I've always liked the Dawn Warriors from Final Fantasy V and would have loved to see more of them. This was going to be the first two chapters of a longer work, but I think it stands well enough on its own to post it as a complete story.

I do not own Final Fantasy V.

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He couldn't breathe. Thick, wet mud enveloped his muzzle, clogging up his airways as effectively as putty. His lungs instinctively tried to draw something, anything in. But all that got him was a nose-full of sludge. Lurching up onto his hands and knees the werewolf jerked himself free of the quagmire. He coughed and gagged, almost retching in his body's attempts to violently expel the filth from his lungs.

When his body settled down to dry heaves the werewolf dared a glance over his shoulder. The inn's doors were closed against the driving rain and tearing winds of the storm. There was no sign of the men who had thrown him out.

"We don't serve your kind here." Despite his attempts to struggle, two men, the inn keeper one of them, grabbed his shoulders and forcibly removed him from the premises, tossing him out the door like a piece of garbage. They hadn't even stayed to see what happened. Likely as not they would have been perfectly happy to dispose of a drowned werewolf corpse come the following morning. One less vermin in the world.

The werewolf ground his teeth and coughed up another wad of mud. How could he have been so stupid as to think that anyone would put up a werewolf for the night, even if the coin he offered was as good as any human's? The werewolf attempted to stand but slipped, slamming his chest and chin back into the muck. Perhaps he should abandon this foolish quest. Go home where, though they were hungry half the time, sick the rest, and hated by all, he would at least be among his kind. His second attempt to rise faltered as the hopelessness of it all washed over him. With a defeated sigh he slumped down and let the rain wash over him, plastering his fur and ears even flatter against his skull. The water in the puddle was rising. Another hour and it would cover his nose. But at this moment the werewolf couldn't find it in himself to care. He would move eventually. Lady Moon curse him if he were to drown in this mess. But not now. Now he wanted nothing but to feel the rain, the wind, the cold, and his own pitiful existence.

"Hey! Hey! You okay?" The werewolf opened his eyes. A young man stood outside of the worst of the mud. His brownish hair was plastered flat by the rain and, because of his rather lean, almost scrawny, form and scraggly attempts at facial hair, the werewolf couldn't help but be reminded of a drowned rat.

Slowly, the werewolf pushed himself into a sitting position. His waterlogged ears flicked curiously towards the rat-man. "I said," the man practically shouted over the wind, "Are you okay?"

Aside from being soaked to the bone, caked in mud, not having eaten in several days, and feeling rather beaten and bruised from the rough treatment, the werewolf could find nothing seriously wrong.

"Yeah," he growled.

"You don't look it." The rat-man took several large steps into the deep mud. By the time he reached the werewolf's side it was up to his knees. "Come on, upsy daisy!"

Before the werewolf registered what was happening the small man had grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Damn, you're all bones! Would think a big fellow like you would weigh a sight more. And if you don't have at least thirty pounds of muck on you, I'm a toothless wind drake!"

The werewolf shrugged.

"What are you doing out in this mess anyway?"

Why did he care? That was what the werewolf wanted to ask. But that question would have prolonged the conversation and kept him from finding shelter that much longer. He tossed his head in the direction of the tightly shut inn.

"Threw me out. They don't serve my kind."

The man scowled. "That sort of attitude is a load of flaming bullshit. Come on, Wolfy, you can stay with my pals and me for the night."

Yellow eyes narrowed as they looked down at the scrawny rat-man. But the man didn't flinch. Rain deadened the werewolf's sense of smell, but even so he could tell that there was no malice in him. A human who would aide a werewolf. Curious.

"Kelgar."

The man, who had begun his trek out of the mud, stopped and turned around.

"Eh?"

"Kelgar," the werewolf repeated, "My name is Kelgar. Not 'Wolfy'."

The man flashed him a grin. "I'm Galuf. Nice to meet you, Kelgar."

Galuf led the way through the thick woods, chattering happily as he started down one path, doubled back, went down another, then turned around and went a completely different direction. Kelgar was quite sure the little rat-man was lost.

"So are you one of these lone wolves or did you come from Quelb?" A branch, whipped by a sudden gust of wind, slammed into Galuf's chest hard enough to knock him off his feet. He lay on his back like an upturned adamantoise. Kelgar let out a soft chuckle before reaching down to grasp his shoulders and easily lift the scrawny fellow to his feet.

"Quelb," he growled, chuckling again as he noticed the carpet of pine needles that had adhered itself to his companion's back.

"No kidding," Galuf replied, "I'm from Bal, just south of there! What are you doing wandering, I thought Quelb werewolves never left?"

Kelgar snorted and moved to walk by Galuf's side. "I left. I wasn't the first." As kind as this man might be, Kelgar was not about to reveal to him the reason behind his leaving. Especially not to a man of Bal! If word got out that the pack was divided … dying … it might give some lord the bright idea that now was the time to wipe the vermin scum out once and for all.

Thankfully, Galuf didn't press the issue. Instead he turned the subject to whether or not the deer herds had recovered since the last harsh winter. Kelgar could assure him that they had, not like four years past when a series of avalanches buried their wintering valleys and left all too few of the poor creatures alive. What the werewolf could not do was tell him how salmon fishing had been that spring.

"I can't fish," Kelgar rumbled.

Galuf threw up his hands in mock horror. "Can't fish!? So you've never tasted fresh cooked salmon! The travesty! That's it Kelgar, come spring I'm teaching you to fish."

After a moment of contemplation, the werewolf's lips drew back in a sharp toothed smile. He liked this man. "I'll hold you to that."

They traded stories of home as they walked, keeping to safe topics they would both recognize. The flooding two springs ago, the pack of rabid naks that had been such a problem before the people of Bal hired professional hunters to track them down, and even the excessive amount of pollen in the air last summer, which had forced the both of them to live for two solid months with near constant sneezing and weepy eyes from the hellish condition they suffered from, oh so innocently called hay fever.

"You do realize," Kelgar rumbled in amusement, "that the smell of smoke is coming from that way?" The werewolf pointed through a thick stand of evergreens, in the opposite direction of which they were traveling. Galuf stopped and sniffed the air.

"Huh, I can't smell anything."

Kelgar tapped the side of his black lupine nose with a blunt claw. "I'm a werewolf." Galuf couldn't argue with that logic! They turned and traveled in the direction Kelgar had indicated, through the stand of evergreens, across a small stream, and over a short rise. As they crested the rise Galuf spied the flickering orange light of a campfire coming from a shallow cave at the base of pile of large boulders. The same pile of large boulders he had left several hours before, calling back over his shoulder that he would return with something better than trail bread and dried fruit for supper.

The smell of roasting meat wafting from the cave entrance proved that his companions had been more successful at that endeavor than he. Galuf's stomach growled, but was utterly drowned by the gurgling roar that emanated from Kelgar's gut. The werewolf had his eyes closed and was drawing in deep drafts of the smoke and meat smell. It could have been the rain, but Galuf thought he saw a glistening line of saliva form on the werewolf's lips.

"You hungry?" he teased. Kelgar's eyes popped open and he let out a deep affirming growl. Without another word Galuf led the way over the last short stretch leading to the cave's mouth. He strode in and greeted the two men hunched around the fire with a wide grin.

"I'm back!"

"Took you long enough," muttered the larger of the two, a sturdy man with thick blond hair and respectable moustache, the very existence of which seemed to mock Galuf's scraggly attempts at facial hair.

Galuf ignored the dig and proceeded to rid himself of his sopping wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire to dry. "Guess what I found?"

The men groaned. They knew that particular tone and had been through situations like this many times before with their wandering companion. It was never a matter of what he found but who he found.

"More of your strays," the second man, one of medium build with dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and short beard, sighed, but the amused grin on his face showed he was not overly opposed to the idea of company.

"Yup!" Galuf replied with a grin. He peered around curiously, wondering why the others had not yet noticed his rather large, pointy eared, fluffy tailed, companion. Kelgar stood just far enough away to blend into the shadowy night, shifting from paw to paw nervously. Galuf may have been kind, but that was exceptionally rare for a human. There could not be two more like that, all in the same place, could there? He wanted to go in the cave. The scent of venison roasting over the open flames made his mouth water and empty gut practically moan in agony. Galuf thought it was safe. Even if his friends were not so kind to werewolves, maybe he could convince him to share their meat? Hunger finally overcoming his common sense, Kelgar walked into the cave.

The two men shouted in surprise, leaping to their feet and drawing their weapons faster than Galuf could react. On seeing the hostile action, Kelgar instinctively dropped into a crouch, raising his hackles and drawing his lips back to show every one of his formidable teeth in a vicious snarl. The feral sound of warning and anger rolling from the werewolf's chest was enough to give the two warriors pause, plenty of time for Galuf to spring between them.

"Xezat, Dorgann, that's enough! Kelgar is a friend!"

The blond swordsman stepped back, stunned. "This is what you found!" he practically shouted, "It's a werewolf! A werewolf, Galuf!"

"Really," the smaller man sneered back, "I thought he was a moogle."

After the initial shock, the brown haired swordsman seemed slightly more accepting of the idea. He sheathed his sword and confronted his friends. "Galuf, Xezat, there is no need to fight. It was a misunderstanding, that's all."

Xezat whirled on his companion, sword still out. "A misunderstanding, Dorigen? That's a werewolf!"

That was enough for Kelgar, whose senses were being assaulted by the smell of roasting meat and his hunger was overcoming even his apprehension and disappointment at being introduced to these two people who clearly did not share Galuf's open mind. If this man did not stop his shouting and carrying on he could not eat. And he wanted that meat!

"Yes," Kelgar snarled, "I am a werewolf. A wet, tired, frustrated, hungry werewolf. I've been insulted, kicked around, thrown out like a piece of trash, and frankly had more than I can take from you humans today. And if you don't stop your carrying on I swear to Lady Moon I will come across this fire and show you exactly what a wet, tired, hungry, ANGRY werewolf can do!"

Xezat's jaw flopped open and stayed that way. Galuf and Dorigen exchanged knowing smiles and set about returning their camp to rights, fixing the overturned pile of firewood and fishing out a stick of venison that had fallen into the flames during the two swordsmen's surprised scramble. At the suggestion of Galuf, Kelgar stripped down to his undergarments and laid his wet clothes by the fire. The heat would dry out his fur and his clothing much faster if he desisted in wearing the later. Through it all Xezat stared, gape jawed and silent.

Finally, after Dorgann and Galuf had settled down on opposite sides of the fire, and the later invited the still wary Kelgar to drop down at his side, Xezat's mouth snapped closed.

"Well, I'll be," he muttered. Then he let out a deep chuckle, "Well I'll be." He strode over to Galuf and Kelgar's side of the fire and offered a hand to the apprehensive werewolf.

"Name's Xezat Surgate. Sorry about that back there." Kelgar stared nervously at the outstretched hand. Was this some sort of trick?

Galuf must have seen the question in the werewolf's eyes and gave Kelgar a companionable slap on his boney shoulder. "It's alright, pal. You showed this halfwit second son of a lackluster king that you have guts. Now you'll never be rid of him!"

Before Kelgar could reply his stomach let out another frustrated groan.

"Guts, yes. Empty guts!" Xezat said with a laugh. Withdrawing the hand that Kelgar still refused to shake, he snatched the spit with the largest hunk of venison and offered it instead. "Peace?"

In an instant the spit was gone, snatched from Xezat's grip before he could blink. The werewolf stared up at the stunned human, who had not thought a creature so large could move so fast, his mouth already full of a massive bite of sweet, sweet meat. Barely taking the time to chew, Kelgar swallowed the almost too hot mouthful.

"Peace."

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Maybe one day I'll write the rest, but with the amount of work currently on my list of things to do it's rather unlikely.