“You remind me of your grandsire.” Wyrm had told him once. Back then, Longclaw asked if one day they would meet so that he could see with his own two eyes the man that had given his father life. To think that Wyrm had sprung from any living creature’s loins as a child was simply … impossible to imagine. It was true though and that much was undeniable now as the silver-white wolf lay low to the earth, hidden with the help of a warm backdraft and the swaying stalks of summer grass. To think, all this time spent preparing and being separated from his own sibling and dam just to put a stop to this raving lunatic of an animal.

Truth was, he wasn’t sure if he could do it.

“Be strong, be quick, but be careful. Expect the unexpected.” Wyrm had warned. “We’ll all of us die if he even gets one chance to use his fire.”

Time was up, though; Wyrm moved decidedly from his path and like a bullet from the barrel Longclaw shot ahead and leapt to face his blood-sworn enemy. In the breath of a moment before they tangled, Longclaw glimpsed the surprise and mingled fear in his grandsires eyes and that was enough to fuel him. Whatever issues he might have had before about this were swept away with that one glance. “For Rapture, and perhaps someday your own children.” Wyrm’s voice rang in his ears as he descended, rending flesh from bone in a blind frenzy.

He was helped. All he needed was the shock and awe to distract at first, then Wyrm shifted and leapt in to suppress and flay the grizzled old beast. The howls and snapping of jaws rang out around them but there was no one to help, no one left who cared whether the black wolf lived or died. So he died, whimpering and choking on his own hot blood. They murdered him, together, and when they were finished they surveyed his limp body together before Wyrm turned to face him. “Do it.” His father commanded, but Longclaw had already stepped forward and rolled the body on its back to expose his soft underbelly.

The skin tore easily enough and spilled wet, gleaming viscera into the dry, dusty earth where the land drank its fill of Lupei’s death. His silver snout was eager in its ability to lock onto a rib and wrench it free, and then another, and then another, before he could smell the thick, clotted organ. With a face bloody and regal Longclaw withdraws, the heart clenched between proud jaws to peer at his own father. The two pass a look of understanding between them and Wyrm bids him to continue with a nod.

His mouth opens, he swallows, and then his stomach is hot with raging flame that consumes him while he writhes and yips on the ground. When the sensation passes Longclaw feels like he’s died a thousand deaths over, that there certainly is nothing left of him but ash. Wyrm, however, looms over him. “I promised you power, never forget that I came through.” He tells the younger wolf, pinning him with those unsettling eyes of his. Wiser through learning, Longclaw keeps his mouth shut and weakly nods. He’d done it, that was all that mattered for now.
Surprisingly, the flint-colored wolf lowers his narrow head to bump softly against the cheek of his silver-white son before shifting and taking flight, leaving the young stallion to shift back and rest on his own. Eventually, Longclaw rises to glance at the work they’d done, however; where Lupei had once lain, now only ash remains. A shiver passes through the shimmering stallion - the echoes of a curse passed down to him now - and with a respectful sigh he turns away to find the comfort of someone whole and well.

The past was best left to its own devices.

One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire

He really should be more observant. If he had been, then the shock of turning around to see some terrible mixture of myth and wolf might not have been so prevalent on his features. Instead, Deimos has the advantage of taking him by surprise and, oh, how very surprised he is. “This isn’t some sort of sideshow.” The bloody horse comments, eyes narrowing while he works to slow the pounding of his heart. “But yea, I’m Longclaw.” He surmises, understanding that above all else this was no ordinary shape-shifter like his father.

The young stallion, having collected himself, draws his head upwards boldly to meet the unsettling gaze of the stranger. Though Wyrm had left and the trail of his scent was already beginning to vanish in the ocean breeze, Longclaw wishes somehow that he might be drawn back - if only to offer silent support in the face of this creature. “I promised you power.” His father had told him, but what sort of power could hope to stand against … (the blue boy lets his eyes rake across the dark, shaggy body and over the leathery wings with a shudder) … whatever the hell he was?

He’s young, naive perhaps, but not exactly stupid. “Did you know him, my grandfather?” He asks pointedly, tail swatting at his sides. For Deimos to be here besides that reason alone would be bizarre, to have come seeking the source of death throes and staying to talk - even more curious. "If you didn't," Longclaw questions, drawing out the silence between his speech with the slow turn of his head, "then why are you here?"

One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire

As far as first encounters go, Longclaw is certain this has to be the most unusual one he’s been caught up in. Were magicians always so … weird? Regardless, he watches silently as the beast speaks (somewhat inhibited by the bile and god-knows-what spilling from between those teeth) and lets the blood of his ancestor dry across his own lips while they pinch softly at the mention of Pangea’s fall from grace. The dry, hollow land had been his home for a brief moment while Wyrm had trained him. It had almost been his demise, too, The growing stallion remembers, had it not been for Wyrm and his ability to carry them both to safety… Those hooded green eyes of his disappear beneath rapidly blinking lids and then they rise, focusing once more on the present and Deimos, who’s lathering at the mouth for Longclaw’s reply.

“He told me … very little.” The shimmering horse admits, rather carefully. There’s so much to consider now, far too much to simply walk away without having at least tried the new power out. His turns that appealing head to the side, exposing only one broad, iridescent cheek to his companion while his gaze spans the length of exposed shoreline. Beyond that, the sea is dragging her fingers of water back to the depths with low tide and Longclaw realizes that for him, this is the end of the world. He has never, nor will he ever, go beyond those black waters. A ring of fire erupts around them, a wall of white-hot flame that turns the fine grains beneath their hooves to glass in mere seconds. It stretches upward in a terrible, blue, wavering rhythm while Longclaw returns his attention to Deimos.

“But you … you could teach me, right?” The boy supplies, eyes widening with eager anticipation. A brief smile haunts his face, turning his eyes dark for a heartbeat. “I could be your protégé, anything you’d like.” He murmurs. Such a tantalizing thought for the both of them - so many doors opened at one time. So with the blaze of hellfire around them, why does Longclaw feel so terribly cold?

One-Half contract between Wyrm and Heartfire