| Briar Wolf |

3-Briar

There's nothing here, nothing there. Why should it matter if I kill to leave or stay to kill? Hell has no borders. It's everywhere.
-Briar

The flimsy wooden door to the shed she was kept in was pulled open with great effort. It stuck in its ill-fitting frame for a moment before finally popping out of place and opening. The wolf lifted her head, peering through the sliver of dark sky which was visible through the partially open doorway. Her shed was otherwise dark and bare, besides the rusting chain and collar that tethered her to a wooden post anchored in the ground.

   Through the doorway slunk a small, thin figure. The wolf's ears laid back, then tipped up once more as she recognized his smell. It was the kid, the kid who didn't have a violent bone in his body.

   The humans who ran the dogfights had learned a while ago that the wolf preferred solitude to the company of other dogs, and certainly preferred it to being around humans. The wolf could recall the first and only time she had drawn the blood of those humans — they had tried to keep her with the rest of their dogs. She had grabbed hold of the handler's arm, sunk her teeth in deep, and shook until shreds of flesh were missing from his wrist to his elbow before he finally let go of her chain. Now, they kept her isolated.

   But the kid never seemed to understand the implications of the older humans keeping her away from any other living creatures. He simply brought her water at the end of every night. In return, she let him pet her ears and talk as he pleased without fear of the humans who beat dogs and children alike.

   Today, he was quieter than usual. He set down the bowl close to her and sat on the hard dirt floor as she drank, waiting patiently until she was finished before speaking. It was a wonder he still talked at all, the wolf marveled silently.

   "Wild dog, why do you stay here?" The kid murmured. The wolf licked around her chops for stray droplets of water before laying down beside him. She couldn't answer even if she wanted to. That was a question that she herself could not fathom, not without looking into the deepest recesses of her mind and pulling out the monsters that lurked there, much more terrifying than anything with fur, claws, and teeth.

   The kid sighed, running a small hand over the fur of her ears, neck, and back, unconcerned that it was matted with drying blood and clay from the death match earlier that night. The wolf closed her eyes, enjoying a touch with absolutely no intention, a touch that lacked purpose or manipulation.

   "I stay because I'm just a kid. But you're not supposed to be here, wild dog. You're too good for this place, and they don't deserve you." The kid's words had dropped to a whisper. "You're too good, wild dog."

   The wolf remained motionless. She didn't know what to think. The kid didn't know right from left from wrong. Who was he to tell her that she was too good for a place like this? Hell was where beasts belonged.

   Even if those beasts had once had a family, a past, and a heart to break.

But if the wolf was a beast among animals, then the boy was a poor worshipper offering the only things which he could give. Clean water in a place that ran with blood, and a gentle soul in a realm that had none.