a waste it was, the war. The college had been rebuilt, to be sure, but for it to sit abandoned as it now did, the original campus… how did it not stir the emotions it ought to, among the populace? Here it was, a beacon of their failures, a great wrong committed on their own soil, and they chose to ignore it, chose to let it be defiled by some insignificant band of criminals. Funny… how he had spent months of his life recovering in isolation, in silence, and he had a better knowledge still of the world about him than those who had no excuse to see what the Jacobites had done to their world. Peace was a luxury paid in blood, but not theirs, so what did they care? They didn’t even bother to know that despite their apparent worries subsiding, enemies of the rightful government still sought to rile up dissent in their own backyards. Perhaps… that would change, soon enough.

It took mere moments for the area to be scouted, with the eleven or so wolves making quick work of the landscape. While it was a relief he need not have to train them on the proper techniques, there was always the risk of one of them raising the alarm. But no matter, for the real work had already been conducted well ahead of time. He knew what to expect, albeit the only one. This was an exercise, of course. Not one like most taught, of simulated or pretend or “it will be something like this,” for it never is. This was as close to the real deal as it got. Of course… the real, die-hard Jacobites, the well-fed, well-provisioned ones, the ones who had confidence in their position… they were ten times more dangerous than these renegades would be. Even still… an overzealous, overconfident, careless Imperial of any rank would be fodder if they didn’t do it the right way. But their lives were theirs to lose, not his.

Falltore need wait only a short amount of time before his scouts returned, lining up one after the other to report their findings, something that, unbeknownst to him, he would weigh against his own intelligence. The first wolf, some young-looking wolf, a highborn by the looks of it, was eager to report on his successful canvass of the abandoned dormitories. “Sir, no sign of them in the dormitories,” he said, in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, “but it’s a good place. I’d hide there if I was on the run. I bet they’re there, sir.” “We don’t deal in bets, conscript,” Falltore replied coldly, “out of my sight.” A second wolf stepped forth, her white fur blending into the snow, despite her sky-blue eyes giving her presence away from any distance. “Sir, no activity in the central unit of the college. I saw a set of tracks I think… and I-“ “and you did an incomplete job, conscript,” Falltore barked, “if I wanted incomplete searches or maybes, I’d take a guess rather than search it out myself. The two of you are dismissed.” The two wolves, exchanging glances with one another, slunk back quietly, wishing to protest Falltore’s decision, but both saw no point at it. They had failed, and that much was certain. They could not be trusted to do their jobs, and if they were to remain here a moment longer, they’d get good wolves killed.

The third wolf to report in, a dark silver-pelted, emerald-eyed wolf of moderate build, seemed likewise eager to prove his worth and make an impression. Perhaps a bit too eager. He introduced himself as Reuben Serein, as if that mattered, and gave his report. He had been charged to scout the arboretum, and only the arboretum, finding nothing. Like the others before him, he suggested where they might be, a supposition without evidence. Falltore scowled as the wolf spoke, not for inaccuracy or stupidity… but because he was beginning to doubt if there was one wolf who knew how to do reconnaissance correctly. “Had I asked for your name, soldier,” Falltore commented, coldly, “I would have asked for it. But you seem more eager to tell me who you are and where the Jacobites are not, than to tell me where they are.” There was a silence as Falltore weighed his options carefully, whether to dismiss this overzealous Reuben Serein for his inadequate performance. There were nine of them now, any less and it might be too close for comfort. But alas… but one weak link was too many to have. He made his mind up about that.

But before he could act on it, a fourth wolf came forward to issue a report. He was handsome, to say the least, a proud, earthen-pelted wolf, with piercing yellow eyes, a cream-colored coat, and scars along his right side. He looked every bit the part a veteran, a wolf he had perhaps the highest hopes for out of this band of hopefuls to join The Eternal Promise. “Sir, I found tracks leading into the library. I counted five sets, fresh. Two entries, east and south. I saw one wolf keeping guard. Reuben was right sir.” Falltore raised an eyebrow at the report, ideal as it was. Seems like this wolf was a strong candidate after all. At least some wolf pulled his weight. It seems he had just saved Reuben from a quick exit. “Looks like you’ve got a second chance, conscript Reuben,” Falltore said, eyeing the two wolves carefully, “back in line.” The scarred soldier stepped away from the duo, heading back over towards the remaining soldiers to give the orders for how to proceed. “He’s got a short temper,” the other wolf said quietly, once Falltore had turned away, “I've tried out for him three times... he's dismissed me every single time. But hey, I've got your back. Best if we have more numbers for this anyhow. I’m Marmott, by the way… Reuben right?”

reuben serein

It was hard for Reuben to read the man. His expression was hidden behind a covering of leaves, only a pair of cool blue eyes were revealed to him. Rumours suggested that the soldier was a hard ass, one that was eager to discard those that delivered only mediocre results and Reuben experienced that for himself once that criticism was aimed at him. It was easy for him to dismiss it because nothing could have compared to the high standards that his mother had held him to. He had long accepted that he was a failure, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't keep trying for Sulliven's sake. “If it's too much of a bother to remember. ‘Oi and you’ are fine too ,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood despite the tension in the air and the anxiety of his fellow troops. Reuben's tongue tended to get him into trouble when he was nervous. It buzzed through his body like static when the wolf investigating the library returned. Apparently his theory was correct. The Jacobites were in the library. “Understood,” he dipped his head and joined the other recruits. “Thanks for saving my ass,” he sighed to the scarred wolf that had stepped up, already exhausted and they hadn't even started the mission yet.

“Why do you want to join up with him anyway?” he asked, already feeling that rebellious itch crawling beneath his skin. He wanted to get the job done so he could get to Sulliven, but he hated eyes that looked at him like he was worth nothing. It made him do the opposite of what he was told just to piss them off. He wasn't the type to wag his tail if someone called him a good boy.

He reigned in his inner tyrant and focused instead on his search for Jacobites. What he found wasn't so surprising. A gangly youth around a year old was trying to sneak around the back of the library and make a break for it. Reuben wasn't the fastest wolf, but when it came to speed he had enough stamina to keep up with wolves that could outrun him. With a great leap he crashed into the Jacobian youth and flattened him into the snow. “Na gluais,” (Don't move.) he warned and dragged the other boy to his paws, shoving him towards the front of the library. “I’ve got one here!” he called, feeling the younger wolf buck and struggle against his grip. ”Reic a-mach do sheòrsa fhèin. scum ìmpireil,” (Sold out your own kind. Imperial scum) the boy spat, literally spat in his face.

The yellow-eyed veteran, though looking every part the adult, laughed like a youth under his breath, amused by Reuben’s remark. “I’ll be sure to,” he whispered back, not looking out of order in the slightest, despite how casual he was conversing, “and of course. If we work together, there’s a better chance we’ll make it past the tryouts together. Gods I could use that.” Marmott had, by all means, been rather insignificant in the barracks. Official records stated that he was the 3rd child of a peddler and tavern wench, born to nothing, stood to inherit nothing, and had fewer chances than most. His enlistment status, though officially listed as a volunteer, was hardly so, as the recruiter he had encountered was insistent that he join the Imperial Army, so much so that in order to boost her recruitment numbers, the recruiter had lied about him having decided to enlist. Two years later, and here he was, making one of the few friends he felt he could have.

As Falltore continued to inspect and harangue his soldiers, the side conversation between the two soldiers seemed to continue. As Marmott was asked why he wanted to be a part of this, he went into a deep, silent thought for a moment. Maybe part of him wasn’t so sure about it himself, but there had to be something to this madness. “I want to make a difference,” Marmott said, his tone becoming much serious, “the Jacobites killed a friend of mine. If being a part of The Eternal Promise means getting to prevent any more Rionnans from dying at the hands of the Highlanders, I’ll take it.” Nothing else seemed to come from Marmott after that. The subject was sore, if his body language indicated anything. It had also become apparent, at that moment, that Falltore was issuing who was to go where, and had been under the false impression everyone had been listening intently.

Ten soldiers, including their commander, remained to carry out the mission against approximately five Jacobites. Ten soldiers, whose experience were as varied as their reasons for subjecting themselves to this risky raid, had one shot to prove to the scarred soldier that they were capable of a most dangerous enemy. That of the desperate kind, and Falltore knew them all too well. “You, you, you, you, and you,” the officer ordered, nodding to Reuben, Marmott, and three other applicants, “take the back entrance to the library. The rest of you, take the front. Apprehend the stragglers, and deal with any that fight back as you will. Don’t get yourselves killed.” In a moment, the soldiers were off, and soon thereafter, so was Falltore. Though he was supposed to remain non-combative, as his apprehension, however unlikely, would prove devastating, it was important to make an evaluation of wolves up close. And so, if he were to stay back the way so many so-called leaders, he might soon find the Eternal Promise’s ranks filled with undesired company. That would not do.

But with careful eyes, he watched the scene unfurl before him. As the group headed towards the library’s front entrance got themselves organized, those headed around the rear were the first to lurch forward. In fact, in almost no time, Falltore spotted as a familiar shape darted at something leaving the library, only to emerge a moment later, a prisoner in tow. Of course, there was a bit of a struggle, the cadet bringing the prisoner around the library towards the front, where the other group was waiting to go in, and making it known that the wolf had been caught. Falltore would have preferred that the wolf had brought the prisoner to him directly, swiftly, and silently, but unfortunately that was a luxury that seemed trivial for what happened next. As the prisoner seemed to spit in the wolf’s face, a different time of downpour began.

“Ar aghaidh!” came a loud, booming voice from within the abandoned library. And soon, both groups of soldiers found themselves at the beginning of their combat, as four weary, yet able-bodied timberwolves found their way out the front of the library.