"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Vincent asked for the umpteenth time, his blue-green gaze brimming with concern. Jasper rolled his eyes, reaching out to ruffle his twin's neatly combed hair until it was an untidy mess that more closely resembled his own, much to Vincent's dismay. "You worry too much. I'll be fine," Jasper reassured him as Vincent made an attempt at smoothing his hair back into place, the train horn going off and summoning the students still lingering on the platform inside. "That's my cue. I'll see you at Christmas," he added, accepting a hug from his brother before gathering his things and following the last students on board.

His eyes scanned each cabin as he passed them, a small smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth as he heard locks click or saw the teens inside shrink back as if hoping he wouldn't notice them. 'Ah, it's good to be back.' A sudden commotion in one particular cabin caused him to pause. Now that sounded interesting, but it seemed someone already beat him to the scene. He debated whether or not to assist, or possibly make matters worse, but he'd tangled with Ozias before and learned the hard way the other boy could be downright vicious if you pissed him off enough. Concluding he wasn't ready to nurse a bloody nose or a black eye quite this early in the year, he edged around him, winking at the disgruntled sixth-year who sent a wary glance his way as he passed.

It didn't take long before he heard much quieter, calmer voices coming from another cabin a little further down and decided that's where he'd be spending the train ride, flinging the door open quite abruptly. "Sup nerds," he greeted a little too cheerfully before plopping down on the nearest empty seat, making himself comfortable.

Irises vivid as burnished gold observed Farren with a studious light as Enzo padded beside her. He expected very little in the way of verbal communication for the remainder of their journey, but conversation wasn’t the only way of getting to know someone. He would draw in the scent wreathing around him until he could never forget it, watch the motion of her paws and movement of muscles as she ambled onward. Ears swiveled atop his head, alert for danger, yet his gaze remained glued to Farren’s elegant form.

Past experience proved this tactic to be viewed unfavorably by most of his prior companions. Such intense observation easily misconstrued as being ill-intentioned, yet it was a habit he had yet to break. Other canines, especially pure dogs, simply fascinated him. They came in so many shapes, sizes, and colors. Enzo undoubtedly knew Farren was a dog; she carried the same underlying sense of tameness all dogs possessed even when they were born feral, yet he could never claim to have met one anything like her before today.

As expected, his invitation to lighten her burden was met with a scathing expression and a quickening pace. He couldn’t help the soft snickering rumbling in his throat as he trailed after her with contrastingly relaxed strides. “Just figured I’d offer,” Enzo remarked with a shrug of his shoulders upon catching up, saying nothing more on the matter from that point forward.

As seconds, minutes, hours ticked by Enzo’s exuberant demeanor wilted significantly, head drooping, and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, impossibly dry. Even with the sun dipping below the horizon, giving way to night, he felt worn down by the day’s heat. Farren’s pawsteps were confident, treading with purpose. How could she possibly know where they were going? How many times had she walked this path? Enzo realized with some reluctance chances were high he would perish without her.

Once her gait faltered, he was content to lower himself onto his belly, sprawling across the parched earth in exhaustion. “Thought we’d never stop,” he panted, though if his senses were to be believed they’d yet to reach the oasis. Regardless, he wouldn’t be quick to complain. A softly uttered word caused an ear to flick toward her, a blank stare aimed in her direction before it dawned on him that must be her name. “Farren,” he repeated thoughtfully. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.”

The unexpected inquiry resulted in momentary confusion before a smirk worked its way onto his muzzle. “If you’re asking after my breed, it’s a bit of a mystery to me as well. Never knew my sire. My mother always said we were wolves, but well...I always knew that wasn’t completely true.” As his overheated pelt began to cool, a nagging itching sensation ran up the length of his spine, and Enzo rolled onto his back, wriggling in the dirt to relieve it, legs waving in a ridiculous display above him. “Suppose I’m what they call a wolfdog.”

He woke to the sound of growling, his senses rushing back to him in a jumble of fear and confusion. Tobias tensed, the only movement made being to push his glasses further up his nose as he searched for any signs of danger. The room was empty, dull light seeping in through the cracked windows and casting a pool of gray across the floorboards, motes of dust visible floating in the air. The growling came again, but it sounded distant this time as if whatever had made it was moving on. Tobias let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, collapsing back onto the old couch he’d fallen asleep on the previous night.

Rising into a sitting position a minute or so later, he runs a hand through his unruly hair, eternally unhappy with the state of it as he moves toward the desk where some papers lay scattered across its surface. He examines them quietly for a moment before sitting in the chair in front it, opening a drawer and pulling out what appears to be a half-eaten granola bar, peeling away the rest of the wrapper to gnaw at the remains. He was running out of food and the knowledge he would have to make a decision soon weighed on him heavily.

Across the papers he’d created a crude map, documenting everything he knew about the city, the wastelands, and the camps that lay between them. It wasn’t much. He was relying mostly on second-hand information from other survivors. In the three years since the fall of humanity, he’d never left the city. It felt safer here, familiar. Zvir were everywhere, but surely even more lurked in the wild world beyond the city’s walls? With the rise of so many gangs and the Zvir population only continuing to grow, Tobias had concluded it was finally time to go. He had little interest in joining any of the gangs, and he doubted they would have someone like him regardless.

Hopefully, somewhere out there, he would find other people like him — people who wanted to continue living and help others do that too. Abruptly, the growling returns, closer this time, and he tenses again. Not daring to move an inch, his gaze turned toward one of the windows, and he spotted a pair of icy blue eyes staring at him. Despite the animal being one he recognized, Tobias felt uncertain whether to welcome her and sadness threatened to overwhelm him. He met the young pitbull six months ago, and what a delight it'd been to find a non-infected puppy. He'd grown to miss the company of a good dog. Disaster struck three weeks ago when a Zvir bit her as Piper rushed to defend him. It was only a matter of time before she started showing signs.

Nothing about her was different yet. She was the same size as always, covered in sleek silver and white fur. No extra limbs were poking out of her, but her behavior had changed. The once enthusiastic, playful dog had grown aloof, her stare soul piercing and eerie. She would wander away for days on end but always returned to him. "Welcome back Piper," he greets her with an uneasy smile. For a moment her composure breaks, her tail wags, and Tobias is reassured that at least for now, she’s still his dog and not another mindless beast.

He moved toward the front door, opening it to allow Piper access. Rather than come inside she pointedly sits in the doorway, head tilted. It was about time they get going, Tobias relents. He quickly packed what few belongings he still owned into a small bag, slinging it over one shoulder before leaving the bunker. Perhaps someone else could make use of it now that he wouldn’t be.

It was most unfortunate to find himself immersed in such savagery, Baldur reflected, once the worst of his animalistic rage had subsided. Complex thoughts were slow to return once the beast emerged, the desire to ravage, to tear into flesh and taste his prey’s life flooding into his mouth overpowering any decent notion still lingering in his brain.

His pupils, formerly narrowed into slits, regained a nearly human shape, widening as they adjusted to the darkness shrouding the forest floor, the canopy above so thick barely any light had a chance to seep in. The transformation was incessantly rapid, driven by avarice, impulse and the instinct of something dangerously, foreignly wild.

As he bears witness to his carnage, Baldur felt a distinct lack of connection with his current form. He and the beast weren’t the same. They couldn’t be. Baldur, for all his shortcomings, was not capable of such meaningless violence. Every act of brutality was considered and had a reason. This senseless slaughter before him, whatever this miserable creature had once been, was not the work of his own hands. Once the beast woke, Baldur ceased to exist until it was over, until the monster living within his very skin was sated. They were not the same…

He turned away, leaving the corpse’s remnants to be consumed by whatever else lay hidden in the shadows, not unaware of glinting eyes watching his every move. The scent of fear and blood mingling nearly tempting him to pursue these hidden beings, delighting at the inclination to paint the forest red. No, no. Those were the notions of the beast. Not his own, never his own, and now it was his turn to control their shared vessel. Repulsion consumed him upon the realization that while his mind was in the metaphorical driver's seat, it was the beast’s body he controlled.

Lip curling, he resigned himself to his circumstances, finding walking on all fours, while dehumanizing, made travel much faster. It was not long before he found himself taking advantage of this form’s mobility, racing across the empty, dreary wasteland that stretched for mile upon mile in every direction on paws that seemed to eat up the ground and propel him forward with satisfying ease. He had never retained his mind in the body of the beast for such a long period. Perhaps, just perhaps, this was progress?

Slowly, the landscape changed as Baldur drew closer to his keep, cracked dirt offering sparse grass and a few scraggly trees looming above him, creating an almost pleasant atmosphere. It wasn’t much, but in a world so bleak you learned not to take any sign of life for granted. For a split second, Baldur forgot everything, drawn into the familiarity of his surroundings, until something new shattered his temporary peace. Something was out of place, and someone was here that didn’t belong. The beast stirred and Baldur’s entire body trembled as if resisting the sensation with his whole being. No. This was his time. He, and he alone would decide the fate of any potential intruder.

He hoped the stranger’s scent would divert, yet the newcomer’s path led straight into his home, and Baldur accepted he must confront whatever or whoever lay inside. The odd aroma was human, he was quite sure, though he’d not met one in nearly a decade. They rarely lived long enough outside their luxurious walled cities to make it this far. That thought alone brought with it some intrigue. If his uninvited guest were indeed a genuine homo sapien, he was of little threat to Baldur, especially while wearing the Beast’s skin, but must have some remarkable skills to survive the dangers of their ruined environment.

Truthfully Baldur would have liked his entrance to carry an air of secrecy and enigma, but the impossibly loud clicking of untrimmed claws against wooden flooring was unavoidable. He found his unexpected visitor only moments after stepping inside, undoubtedly awaiting the maker of said clicking, the candlelight casting a huge shadow across the floorboards as he approached. Amber gaze settling upon Alex’s face, he concluded the newcomer was indeed a human, as he had met no other being that held such a resemblance.

He could only imagine the emotions his appearance must evoke. A creature, at least six feet tall on all fours, covered in thick fur black as pitch. His face was wolfish, ears pricked, an impressive set of curled, obsidian horns adorning his skull. He was built like a bear, impossibly massive, with thick legs that ended in large, clawed paws, the front unnervingly seeming to include thumbs, though he doubted the stranger’s eyes would be very interested in his hands at the moment when his teeth were clearly visible, the canines so lengthy his maw could not contain them. His dark fur prevented the blood congealing in his pelt from being easily visible, but Baldur couldn’t recall if normal humans possessed a proficient sense of smell.

“Indeed,” came his flat reply, voice raspy with an underlying growl not natural to a human voice. “What is it that brings you to my realm? Surely, you must have a reason? Why else would a mere man tread so carelessly into a stranger’s home?”