– 3 –

The world is full of awful pain.

Fenris had considered it rather bad during the course of its binding. Freedom, in comparison, is practically unbearable.

Its every movement is stiff. It feels as if its heart is pumping, not blood, but fire.

It staggers.

It lurches. It is crawling. It thinks it has eaten — it isn’t sure. Houses. Humans. A churchyard.

I am probably not good.

It is too much.

It is impossible. Its stomach is still unhappy from the boots it ate earlier. It knows the humans will kill it if it does not eat, if it does not grow strong, but it cannot keep walking. It is too hard.

It sees everything around it as burning.

Everything is as light glinting across metal. Everything it sees is burning. Its eyes cannot handle the full light of the surface sun.

Another wave of pain builds up in its ruined limbs. It totters.

It is bad, incidentally, to nuke picturesque British communities. I am pretty sure that I have mentioned this previously, but in case you had forgotten, I wanted to remind you. It is bad. Don’t do this!

The wolf staggers and the wolf falls down.

It can feel the bullets begin to rain down onto it. It can feel the poisons seeping into it. It can feel the net of razor-wire being pulled down onto its flesh.

It gasps for breath. Its world is a maze of pain. It pants.

The last thing —

No, it realizes, I am just dreaming.

It had thought for just a moment, as the bombs came down, that it could smell its Saul.

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