He eyed the intruder with the gaze of a wolf, his teeth bared not in a smile but in warning. The blade in his hand felt light and insufficient compared to the intruder's armor. The metal plating shone in a place where nothing was clean, standing out far too much.

The intruder took off his helmet, revealing a young man's face. He, too, was far too clean. His hair was colorful, though black as the roots, while the young man's eyes were a vivid red.

Healthy. Strong. Confident. Not traits forged by living in this place.

He gripped his shoddy knife tighter, still smiling his wolf's smile. The stranger had been foolish enough to take off his helmet. As the young man stepped through the dust and wreckage of buildings long rotted away, he waited, planning to attack once he got close enough.

The young man spoke. "Yugi?" he questioned, walking closer. Just a few more steps. He watched as the armored foot came down on a piece of broken wood, making him lose his balance for a second -

He drove his knife towards the man's face. When the stranger automatically caught it, he darted around his body. Usually, he would have taken him down, but he had enough sense to stay far from danger. Not prey, but a predator, searching for something.

The depths of his home welcomed him as he ran through, bare feet kicking up dust but not making a sound. The intruder did not know the place and could not pursue him. He flashed by hungry eyes, gaunt faces, empty hands.

His hands were empty, now.

He would have to get another knife.

Scratching, snapping, biting, he fought another for the blade that kept cutting close to his neck. That could not happen, but he could not walk away. He needed that knife badly - without a weapon, he would be a wolf without claws.

He redoubled his efforts, jabbing his fingers at the other boy's eyes, finally kneeing him in the groin.

When the boy keeled over, he grabbed the knife and jammed it into the other's ribs, satisfied at the shout of pain the boy gave. The knife was bloody now, but he didn't care. He ran, slipping through the shadows of broken rafters and empty doorways.

He was hungry now, always was, but the pain was growing into something that gnawed on his stomach, pushing bile up into his throat. The hunger was a little too much. He couldn't have that. With a short growl of complaint, he turned, starting on a path to the Outside.

It was actually very nice out there. Outside, there were no people. But there were wolves, and other things. He shuddered briefly at the thought of the other things, but they only came out at night.

With sunlight coming through the trees, he was in no danger yet. He smelled the wind, smelling water - the river, too far from Inside to be sullied - and warmth of green. Then a howl shot through the air, urging him to turn, to take part in the hunt.

He clambered up a tree, only to leap off giddily from the branches, his two legs hitting the ground hard. Grass made it softer than Inside, with all that hard-packed dirt and splintered wood. Soon he was joined by a flow of furry bodies that he pushed himself to keep pace with.

The panting of wolves, the thud of their paws, wove around him until he adopted their loping manner. They accepted his presence and dismissed it, for the pack had long made him one of their own.

Otherwise, he would have long been dead.

The flickers of movement - a twitch of an ear, the wrinkling of a muzzle - warned him. As the wolves swiftly parted, soundlessly running to their different positions, he followed. His packmates acknowledged him with soft growls that cut off as they drew close.

He could not smell them, but he heard them. Settling in wait behind some bushes, he listened to the sound of chewing. A hoofbeat. They were probably planning to flush out the deer, which meant his group was the one intended to make a kill.

Soon he heard barking, noisy rustling, and soon a young fawn burst through the bushes. She leapt directly over them, only to be interrupted as one wolf jumped upwards, nipping at her soft belly.

She landed awkwardly and off-balance, bleating in fear.

He attacked with his packmates, aiming for her legs. She kicked back before trying to run forward, but a wolf appeared before her, growling fiercely. They bit her legs, knocking her over. He slashed at her throat, causing her to buck once. Then she fell still.

A savage bark of victory erupted from him, his packmates joining in. They pulled at the corpse, dragging it. They took it to the Hollow, a place where the wolves rested. It was their territory, their home. There was a small den for pups and mothers, as well as stone that gave them some boundaries.

Other groups took their kills to the middle. The alpha approached, sniffing them all. He waited with the others until the alpha had eaten his fill. Then he and the hunters came forward, tearing away at the meat and bones.

In this pack, he was respected.

Once he was brought in as a pup, the lowest of the low.

He had not tolerated that for long. The wolf pack would not have tolerated him had he remained useless, so he quickly got stronger, faster. In the end he had become a hunter.

As he stepped back, his belly full and his mouth smeared with blood, he was -

Happy?

Content?

At least he had food in him. He backed up, then walked away. Packs demanded loyalty, and he had little to spare. Still, he was useful. He brought back food. He answered their howls, their calls. He was strong. So he was part of the pack, despite not being truly of the pack.

One looked up as he left, yipping once in confusion, but returned to eating. That one had been new. He hadn't remembered seeing that one before, but there had been a litter recently.

A litter of four.

He remembered seeing two others he hadn't remembered. They'd grown quick. But the fourth was missing. He knew what happened to the weak pups, the one born wrong. Or, though unlikely, perhaps one of the other things had gotten the pup.

At the thought of the other things, he made his way back. Inside was safer at night, though Outside was freedom, power. As he stepped back into the Inside, he felt his shoulders tense.

Eyes watched from walls and ears were pressed to the ground.

He did not know where he had heard the phrase, but it certainly applied in this place. Treading lightly, he ran through the wreckages. Houses and mansions were just broken wood, lone walls standing apart from each other. It was almost like a maze, this world that made up the Inside.

There was another like him in the shadow of a wall. A sepia shadow, to match the light of the afternoon sun. One with white hair. If he was a wolf, this one was a fox.

The fox looked up at him with envy. He felt the stiff skin of his hands and face, still covered in dry blood. It made others cower, but this one was clever. The fox knew he left the Inside, knew that the blood meant he'd eaten. Knew that eating meant he was strong.

He would have to watch out for this one. But he stuffed his hand in his shirt and drew out the leg he'd kept, tossing it to the other. The fox fell upon it with ravenous hunger.

He would have to be careful. But seeing this one be full for the first time in weeks - or days, he wouldn't know - made him feel better.

A weakness.

The fox took advantage of it, too. That one's eyes looked up at him, the glint of cunning visible. Then the fox stopped eating. It probably couldn't eat anymore without being sick.

He made as if to grab it, but the fox snatched it away. Without a second glance, the fox darted into the shadows. That one vanished too quickly. He shrugged, turning to continue on. He had no place he truly rested. Not Inside. Too many made the mistake of settling in one corner for too long.

Often, they were gone. Permanently. Nowhere Inside and nowhere Outside. No one but him went Outside, so they had to eat something.

In the times when he had time enough to wonder, he wondered when there would be no one left Inside but him.

He found a corner. The floor was still there, a crumbling thing that would give away at a careless touch. He wiggled underneath, feeling the warmth on the dirt, the stifled heat that came from closed spaces. He dug at the ground, making it softer.

It was growing dark. The shadows were lengthening, the ground cooling. He hoped the other things never found their way Inside. He covered himself in dirt, falling asleep quickly.

And found himself dreaming.

He knew it was a dream. Because he was somewhere he hadn't been before, and he felt weak. Small.

He was never weak. Not anymore.

And things were soft.

He felt complacent, lying down on something too colorful, too soft, like the clouds colored orange by the sunset. Only these things were in all colors, even ones he'd scarcely seen.

What was this?

What were these?

Red eyes loomed above him, giving him the sense he was being spoken to. But he couldn't hear anything. He tried to growl at the person above him.

His mouth moved, but sounds wouldn't come out. Panicking, he tried again, but the gentle, slurred rumbling in his throat tore him out of sleep. His eyes flew open to darkness. He clawed his way out of the dirt, punching through the useless floorboards.

He needed air.

He needed -

"Yugi! Thank the gods I finally found you."

The voice cut through his whirling confusion. He turned slowly, his whole countenance still. The intruder from earlier. He smiled his wolf's smile. What he needed was a fight. And this stranger would be the one to give it to him, because he did not have the sense to stay away.

He drew his knife, pointing it at the stranger. The predator paused, which he thought was funny. Was it was strange for a wolf to bare it's fangs before attacking?

He waited, though. A good wolf watched and waited. When the predator continued to advance, not bothering to pull out the sword at his side, he realized that this was no predator. Just an intruder. "Yugi," the stranger said, but he did not respond. He was angry.

So he pounced, knife flashing through the darkness. It glanced off the stranger's armor, but he scratched the stranger's cheek. Blood poured from it, and he remembered the blood on his own hands.

He leapt behind the stranger, relieved when he drew his sword.

Because even prey fought back, if only to run. If this one did not react to wounds, he would make sure to stay far away in the future. Perhaps run immediately. Only the other things felt no pain.

But no, the blade flashed overhead. He hit the ground and rolled, his knife hitting the stranger's gloves with a metallic ting. He hated the armor. He was used to fighting with flesh to sink his blade into, while avoiding the same thing happening to him.

The sword flashed down quickly, almost too fast for him to follow. He leapt away, disconcerted. This one was fast. This one actually was a predator. Yet he was slow to attack.

He noticed the helmet was back in place but - there! A slit between the edge of the helm and the edge of his breastplate. He smiled. Shiny armor was like the scales of a lizard. Difficult to pierce, but there were always chinks. Always weak spots.

He stabbed at the predator's ribs, legs, trying to create a perfect opportunity. Even if he went for the spot immediately, this one was fast. He wasn't certain he would be able to strike quickly enough. If he struck too hastily, he would give his plan away.

So his knife consistently clanged against the predator's armor, seeking a chance.

Until suddenly the blades were pressed close to his face. "I know you, Yugi," the intruder said. "I know how you fight. Always looking for weaknesses." With one quick move, he twisted his knife away. It fell to the ground with a clatter.

He took a step back.

No claws.

He wasn't close enough to get to the knife.

No teeth.

A weak wolf had only one choice.

But he couldn't run. The sword was at his throat. He met the dark eye holes of the stranger's helm, face contorted in a silent snarl. Let him, then. He snapped at the intruder, but he did not flinch, not even a shiver.

"You've changed, Yugi," the predator said at last. "I guess… After all these years, it makes sense. I'm sorry."

Sorry. What did sorry mean? He did not know that word, but he guessed it was one the stranger was familiar with. He shifted his weight, but the sword stayed level with him, so he stilled once more. Wolf, wolf, wolf. What if he howled? Would his packmates hear him?

No. They would not forgive him weakness, and they avoided Inside as much as he avoided Outside at night. They would not come.

Wolf.

He was the wolf, and the other was a fox.

Where was the fox?

Something moved in his peripheral vision, but he didn't look away from the stranger. The stranger was saying more things, words that passed meaninglessly through his ears.

He licked his lips.

He tried to say something, but it had been so long. His voice was hoarse and weak.

The predator paused. "What did you say?"

"You…" He coughed, almost impaling himself on the sword. "You owe me. Please." His voice sounded so weak, so unlike the vicious barks and growls he'd grown accustomed to. Why speak in a place where you only kill or be killed? No one cared about each other.

The fox, however, certainly cared about himself enough for both of them.

And the fox did not hunt.

A flash of movement, then a bang. The predator grunted before collapsing, a large dent in the back of his helmet. A rock rolled out of the fox's hands as he brushed himself off.

"Well?" he asked, a lilt to his words. The fox smiled, white hair shining in the night. "Will you kill him?"

He shook his head. Words came slowly to him, for hostility and strength was all he'd needed to convey for so long. The fox was clever. He had clearly not lost his hold on speech. "No."

"Then what?"

He gripped his knife tighter. He sought the words he wanted, for the clever fox was no merciful saviour. "We go."

The fox's smile remained in place, but it turned sharp. A crescent moon waning to a line. "This place is small. This one is not a fool. How do you expect to run?" His voice was accusing, and the fox crossed his arms.

"We go Outside," he said.

The smile slipped away. Even the fox knew and feared the other things. "That's risky."

"So was this."

The fox smirked. "A calculated one." He sighed and kicked the intruder's body, eliciting a groan. "Fine. But if I die, I will curse you a thousand times."

Why curse in death when living was sure to be harder? But he didn't have a right to talk. He fought to live too. Without another word he took the lead, walking through the pathways of the Inside. When they approached the empty doorway, the only barrier between Inside and Outside, his step faltered.

"So hesitant?" the fox sneered.

No wolf would hesitate at the grasp of freedom. He had no way of knowing if he was strong enough to withstand the other things, but he knew he could not evade the intruder forever. Not without killing him.

He didn't know why he wouldn't kill him. He'd killed so many before.

"No," he said, coming to a stop. "I was wondering if you were having second thoughts."

"Second thoughts, yes. Thoughts of backing out, no. Don't worry about me."

Of course he would worry. Would the fox find a better hunter and turn tail? Or worse, bite him in his sleep? He shrugged of those concerns, for the other things were the immediate predator. He walked out into the night, into the Outside.

The fox followed him, of course.

The forest was not welcoming at night. It was a patchwork of black, grey, and black. Branches turned into claws, rustles became sinister whispers, and each step he took was a clamor of questions: Are the other things close? Is he walking into their trap?

He snarled, snapping at the air. The fox chuckled behind him, but he didn't care. It made him feel braver. He was a wolf. The other things were -

Right in front of him.

With a startled yip, the other things charged at him. He ducked low, sinking his knife into one of the other things. It's body was made of dead things, unnatural, the smell of rot and old blood. He gagged as he danced out of reach, the other thing toppling without a sound.

Elation shot through him. Dead! The other things could be defeated. He looked around, seeing the other things gathering around the fallen one. Lifting their heads, they made harsh, angry sounds at him.

He barked back at them. This was the language he understood, of hate and survival and anger. Then the illusion was ruined when the fox snapped at him, "Kill them already!"

Irritated, he turned. He knew the fox did not respect his growls, so he forced himself to say, "I was getting to that. You could always help." He turned back and threw himself into the battle. The fox said something back, but by then he was too busy fighting to listen.

When the last other thing lay still, he sought the stream. He didn't care for looks, but blood itched something terrible when it dried on his skin for too long. The old was flaking away, but the other things bled too.

As he washed, the fox commented, "I think I've set myself up with a lunatic. I'm hungry. Hunt for me."

"Hunt?" he asked, standing waist-deep in the water. It was cold and refreshing. "I hunt with the wolves. You will get food when we eat."

The fox rolled his eyes but didn't say anything further.

He washed himself off before trudging out, his rags clinging to his skin. It was too cold, but he did not mind. Instead, he looked around. The other things did not climb, so a night in the trees was safer than a night on the ground. Picking out a tree with thick branches, he started to climb.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep."

"Where does that leave me?"

He glanced back to see the fox looking antsy. The fox would have preferred to stay Inside, he knew. It was easier that way. "I will not carry you," he said simply. "Will you come?"

"No," the fox said.

"The wolves howl when they hunt. I will howl when I have food. What is your name?"

A small smile touched the edges of the fox's face. It was a feral smile, not unlike his own. "Bakura," the fox replied, before turning tail and vanishing in the shadows.

It occurred to him before he sat that he did not know his own.

He thought hard. A name wasn't a necessity. The only ones who would need a name for him were the wolves, and whatever name they may have given him did not reach his ears. Did he truly have a name? Was there a time when he had needed a name?

Red eyes.

Red eyes and clouds the color of flowers.

"Yugi."

He turned to see the intruder at the foot of the tree. He opened his mouth to bark, but instead what he said was, "Yami." The stranger, intruder, predator - he was someone he knew. Someone called Yami. Someone who wore armor like a knight.

What was a knight again?

The knight took off his helmet and smiled. "Brother."