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The white wolf stands among the pack, lurching, staring silently, eagerly awaiting the proper moment to strike his prey. The great stag of the tundra stands proud and proper in the snow, grazing on the frosted tips of a few spared follicles. His beautiful brown eyes peer down at the grass, his long lashes framing the elegant horns stretching out like branches of a white tree, dancing and twirling like nerve endings into the pale gray of the sky. The spirit of this beast is pure and wise, but to the wolves, it is but a meal, another day of survival for these wild and ferocious predators.
The white wolf bares his fangs, looking out at each of the other white wolves. They stare without any indication of emotion, and without a word, they nod. The feral Dutch locks his brilliant blue eyes on the beast, squinting in determination. Without notice, the stag raises his head in a sudden jolt. A surprised look is fixed on his face as he flicks his tan-brown ears into the wind. Sinking his claws into the snow to gain traction, preparing for propulsion, ready to bolt in an instant, Dutch readies his pounce. The stag, with the awareness of a sage, leaps away as the wolves chase in pursuit, their lips drawn back as they sprint toward their prey. The stag is all alone with no cover, exposed.
He had grown sloppy, toward the meal, too enticing to pass up. With leaps and bounds like a ballerina, the sage of the forest makes his way into the shrubbery. He is not camouflaged by the forestation in the winter, but the trees provide obstacles to attract the wolves. Utilizing the magic of his horns, the sage wills the magic of the forest to arm himself with protectors. Gaining speed, Dutch weaves in and out of the trees, nearly running into some and kicking off into a rebound to gain even more speed as the branches reach out to him.
His heart pumps pure adrenaline through his veins. He has his heart set on the thigh of the sage. He leaps, tearing away at the reaching arms with claws so sharp they sever a branch clean from its roots with barely a splinter. The other wolves approach from the sides, ready to flank the beast, the burning whites of their eyes filling with smoke as they teleport around. The stag leaps and bounds, tripping over a trunk in a desperate stagger, a fatal move. Dutch leaps at the stag, sinking his razor-sharp fangs deep into the thigh of the beast.
The cervid wails in pain as another wolf approaches, teleporting in from the side, silencing the poor creature, sinking its fangs deep into the neck of the beast, and tearing its throat out onto the ground. The snow is painted with blood. The other wolves leap in to take their share of the creature. Dutch whips his neck, sinking it violently into his claimed thigh, ripping the fat, muscle, and tendons from the bone, caking his lips and muzzle in the deep red fluid. The alpha, with a single swipe from his claw, tears the stomach open, spilling organs into the snow.
The wolves' feast is hearty and plentiful, and they fill their bellies on the meat and wine of the sage. Lifting a kidney into the air with his maw, Dutch tosses it into the air and snaps down on it, crewing it as he would chew a freshly prepared steak from his five-star chef. The laws of nature dictate not to waste, and nary a single inch of muscle or fat is spared. The pups, fighting over a frontal hoof from the sage, growl and rear their fangs in selfish jealousy only fit for a couple of young cubs. The mother, stoic and scowling, stands before them. She grabs her child by the scruff, hauling him away as the rival adversary claims his prize in a fruitless victory that had been decided for him.
The feral Dutch stares down at the beast in a moment of hindsight clarity, a brief glimpse into the formerly sentient wolf. He can't believe what he has done. In the civilized world, this would be murder, a savage act, unforgivable. Not that Dutch was green about murder. But there had always been more class to it, a slipped note between colleagues, discussions over a lavish dinner table, methods of subtlety and disposal, tactical and graceful erasure of the crime. Nothing was subtle about this: a massive dead deer.
Nature does things to animals, bringing out the best and simultaneously the worst features of beast-kind. It's amazing, the effect that a mountain wilderness, quiet solitude, and the absence of sentient life can have on a wolf. And yet, Dutch had savored that meal more than any overly expensive and indulgent dining experience he had ever had. Meat, fresh from the bone, raw, pink, there was nothing like it. He wanted more. When the beasts finished with the sage, little was left besides a skeleton. Even the eyes had been eaten.
Dutch peers over to his wild brothers and sisters, licking the scar on his lips. He's so far removed from the man he once was. With a fresh meal settling within, the wolves retreat to their den. The wide crevice in the side of the mountain, a fair hike away, isn't quite the estate Dutch is used to. There would be no lighting, no central heating and cooling, no service, nothing. If Dutch wanted to go back to basics, this was the way he had to live. As the others tread inside, Dutch pauses. The others take little notice, as they're far too preoccupied with tending to their families.
After getting over the initial shock of simplicity, Dutch resumes his expression of apathy and joins them within. Walking toward the back and up against a crooked wall, Dutch lies, curling into a large, fluffy white ball with his tail settled before his face and in front of his eyes. The storm rages outside. Winter will be coming soon, falling all over the land in a white blanket of cold, lifeless death. What goes on outside is a mere preview of the icy bitterness to come in the valleys below. Yet, Dutch is grateful. While he doesn't have that central heating that he could turn up at leisure (or simply command one of his many servants to do), he has the warmth of the body heat and the hides of his true family to keep him warm.
The wolves huddle together for warmth, creating a blanket of radiating body heat. It is that natural survival tactic that allows them to persevere year after year in the face of the deadliest of conditions. Wolves, even in their primitive, wildest forms, are creatures that fully understand the value of family. Dutch understands that, too, and yet, somewhere along the line, he lost that simplicity. Dutch had always tried to remain humble, kind, and a good boss. He never wanted to become Scroogely in nature, hoarding his wealth, miserly, and forgetting the value of the people around him. And yet, a fire never sounded so good as it does now. No. He doesn't need it. They don't need it.
They've lived for thousands of years this way. He can do it. He's strong. Right? But they have their magic, something, inherently, he was born with, the ability to teleport like his brethren, and yet, he wasn't raised to hone his magic at all. Mind you, these wolves couldn't just teleport miles away or place themselves directly before their prey, but they could use their skills to close the gaps quite well. Dutch wonders if he stays with the wolves, he could re-awaken that lost, dormant power, or if it's gone for good.
He lies down on his paws, snorting a visible exhalation through his nose in slight frustration. As the fur-balls curl round, Dutch finds his eyes heavy and tired, especially from not having any sleep the prior day. Suddenly, a loud noise occurs outside. It's a scream. Dutch hauls outside to see what the matter is, to find the patrol wolves designated to watch over the den have found an intruder. He runs over to find the group of wolves tearing into another, but not one of their own. Lying on the ground is the torn and bloodied body of Basile, lying in a massive pool of his blood.
Slowly, weakly, he turns his head to Dutch. He raises his paw, whimpering for dear life as a hoof from out of nowhere stomps down on his head, crushing his skull and scattering gray matter all over the ground. The white wolves, tails between their legs, back away, whimpering, yipping. The red-eyed goat approaches slowly with a psychotic grin stretched across his face. Dutch bolts, through the trees, weaving in and out, sprinting as fast as his legs will take them, pushing them to the limit to the point where they cramp and feel like they're on fire.
As he turns a corner, the goat appears again, rearing a fang-toothed and blood-drenched smile as he cackles maniacally, his eyes beaming like the headlights of a car. Dutch turns in the opposite direction and runs whatever way he can to escape, to the point of getting himself lost. The maniacal laughter grows as trees lower around him. He looks back to see that the goat is extending his arm outward, gesturing down, literally pushing the trees down into the earth with his magic. Dutch continues forward as the branches descend upon him.
Unaware that he had now traveled in almost a mile-wide circle, Dutch has now returned to square one, the den, only this time, as he approaches, his eyes frozen in a terror-filled stare with his mouth agape as he beholds before him a pile of bodies, the entire pack, plus Basile, are splayed disgracefully atop each other like a pile of discarded trash. He killed them all, the adults, the mothers, the pups, even the small chameleon he recognized, dead, sweet little Hosea Hayes, lay atop the other bodies like just another worthless corpse. Dutch approaches Basile, placing his shaking paw on his face. He tries not to break down as he hyperventilates.
But just as he looks away, a paw darts upward, grabbing Dutch by the neck and gripping tightly. On the stump where his head hung, a skull regenerates, eyes pulling back into their sockets, flesh and muscle reforming, fur regrowing, the opaque, pupil-less, corpse-like eyes staring at him through a furrowed brow line. Basile rears his razor-sharp fangs, his muzzle curling upward as he flares the black of his gums at Dutch. Unhinging his jaw, Basile lunges at Dutch, ready to sink his teeth right into the wolf's neck.
Dutch is jolted awake by the sensation of a thick, bushy tail slapping him in the face. He shakes his head as the female walks past him with a snobby look as she turns her nose up at him, walking out of the cave entrance. It appears as though the storm had stopped, thankfully. The scouts are on patrol, but Dutch is still spooked by his nightmare and hesitant to leave the sort of comfort of the cold, hard cave. As the wolves tread outside, they leave dense paw prints deep into the snow, a soft crunching sound made as they exit the cave.
He peers off to the side, and two wolf pups pounce up and out at each other in the snow, wrestling and yipping at each other. Before him is the leader, who sits at the perch of the mountain, gazing over the vast wilderness. Dutch steps outside and sits next to the leader. He doesn't even acknowledge Dutch, just stares coldly into the depths below. He looks almost as if something is wrong, as if something is... different, the air, the water, something off, but he can't quite place his paw on it. Furthermore, he sniffs at the snow, and Dutch moves his head to sniff as well, prompting a loud and immediate bark from the leader, warning him to back off.
The leader continues to sniff the snow, licking at it and immediately shuddering. He rubs his paw along his tongue to remove the taste. Is it... him? Can this masterful wolf detect that something is very wrong out there? Could it be the other gems, or something else? Dutch doesn't know. All he knows is to follow, be still, and listen. He's no longer the top dog. He is the follower, the learner. Dutch must become in tune with nature once more. It is his to claim what was once lost, his dignity, his pride, his magic.
The leader leaves his perch, treading around Dutch. Dutch sits there, and with a raised brow, watches as he treads back out toward the wilderness, another day of hunting, another day of killing some poor unsuspecting prey. Dutch had merely gotten lucky the other day, bagging the sage of the forest, the mighty, antlered beast, but his arrogance may soon prove his downfall. He likes to do it all. He must be the best at all times and must be the team. That doesn't fly with a wolf pack. As the wolves travel down the mountain, they split into groups; Dutch is placed as a follower of one pack, while the leader leads the other.
Despite Dutch's luck on the previous hunt, the leader doesn't quite trust him yet. The wolves communicated in the night. With wordless exchanges, they made it apparent that Dutch was an absurd case, for he once belonged to the pack many years ago, before becoming lost and taken in by a family of sentient wolves that had long since drifted away from nature and had abandoned any natural connections to magic within their ancestry. Dutch was originally unaware of his adopted birthright, knowing only that he didn't quite resemble his mother or father exactly. They, too, are wolves, but civilized, and have always been.
Dutch was just young enough to be educated, to be taught the speaking language, just keen enough and perceptive enough to be molded into the bright, wide-eyed young man he was. He was brought up right, taught to respect his elders, always to be humble and caring for others, but also to strive for success, and to accept nothing less than the best. Because of this, Dutch always put forth two hundred percent effort in school, in sports, in work, and everything. His only flaw was that he had to make it all about him. Dutch was completely unaware of just how inflated his ego was.
His father always justified it, and his mother always told him he was a sweet boy who deserved all the praise he got. His brother was jealous of him. Dutch always loved his brother, but he could see in the younger wolf's eyes just how looming his shadow fell on him, and the pit of deep-rooted envy within him. Like many, Dutch had to start from the bottom, washing dishes, disposing of trash, waiting, and whatever job could get him by. He always excelled at his jobs, but always wound up losing them, one way or another, either because he overextended himself and suffered from an inability to meet his own demands, or because of some tussle he had with a customer.
Dutch, in all his natural ways, used to have quite a temper, a very short fuse. After losing several jobs because of this, he would come to realize his pattern and seek therapy as a means of finding his zen and controlling his emotions. After weeks of talking things through and learning the simple art of meditation, Dutch learned how to find his inner peace, his zen. His behavior would improve drastically. Eventually, Dutch would wind up working in the hotel industry as a simple bellhop. It's here where he would meet an older gentleman, a wealthy man, and the owner of the grand hotel. He and Dutch exchanged words on the elevator one day, and Dutch remained calm, but the man could sense nervousness within him. He leaned over, whispering into Dutch's ear.
"So, you're the new guy around here?"
Dutch nods. The young man tries to be cordial without appearing too much like a suck-up.
"Yes, sir. My name's Dutch, sir. Just started yesterday."
The older man huffs, puffing out his chest in his well-tailored suit.
"I know rumors are floating around about me, people talking about me being a mean guy. I'm not, though. I'm just quiet and reserved, and I like my privacy."
The statement was completely unprovoked, but Dutch responded accordingly as if it were. He shrugs.
"Perfectly understandable. I'm a bit more of a socialite."
The man smiles with a snort through his nose and a small nod.
"Of course. You have your youth, young man. Take advantage of it while you can. Once you hit sixty, it's all downhill from there."
They continue to listen as the smooth jazz lulls them through the ride.
"Well, I'll be approaching my stop soon. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day and that you continue to enjoy your employment with us."
Dutch smiles at the man for his kind words.
"Same to you, sir."
A few seconds later, a ding can be heard, and the gentleman steps off. He turns to Dutch one final time.
"The name is Alfred Ponch, by the way. I'm the owner of this fine hotel. I look forward to seeing you often, Dutch."
As he leaves the elevator up to his penthouse suite, he tips his hat to Dutch. Dutch casually signals farewell in return.
"Same to you, Mr. Ponch."
The wolf was just the right age to be the older man's son, and as he rode up to the top floor, usually once, maybe twice a month (Mr. Ponch was quite busy, and spent more time on planes than actually on the ground), he started to form a bond with the young Dutch. Dutch would become excited waiting for Mr. Ponch to take the elevator to the top floor, as he expressed profound financial wisdom to Dutch. Dutch would take notes, but he didn't have to. With his keen memory, Dutch had a knack for remembering full conversations verbatim. He learned how to pick apart sentences in his mind and read fine print, and he became very well-versed in the English language.
Dutch worked more overtime now than ever, picking up a second job, working sixty to seventy-hour weeks, performing double duty as a dishwasher. Mr. Ponch had started to notice that Dutch wasn't quite as alert as he normally was, but he nodded with a firm smile on his face, the wrinkles of his crow's feet curling as he winked at Dutch. He knew the young man had listened to his advice. He and Dutch exchanged a look on the elevator that communicated more than words, just as the older man had understood. He, too, was in that place once. He remembered that time in his youth when it was all about saving that big mass of cash for something special, that sacrifice that could make or break a man.
A time would come, however, when Dutch would no longer see the man. For weeks, he had anticipated a return. What started out as a subtly announced retirement, Dutch wasn't made aware of what would eventually make its way to him through word of mouth on his break. Dutch would find out from one of his coworkers that the original owner had had a major stroke and, within the next couple of weeks, passed away. New management would be brought in to replace the man. He had it set up weeks in advance. The new owner was a woman, cold, stern, and quiet, and not nearly as open with Dutch as the previous owner.
It just wasn't the same. She just coldly did her job in a manner that was calculated and efficient. The hotel had lost the spirit it once had with Mr. Ponch in charge. Dutch decided it was time to place that money into something, to place a big bet on the stock market on something the old man was thinking about staking claim on for a while, something that was about to burst. Dutch was hungry. He needed something just to fill his belly. He looked up at the vending machine, and a bright pink box caught his eye. He did a double-take, peering at the box with the words Spark Berries written along the center, surrounded by bright yellow sparks and little bomb images plastered all over the front.
The design was wild. He wondered for a moment, Is it sour? Sweet? He shrugged, placing his dollar bill into the machine. The coiling spring holding the box unwound into the back of the machine, and the pink box fell into the exit bin. Dutch reached inside and pulled the little pink box out. Holding it before him, he peeled open the top and took a look at the piece of candy. He pulled out a tiny, red, peculiarly-shaped piece of candy, a round, red confectionery, rubbery and gummy in texture. He sniffed it, vaguely cherry-smelling, fruity, a nice scent. He popped one into his mouth, chewing fervently, savoring the tangy, slightly sour kick. It popped in his mouth, startling him as he chewed some more.
It felt like he was eating gunpowder. Dutch, against his best intuition, swallowed the candy. It popped in his belly, causing him to belch loudly. He blushed, excusing himself as passersby gave him a look. Turns out, Dutch loved the things. We wagged his tail with a smile as he popped another piece of candy into his snout, savoring the recoil in his throat with a hearty laugh. Who made these? Dutch knew exactly where to place his money, right into the new and rising company, Bombpop, the manufacturer of the explosive candy. He placed all of it into the candy, saying a prayer to himself.
For every individual he found engaging in the Spark Berries, he lit up on the inside. Overnight, Dutch came up with a pitch. He made a few calls and, a few days later, engaged in a meeting with these new up-and-coming stars. He met with them over lunch, not exactly five-star accommodations, but a humble affair. The young Dutch was approached by two men right around his age, both wearing suits. He proposed. What if larger doses of the explosive compound could be manufactured? Certainly, powers around the world would have such an investment in the firepower.
Cheap bombs, made for pennies of their natural counterparts? Why, market them properly, and that right there was a massive turnaround. Not only that, the candies were delicious to boot, and in proper concentrations, seemed to be exactly what the dozing and tired work-bound individual needed to put some pep in their step, a good ol' bomb in the belly. Did Dutch know of the kind of internal damage that could cause? Did he know of the potential lawsuits that could arise from such a candy? No. He didn't, and he didn't really care either.
Dutch would, at the first sign of trouble, sell to the highest bidder and rake in that profit. And that's what he did. Dutch's stock in Sparkle Berries was just enough to net him his first million. Utilizing the tips and tricks he picked up from his billionaire real estate mentor, the owner of the Richmond Rise, his old job, Dutch set his eyes on a much bigger target. He wanted that building. He wanted the office of his old mentor. He would have it. One day, just as Dutch was leaving, he came upon a young man scavenging through the trash, a scruffy brown wolf quickly drawing his arm back in embarrassment as Dutch passed. Lowering his flat cap, the vagrant wolf places his paws in his pockets and treads in the opposite direction. Dutch calls out to the mysterious stranger.
"Excuse me, young man. Is everything okay?"
The soft-spoken wolf freezes in place. He turns around, pleading with Dutch not to press charges for trespassing.
"Hey, look, man, I'm sorry for trespassing. I'll leave right away—"
Dutch raises his paw to silence the other wolf.
"Hold on, son. I'm not mad. You're hungry. Right?"
The young man with big, brown eyes removes his flat cap, holding it at his chest with embarrassment.
"Yes, sir."
Dutch summons the wolf with a gesture of his paw.
"Then let's get you something to eat."
They walk side to side as Dutch places his paw on the wolf's shoulder.
"What's your name, son?"
Placing his cap back on his head, he looks back up at the white wolf with a reluctant grin.
"Basile, sir."
Dutch extends his paw in a cordial invitation to a handshake. Basile looks down before taking his paw.
"Nice to meet you, Basile. I'm Dutch. Do you like burgers, Basile? I know a place that makes the meanest, fattest, juiciest burgers on the coast."
Basile shakes his head in a contradictory fit of modesty. He doesn't want Dutch's assistance, but he's so hungry. Basile might be many things, but picky, he is not.
"You are too kind. I can't accept such accommodation like that. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."
Dutch waves dismissively with a slight hint of frustration.
"Oh, poppycock. I insist, young man. It hurts my soul to watch someone dig through the trash. Nobody should have to starve like that."
They enter the burger joint, a local place, modest, nothing particularly exceptional. Dutch cares a lot more about food quality and service than the classiness of the atmosphere. This place had been his favorite since he was a kid, and amassing wealth did little to change his perception of that. Dutch approaches the counter.
"Excuse me, Gaston. Could you get this young man a burger? Put everything on it. Make it to perfection, just for me, and I'll leave a nice, big tip for ya."
He winks at the cook with a dashing smile and turns over to Basile. The cook nods his head with a smile.
"Anything for our number one customer."
Dutch turns on his side, leaning his elbow casually on the counter with a smirk aimed right at Basile.
"And that's that."
Basile sighs modestly.
"You know, I can't thank you enough for this."
Dutch shakes his head as he gestures for them to take their seats. He and Dutch jibber jabber about each other's lives for several minutes until the food arrives. No sooner does the plate hit the table than the young wolf starts digging into it like he hadn't eaten in days. He talks with his mouth full, and he almost sobs in pure ecstasy.
"Oh my God. It's so good."
Dutch sits there in his long, black winter overcoat, his legs crossed, and a matching hat on his head. He shakes his head as he remembers those days.
"You know, I was in your place once, struggling to make ends meet, living paycheck to paycheck after moving out of my folks' place, so when I offered you help, it's because I saw myself in you, and I never wanna see someone as hungry as I was back then. It breaks my heart to see people struggle like that."
In mere seconds, the burger is gone, and Basile is down to licking the plate clean. Basile retorts, holding in a belch between his lips.
"Ah, I'm so full."
Basile leans back in the chair as Dutch nods with a pleased smile.
"I'm glad you enjoyed that."
Dutch rises from his chair and tips his hat to the wolf, bidding him adieu.
"Well, Basile, I'm gonna be on my way. You take good care of yourself. You hear me?"
Basile avoids eye contact out of internalized shame.
"Yes, sir."
Dutch chuckles.
"Look at me, Basile."
Basile turns, his puppy dog brown eyes making contact with Dutch's icy blue.
"Call me Dutch."
As he approaches the door, he remembers something.
"Now that I think about it, why don't you follow me?"
He turns back to Basile, who stares on. Dutch opens the door, gesturing for Basile to follow outside.
"Dutch, you've already been so kind. I don't know what else to say but thank you."
Dutch nods, adjusting his black hat.
"Oh, you're very much welcome. Basile, um, how would you like to make enough money so that I never have to see you eating out of the garbage again?"
The brown wolf lights up, raising his ears and looking Dutch in the eyes.
"You mean it? Look, I'll do anything. I need some form of income. I'll work, sixty, seventy hours a week if I have to, but I need something, anything to get me on my feet."
Dutch snickers slightly through his nostrils. He halts mid-walk, turning to Basile and looking at him with a serious expression on his face.
"Well, Basile, as it turns out, I need a young, strong, and responsible individual to oversee a shipment of goods. It's just for a little bit. I'm tying up loose ends on some business I sold the rights to a little while back. I got some stuff in my warehouse, and it's gotta go. The thing is, it's pretty dangerous and highly potent stuff, and if it fell into the wrong hands, it could spell disaster. Are you up for something that dangerous?"
Basile takes a moment to mull over the decision. The whole thing seems quite dodgy, and up to this point, Basile was hardly a criminal beyond petty thievery of things not even large enough to land him in prison.
"What kind of work am I looking forward to with this job?"
Dutch redirects the question with another question.
"Well, Basile, do you have any sort of self-defense skills?"
Basile looks at Dutch coldly.
"Where I come from, you have to. You ain't makin' it on the mean streets without 'em."
Dutch contemplates.
"Look, I highly doubt anything will happen, but you won't be alone. Let me ask you, Basile, back on those mean ol' streets, are there more of those hungry young men like you? Got any buddies, close friends that could use some cash in their pockets?"
Basile finds it pertinent to be up-front with Dutch.
"Well, I got friends, but I gotta tell you, and I'm just saying this, to be honest, the people in the bad part of town, they ain't exactly the most trustworthy of people."
Dutch concedes but continues.
"True, but I'm not exactly looking for the most honest of individuals. Now, if you're implying they would steal my goods for themselves, why, that would be rather foolish. I'm willing to pay you guys a pretty penny to babysit some cargo, and all y'all gotta do is be good little mother hens and see to it that the babies reach their way to the shore. The risks do not outweigh the rewards, and if you are successful, there could be more work for you in the future. This could prove to be quite lucrative, my friend. So think long and hard about this decision. You know where to find me."
From seemingly nowhere, Dutch conjures a business card between his pawed fingers and slips it to Basile. With the tip of his hat, Dutch signals to his limousine driver, and the upbeat chauffeur performs an elegant U-turn to meet Dutch at the curb. A beautiful friendship would blossom between the younger and older wolf, the humble beginner rising to power, and the younger man rising from nothing, being made into something. Basile proves to be a hard worker, just like Dutch. Dutch took a risk employing the young man, knowing all too well that Basile could have taken the money and run, just as many fools have done, taking the easy way out.
But there was something in Basile's eyes, a desperation, a pure hunger, a desire to change for the better, a desperate desire to improve his life that left his spirit open like a gate to the gaze of the Dutch to peer deeply into his soul. Dutch is quite a perceptive being. Of his many talents, a judge of character was one of his best. He had to be; one in his position couldn't make it in his industry without such a skill. Only one problem: clinical studies had begun to emerge regarding the Sparkle Berries, detailing massive internal damage to the linings of the stomach and esophagus for continued consumption, with many families reporting spontaneous deaths from the explosions.
Pressure was beginning to mount on Dutch, and it was only a matter of time before the subpoenas began to hit his door. Dutch had to find a way to make these people go away while also getting rid of the extra cargo in his warehouses. He had to remove the rats, the unwanted pests, from his life. Basile knocks one day, entering the boss's office in his usual respectful manner. His demeanor toward Dutch wasn't how he treated others. He was always respectful to the man who gave him a second chance. Basile looked up to Dutch and respected him immensely, and thus the humble young man remained in his presence.
Around other people, however, Basile proved to be an irritable and temperamental being, always cold, always about business, always about money. This is what made Dutch well aware that Basile was the perfect man for the job. As he summons the brown wolf into his office, he makes it quite clear that he needs a man who can do a dirty job and do it gracefully and effectively.
"Basile, my trusty cohort. Have a seat. Take a load off those tired paws."
He does, slipping into the soft leather of the chair facing Dutch's desk with a relaxed sigh. Dutch removes himself from his chair and leans on his desk before questioning Basile. He contemplates in awkward silence before addressing him.
"I have a wonderful proposition, one that could net you some hefty income. Is it not true that you have a fiancé now?"
Basile folds his arms proudly as he leans back in the seat with a smile.
"I sure do. What a doll, too. Her name's Pom."
Dutch raises his brows in intrigue.
"Really? Have any photos of the fine young lady?"
Surprised, Basile fiddles around in his pants pocket, searching for his wallet. He pulls it out and removes a small photo of him with his lovely fiancée, a pretty, young wild dog. He hands the photo to Dutch, and he smiles sweetly at the photo.
"Such a sweet couple. Absolutely adorable."
He hands the photo back, and both of them smile.
"She's a pretty young lass. You're quite the lucky man. I hear you're planning to propose to her as well?"
Basile nods. He appears quite tired.
"Well then, I got a job in store for you that could net you the biggest, fattest diamond ring available, enough to make any lady squeal in delight."
Basile likes the sound of that and accepts the proposal. Basile, in his many adventures (and misadventures), would be faced with all sorts of issues, ranging from setups to false leads to outright killing the wrong people. None of these was Basile's fault, and almost always due to Dutch receiving either false information or information from some informant in an attempt to take him down. Regardless, Dutch always covered his tracks. He was always squeaky clean and somehow always one step ahead of the curb. But the more Dutch found himself in trouble, the more he felt himself slowly losing himself.
One day, Dutch was visited by his father. Personally escorted up to Dutch's suite, the wolf welcomed his father with open arms. He approached the old man, wrapping his long arms affectionately around his father in a firm but gentle embrace. Though Dutch had changed so much, so far as even earning his trademark scar from a tussle with a former partner, his father hadn't changed at all, save for looking older and wrinklier. His father stands before him pleadingly. He knows that Dutch had ventured into dark territory. Dutch treads behind his desk, where he sits and pours himself a glass of wine.
"Pop, it's so great to see you again. Care for some wine?"
Dutch dismisses with a wave.
"No, son. I came because I'm worried about you."
Dutch snickers smugly, smirking as his father nervously takes a seat.
"Me? What are you worried about me for?"
Dutch's father removes his hat and places it on his chest.
"You know. I'm really proud of just how successful you've become, but I know about the, um, legal troubles you're facing."
Nonchalantly, Dutch kicks his feet up on top of his fine, oak desk.
"Look, you don't need to worry yourself about that stuff. I got it all under control, Pop. I'm gonna make this go away, I promise."
His father pleads with him to do the right thing.
"Please, Dutch, cleanse yourself of these crimes and ill-gotten goods. I don't wanna see my boy behind bars over some candy—"
Dutch stops his father mid-sentence. He's grown quite frustrated by the lack of trust and faith.
"You believe me, right?"
His father feels quite hurt by the assumption of disbelief.
"I know you're a smart man and you'll do the right thing. It's just that I love you, and I don't wanna see you spending the rest of your days behind bars if this gets out of hand."
Dutch sighs, looking down at his desk.
"I love you, too, Pop… but I can handle this. You don't need to worry about me. I got this under control.
Dutch, the ego-driven narcissist, brushed off his father's claims, for he knew that he had won at life. He had dashing good looks, athleticism, talent, intelligence, fame, fortune, everything, but for some reason, still wasn't happy. He knew what he had to do. He had to keep on winning. What ventures were there left but to become an all-powerful mage? Even if Dutch never really possessed any great deal of magical prowess, with a gem, he knew he could learn to master such power. With the power of the magical gems at his disposal, Dutch would become unstoppable. Nobody would stand to oppose him, not even the enemies who wanted him dead.
Now it was only a matter of tracking them. If he had to purchase them, he would. After all, money was no longer an issue. At this point, he was already the head honcho, sitting as the big boss in his old teacher's office. So Dutch would sit in on auctions. He would pay Basile extra to keep a close eye, a listening ear, and a scrutinizing mind for the location of the magical gems. As luck would have it, one was about to be on sale later that month. The auction was to be held nearly halfway around the world, but travel was no issue. It is through the local gossip at a fancy convention he attended, where two wealthy celebutantes were discussing with great interest one particular gem, a fiery red ruby, the Gem of Bravery.
Dutch never really found himself lacking in actual bravery, at least unbeknownst to him. As a rather tall and quite imposing wolf, Dutch knew that very few could do very much against him. A stickler for maintaining his health, Dutch ran five miles a day and maintained a strict diet with plenty of exercise. Of course, he would indulge in his cigars, a vice unhealthy for all men, but he knew this imperfection would matter little in the long run. Unfortunately, it would appear that two meddlesome individuals, a couple of then-nameless rogues, had their eyes on the gem as well and would steal the gem so that they could protect the world from allowing it to fall into the wrong hands.
Dutch didn't like this one bit, and he ordered the young Basile to track and pursue the men. The two young men in question, a wide-eyed goat and a cautiously optimistic axolotl, would pay dearly for their insolence; Dutch would make sure of it. Those gems would be his. But still, he warned Basile, the gems were the main priority, but to do what must be done. He hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. Basile accepted the order with a nod, leaving Dutch alone in contemplation. The men by the names of Arthur and Aristotle, two humble men, but mere thieves, Basile was certain he could make easy work of them with wit over magic. He assured himself that the deed could be done with no bloodshed.
Little was he aware that such an issue would solve itself with at least one of the fools. Now it was merely about getting the gems from the pink one. Basile opted to take the simple thief route, making sure to strike while Pinky was asleep. He'd be in and out, no fuss, no muss. Basile had been tracking him for a week, following his every move, spying, watching, and waiting to see when he would rest. Losing Arthur had quite a toll on the axolotl, to the point where it made him miserable. Had Basile been slightly less cold, he might have felt sorry for the creature, but nope. He certainly wasn't compassionate enough not to rob him blind, that's for sure.
He was told to get the gem and nothing else, although he was quite tempted to snatch the pink stone right from Aristotle's cape. But no, too risky. The last thing he wanted was to end up in a fight with an illusionist whose powers he didn't understand. He left as quickly as he came, and by the time Aristotle had realized what had happened, it was too late. Aristotle would awaken in the morning and fall into panic once he realized what had happened. Basile could only snicker as he thought about the overblown reaction he'd have to his missing gem.
Returning to Dutch, Basile was rewarded fabulously. Time would pass, Basile would hone his craft, and Dutch would expand his empire, stifling away his enemies, his competition, and the naysayers. Dutch experienced many good times in between, such as his attendance at Basile's wedding, in which he was the best man, dancing and schmoozing the night away, to bad times, such as his father inevitably passing away. It would be here that Dutch would learn the true nature of his origin, why he was so different from his brother, and why he always felt that discomfort, like he didn't belong.
Dutch's father's passing left a big hole in his heart and a lot on his mind. How could he have once been a feral, magic white wolf of the northern mountains? How could a wild beast be raised as sentient, taught to walk upright? And an even greater question was, what happened to his powers? These questions would lapse into his subconscious, deep into the recesses of his brain, as he allowed himself to drown out all sorrow and guilt. Over time, Dutch found himself losing more and more of himself. It wasn't 'til that fateful day, when a ghost he thought he'd never see was conjured into existence, the red-eyed demon that disgraced his doorstep a mere few days ago.
That was the first time Dutch was ever stripped of control, the first time in which he had lost, struck down in his ego, beaten to the very floor, and made to feel like the feral dog he was. Dutch lost more than just his gem that day. He lost his pride and his sense of self-worth. It was something he could only recover if he went back to where it all began. If Dutch was going to find himself, he wanted to find that old natural magic. He had a new goal in mind: to reclaim his natural heritage, his lost natural magic, and somehow become one with both worlds. Dutch wanted to become a force to be reckoned with. None would tear him down again.
So here he is, the white feral wolf, Dutch, walking steadfastly among his natural ancestors. He wonders, is the leader his true father? Is there some hidden knowledge among these wolves? He waits, and he listens for wordless conversations among his kind as he treads on all fours down the hill. The sensation still feels strange to him. He hasn't uttered verbally in the last twenty-four hours, not even under his breath. He continues to watch and pay attention to today's hunt. How are they capable of lightning-dashing? What do they have that Dutch don't?
Dutch finds that he has to dig deep, all the way back. Dutch had been alone almost his whole life, moved out of his parents' house right after high school, and went right into work. Dutch loved his family dearly, but something about that cramped and enforced enclosure kept him away. Dutch had friends in school. He was certainly popular and charismatic enough, but never seemed to want to hang out with them in any setting where there was more than one of them for a prolonged amount of time. Dutch was always an intimate one-on-one kinda guy, a conversationalist; he could hold a podium better than anyone, talk, and listen quite as well.
Dutch was athletic, but for some reason, actively evaded any team sports once he realized he was overly competitive. He always wanted the attention on him. It was never enough to give the spotlight to someone else. Now that he realizes it, he has always wanted to be number one, but never faced any sort of competition directly. And one thing Dutch had never learned was how to be a team player. Dutch was always the leader, but never a team player, and it hadn't dawned on him until now. There was only one way to learn how to be a team player, and that was to learn how to trust other people, well, in this case, other feral wolves.
Dutch calms himself, remembering those days of Zen, his meditation. Dutch follows, clearing his mind of all noise except for the whispering of the wind, the cracking of the surrounding branches, and the soft crunch of paw pads on snow. Dutch could hear nothing. It's time to go deeper. Dutch realizes he has to listen even harder, past the leaves, past the crunching of the snow. Dutch must listen beyond that, to the hearts of the surrounding wolves, the thumping beats, the unspoken voices, whispering wisps on the wind, the voice of the wild. He closes his eyes and can hear them.
They're not voices, but the echoes of the wilderness, sending signals to his mind. The wolves formulate a strategy, a complex flanking initiative, almost military in its complexity. Should they meet their prey, the plan may execute accordingly, or it could change at the drop of a hat. Dutch wouldn't know until that moment had been reached. The meat of the sage of the forest had been digested and processed, and the wolves were now freshly hungry as they faced a new day of the hunt. Would the wolves be lucky enough to bag a large prey like the sage, or would they wind up with a few measly hares, simple and easy-to-catch beasts?
Admittedly, Dutch wanted it to be a challenge. His competitive nature demanded it. Meanwhile, Basile and his wife, Pom, ride through the mountains atop their large blue avian mount, Heckles. The beast squawks loudly as the harsh winds blow through its feathers. Basile is already starting to regret this idea. Pom reminds him.
"Basile, honey, it's freezing out here. Let's head back to the cabin. We can look for him once the storm blows over."
Basile turns to her, his voice strict and resolute.
"That's all the more reason to find him. I can't let him perish out here, not after all he's done for me."
The wild dog shields her face, the piercing wind cutting at her face.
"Don't you think this is a foolish idea? Please. See reason."
Basile shakes his head.
"He's been like a father to me. I can't give up on him."
If there was anyone Basile has a profound respect for, and genuinely cares about besides his wife (and with the possible exception of Hayes), it's Dutch. He has a bond with the wolf that he never had with anyone. Dutch is the first person in the entire world who has ever looked after Basile, shown compassion toward him, given him food, and offered him a chance. Without Dutch, Basile may have very well died at some point and been found lying in a dumpster somewhere. He needs to find Dutch; his guilt is just eating him alive.
Little does he know of just how close he is, and less does he know of the impending doom of the approaching rock bear, a massive and angry beast that doesn't take kindly to anything that isn't another rock bear. This terrifying creature is vicious, constantly angry, much more so than a regular bear, and extremely territorial, bullying other animals off of its self-proclaimed property. These creatures, though cute on the surface, can become deadly, hardening their bodies like rocks and using the sheer weight of their mass to crush and pummel all in their way as they throw their weight around and utilize the indestructible nature of their hardened mass to dominate their foes.
The rock bear lumbers its way into the unsuspecting canines on both ends. A conflict is about to ensue. Basile and Pom listen closely; their ears are just as keen as any wild wolf's. They're aware they're not alone. Heckles is quite nervous, squawking loudly and darting its head around, provoking Basile to silence the creature, tugging on the reins.
"Hey! Shut it, you stupid bird!"
A faint rumbling can be heard. Basile reacts.
"Get out of the way!"
Basile and Pom leap from the bird as the rock bear dives, colliding with the hard ground and creating a crater. The startled Heckles leaps out of the way, flailing its blue feathers in all different directions as it runs away in circles before leaping off into the forest in a loud and attention-grabbing panic. The rock bear swipes its massive claws at Basile, pre-empting him from tackling Pom and rolling off to the side. Using her sheer agility, she ascends the trees, climbing the branches with guile and finesse, a tricky balancing act as she distracts the beast while Basile homes in on an attack from behind, dagger in hand.
With all his strength, he stabs at the beast's back. He barely makes a dent in the beast's armor. This proves futile as the rock bear turns to look at Basile angrily. Basile smiles apologetically as the bear backhands him, flinging him all the way back into a tree. Angered, the bear approaches Basile. Treading slowly and rearing its ultra-destructive claws, the bear readies a long swipe at Basile only to experience a conk on the head from Pom, pelting him in the skull with fruit from the neighboring trees. Enraged, the bear coils into a rock ball and hurdles itself toward the trees.
"Watch out!"
Basile shouts as his wife leaps into a distant neighboring tree. The rock bear pulverizes the trees, splintering them completely in half. Pom is isolated to a single tree with nowhere to leap to. They're compromised. Basile, not knowing what to do, attempts to kite and distract the beast while she climbs down and makes a run for it. The rock bear proves to be more agile than it looks and knocks Basile straight to the ground with a hammer to the gut that completely winds him and leaves him gasping for air. The rock bear approaches to finish the job, and Basile closes his eyes, bracing for impact, when suddenly, like flashes of lightning, large white bolts strike the beast, stumbling and confusing the bear.
As Basile recovers and can see what is going on, he realizes he is now completely surrounded by a large pack of pure white wolves with piercing, glowing eyes. More dash at the bear, staggering it back and forth, gradually wearing away at the armor. Refusing to be distracted any longer, the bear moves to claim its prize of Basile, swinging downward as a pair of long, white, fur-covered arms intercept the massive claw, receiving the full bearing half-ton of weight. Dutch falls to his knees, claiming the claw, sinking his claws deep into the beast. With all the weight on the bear's side, it tosses Dutch to the side, roaring and sending spit everywhere. Basile can't even believe what he's seeing.
"Dutch!?"
Basile rises from the ground and makes a run for it, as the bear seems keen on pursuing him. The white wolves continue to dash in at the creature, puncturing the beast and sending chunks flying all over the place. The bear is furious now, and it swipes at the air, catching one of the wolves midair between darts and sending it to the ground with a yelp. Furious, the bear approaches the downed wolf, and Basile leaps in to tackle the wolf, rolling to the side as the bear completely severs a tree. The wolf is completely beside itself, being rescued by a sapient being.
"Basile! Watch out!"
Pom calls from the trees, gathering the dazed Dutch's attention. The bear slams into the ground, approaching to finish the two as Dutch watches. Using every bit of his focus from beholding the hunt, Dutch concentrates as hard as he can, his eyes flashing a harsh white energy, channeling his magic from the core of his heart, Dutch initiates his wild teleport dash, and like a beam of arc energy, pierces the rock bear, bursting through the rib cage and sending guts all over the place. Dutch is utterly drenched in red now. He stands upright, his eyes blinding white, and he faces Basile. Basile rises from the guts, entirely covered in them. He brushes the meat off himself onto the ground.
Dutch approaches, and Basile is reluctant, backing away in concern, but stops in his tracks as the white wolf stands before him.
"... Basile."
Dutch pulls the wolf into a firm embrace, holding him close. Basile is entirely caught off guard, not knowing how to respond. Slowly, he accepts it and wraps his arms around the other wolf tightly.
"What are you doing out here, Basile?"
He confesses.
"I came to look for you. I was worried about you."
Dutch snickers.
"Everyone's always worried about me… but I think I finally found myself… I found my pride."
Basile looks around to find that the white wolves are now surrounding him, led by their leader. Basile becomes alert to the possibility of an attack and becomes defensive. Dutch places his paw on Basile's shoulder, easing him.
"Easy. They're with me. They are my true family, Basile."
Basile looks up at him with a raised brow.
"You mean… You come from these… wild animals?"
Dutch approaches the guts of the bear, taking a long intestine in his paw and feasting upon it.
"We all do."
Basile can only look on in awe. Dutch smiles, his blood-red muzzle stretched into a long grin.
"Do you and the lovely lady care to indulge in the fruits of a proper hunt?"
Pom climbs down from the tree, approaching them from behind. The wolves look back at her, and Dutch flares a white eye at them, warning the beasts not to attack. The wolf leader looks up at Dutch, completely in awe at how fast he'd grown, how quickly he learned to embrace his heritage. This wolf was no longer the alpha. Dutch had claimed dominance. Basile approaches, taking the guts within his paws. Closing his eyes, he sinks his teeth into the bear, feasting upon the bounty. The wild-dog wife approaches, and Basile makes his offering to her. Wishing to maintain the peace, she looks down at the entrails. As her wild side kicks in, she, too, tears into the flesh.
The wolves and the wild dog feast upon the bear, leaving no trace of meat. With their bellies filled, they are satisfied. Dutch leads them back to the den to show them where he now lives. They just stare at the hole in the side of the mountain, such simple, bare nothingness. Basile approaches Dutch as he leans against a tree, picking at his teeth with a stick. Basile had never seen the man so… uncivilized.
"So… are you willing to come back—"
Dutch raises his paw, silencing Basile.
"I'm staying here. This is where I belong. Enjoy your life."
Basile lowers his ears, looking away in shame.
"Okay."
Dutch feels like a heel for his outright rejection. He ponders. It's an absurd idea he has, but he proposes it.
"Basile, wait. There's a little something I'd like you to do before you go."
Basile looks up at him.
"After everything you've done for me? Anything."
Dutch approaches, whispering into his ear.
"You want me to what?!... and her to what?!"
Dutch shrugs.
"It's not my rules. It's the rules of the pack."
Pom approaches him with a raised brow.
"What is it we're supposed to do?"
He whispers into her ear, and her eyes grow big. She lowers her ears in shame but then ponders for a moment, raising her head in a nod.
"I'll do it."
Dutch smiles at them. Basile looks between them.
"You can't be serious."
Mere moments later, he finds out Dutch is serious. Basile and his wife stand bare, completely unclothed, before the wolves. Basile, the one who always wears pants, his a face as red as a tomato. Dutch approaches, placing his arm over the embarrassed wolf.
"It's not a big deal, Basile. I mean, how many of us at home ever wore pants? Nobody. In fact, the pants made you stick out like a sore thumb. It's more natural this way. You two are just gorgeous creatures."
Basile folds his arms.
"Now what?"
Dutch and his wolves surround them.
"Now?... We howl."
Basile places his hand over his heart.
"Howl? That's all? Oh, thank goodness."
Dutch raises his brow.
"Why? Where did you think this was going?"
Basile leans in and whispers to him. Now, Dutch's face is even redder than when it was caked in blood.
"What?! What do we look like to you, a bunch of degenerates?!"
Basile reaches behind his head, awkwardly scratching himself.
"Forget I said anything."
Dutch nods.
"Now… howl with me."
The congregation of wolves sits upon the snow and faces toward the milky white orb in the sky. In unison, they howl, except for Basile, who at first is reluctant. After some encouragement, he proceeds, unleashing the loudest, proudest howl of them all, piercing the sky and echoing throughout the mountains. Ritualistically, they are now bonded. Basile and Pom are now married to the pack, an inseparable family bond that unites them with the pack for life. They know, though, that they cannot stay. They know it's necessary now to clothe up and leave. Before they leave, Basile inquires of Dutch.
"Hey, Dutch?"
Dutch smiles at his wonderful friend.
"Yes, Basile?"
He looks up at Dutch, curious.
"When you said we all come from nature, what do you mean? Are you saying we all have some sort of dormant power tied to our natural heritage?"
Dutch nods.
"I do believe it's possible, Basile. We've spent all this time trying to hone unnatural magic for ourselves when we all have something dormant within us. The only question is, what? That's for you to find out by getting in touch with your past. Find your inner magic, Basile. Find your pride."
Basile nods. Pom approaches, planting a romantic kiss on his cheek.
"I think it's time to head back. Thank you, Dutch, for everything."
She says as she waves to him. Dutch takes her paw and leans over, planting a gentlemanly kiss on her knuckle.
"It's always a pleasure to have you in our company. You two are just so adorable to me. Never let that magic go. You have it within you, too. Find it."
She contemplates and nods.
"I will."
The two walk down the hill hand in hand. Basile questions."
"Where do you suppose that damn bird ran off to?"
She answers with a chuckle.
"Who knows? We'll find it."
Dutch snickers as he watches them trudge down the hill. Today was a wonderful day after all. He found himself. He reunited with old friends, spent the night howling at the moon with people he loves most, and now, he has the respect of his pack. Dutch, the anomaly, the bridge between sentient life and all nature. He has a new goal in life: to reunite the people of the world with the forest, to find themselves. It is his life now. It is his duty, and he's proud of it.