Short Stories and poems

An Early Encounter Rewritten

A visit to a Museum of Natural History rewrites an Early Encounter between Humans and Werewolves.

John kept his face neutral as he walked through the museum, trailing behind Billy, as the young werewolf tried to get as close to the exhibits as possible. While John was impressed at how things had changed in Vampire and Werewolf society over the years, the one thing that stayed the same was how humans were seen as Slaves, Pets, and Livestock, with Ferals being seen as something like Big Game to be hunted. He kept his hatred to himself.

Billy, along with his class, had won a trip to the Museum of Natural History, and each was allowed to bring a well-behave human slave, pet, or, in John’s case, livestock. However, John was no ordinary farm-raised human that was born and bred for be a meal – he was a Feral. He knew what it was like to not wear a collar, or be Marked with a brand of ownership. He had those Marks – Prime Grade for his genetic disposition to produce offspring of a very high grade meat quality, Protected because he’d saved Robert’s life, the mark that Decreed that he belonged to the Wolfe Family Farm, and the mark for Dangerous, as he didn’t like folks sneaking up behind him without his knowledge, or being hooked up to medical equipment without restraints. Of course, John was Dangerous for Other reasons too. He also had Herd markings, one that showed off what he was good at, and what he’d done – only other Ferals, or those who knew how to read those marking knew what they meant. At first, the teacher was weary about having John, a captured Feral with a Dangerous mark, along with Feral Herd marks, to come with Billy, but Robert was a skillful talker, and had managed to convince her that John was Safe to be around, as long as certain things were followed, like not bumping into him.

John hobbled along, his walking staff helping him to maintain his balance. His leg ached from the cold of the room. His running days were long gone, though his heart yearned for freedom. He had a bigger plan though – freedom for the herd, a Grand Escape. The herd would soon be ready – after almost fifteen years, freedom would be soon. He might not be able to run, but the herd would be sprinting with joy fairly soon.

He looked over the exhibits. Some dealt with wars. Some dealt with technology. Some dealt with the various animals that had roamed the world in the past, plenty of which were no longer around, like the oversized lizard things. John looked at the teeth of the one – a formidable predator for sure, but clearly, it must have had a weakness.

He then stopped at one exhibit. It was of a human wearing animal hide, carrying a spear with a stone point. The human was one of those plaster dummy things, and not made with human skin as a covering – hopefully. The skeleton displayed nearby though was real.

“Friend of yours?” Billy asked, with a certain amount of childish innocence.

John looked at the info on it. “Says that the remains are ten thousand years old,” he said. “I’m not that old.”

“Do you think you could take him in a fight?” the werewolf cub asked.

“Based on what’s left of his skeleton, he was a powerful individual,” John said. He noted that a collection of teeth had been found to have been buried with the remains. He looked at the picture of the teeth. “A formidable opponent to face – bear, cat, wolf, and I do mean the Greater ones, in addition to the regular ones.” A grin came to his face. “Tells me that he wasn’t eaten, but I suspect that someone removed a few additional trophies.”

“Why would you surmise this?” a voice asked.

John carefully rotated himself to face a well-dressed vampire. “You run this place?”

The vampire chuckled. “I am the curator of this place,” he said. “I set up the displays and everything.” The vampire walked over. “I am Sam Bloodfang. Who are you? Your marks show that you were a Feral, yet your branding shows that you’re Livestock, Protected Livestock at that.”

“I am John Wrangler.” He looked back at the display. “The reason I suspect that a few trophies are missing is this – I know of no Feral, who, by the time they were twenty-five, that didn’t have at least one tooth that belonged to a werewolf or vampire. Granted, they don’t need to take it from a dead one’s skull, as I’ve had more than a few encounters with mutts and bloodsuckers that didn’t necessitate me having to kill them, but if I beat them, I took teeth.” He looked back at Sam. “I’m guessing that a few such teeth were removed from the display to not offend folks’ sensibilities.”

Sam chuckled. “Yes. It’s not a good idea to display the fact that humans can beat their superiors.”

“Funny,” said John. “I bypassed several exhibits that showed humans being done up in one method of cooking preparation, or another, to say nothing about the contents of some outhouse, which included the remains of two dozen humans. I said nothing about it. Yet, the idea that either vampires or werewolves could lose teeth to a mere human seems to offend you so much, you dare not show such a thing.”

“You’re a defiant one, aren’t you,” said Sam.

John chuckled. “Robert’s always like the fact that I’m candid with him, especially about the part where I hate him, and how I hope to bring him to ruin.” The human grinned. “I plan to enjoy the look on his face when I do that.”

“I’m surprised that you haven’t been drained, or eaten by now, with your attitude,” said Sam.

“He owes me his life,” said John. “And that of young Billy. Without me saving his life from a bear, Robert wouldn’t have been alive in order to get his wife pregnant with the embryo that developed into Billy.”

“Why would he allow one such as you to be with his cub?” the vampire asked.

“Because unlike the typical slave, pet, or livestock human, I don’t break down and panic if trouble occurs,” said John. “If something were to happen, Robert trusts me to keep his boy safe – flood, fire, armed thugs, cannibalistic ferals, wild animals looking for an easy meal, and any other disaster, natural or otherwise – I’ll make sure that he gets home safe, and hopefully sound.”

“So, you do have a sense of loyalty to your Master,” said Sam. “Would it surprise you to know that Loyalty to a Master has been around for quite some time?”

“I can imagine,” said John. “Abduct some cubs that don’t know any better, make them entirely dependent upon you, and they will be reluctant to betray you. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“Ah, but what about adults?” Sam asked. “My cousin found a rather interesting scene while digging up one site. Perhaps you’d like to see how loyal an adult Feral can be when in the presence of a member of a superior race.”

John grinned. “Oh, I know how loyal an adult Feral can be in the presence of a member of a superior race,” he said. “My father burned down an illegal blood production facility when the workers there abducted my mother and I. Folks there braindeaded my mother, and my father freed me before the same was done to me, but he was seriously injured, and didn’t make it out in time. Is that the kind of loyalty that you’re talking about?”

“Perhaps you’d like to see this particular exhibit,” said Sam. “It’s not open to the Public yet, so the fact that I’m even thinking of showing it to a Feral human such as yourself, should be quite the honor.”

“Sorry, but Billy is here for the tour that his class won,” said John. He then tapped his leg with his staff. “As you can see, we’re already holding things up as it is, with my bad leg and all.” He turned, and gave Billy a careful nudge to follow the rest of the class.

“What if I was to arrange for him, and his class, to also look at it?” Sam asked.

“Will the humans be allowed to see it?” John asked. “Otherwise, there’s no point – most of them are already products of long-term domestication, and others were too young to remember what living out under the stars was like. The whole Loyal to the Master thing, you know.”

Sam chuckled. “Very well. I’ll have a chat with the teacher and tour guide.” The vampire walked past them.

“I hope that you’re not planning on getting me into some sort of trouble,” said Billy, quietly.

John chuckled. “Not intentionally.” He looked at the display he’d been looking at. “I just would like to see them being honest. To not allow our friend here have the teeth of those he bested is to claim that he didn’t do the deed. That is disrespectful, in so far as a Feral is concerned – it’s as if to claim that you didn’t earn the right to be on this class trip, when in truth, you did earn your place on this trip. You made a very nice painting of your father and me, by the way.”

Billy chuckled nervously. “You and father are always under that tree, him napping, and you sitting up, as if keeping watch over him, so I thought that painting that sort of thing from memory would be just the thing for my art project. ‘Watching over His Master’ – I thought it to be a fitting title.”

“Whatever else, I do keep an eye on him,” said John.

“Did you mean what you said about looking out for me if trouble was to occur?” Billy asked.

John nodded. “I respect your father enough to do that.” He looked at Billy. “We Ferals have rules, ones that we do our best to follow, unless we want to risk some member of our herd tying us up and dropping us off on a doorstep like a Kreestice Day gift for some werewolf or vampire. Harming a youth that isn’t trying to harm us is one of them.”

“I guess that’s good to know,” said Billy.

“Just make sure to do as I tell you though, in such cases,” said John. “I’ve seen enough to know that not everyone abides by the rules, like those that kill travelers just to eat them.”

Billy shuddered. “I’ve heard the stories of the Wolf Fangs, and what they did.” He frowned. “Couldn’t just walk outside of the fence until that day when you and father managed to hunt them down and capture them.”

“Almost like freedom, to be able to walk past the fence without needing to be escorted all the time,” said John. “Still stuck on the rest of the property though.”

“Well, it’s better than what the Fangs do,” said Billy.

John’s grip on his staff tightened. “Don’t remind me.”

Sam soon came back over, along with the teacher and tour guide.

“Seems I’ve been able to convince Mrs. Dewclaw to have her class be among the first to see the latest exhibit,” the vampire said. “Besides, I would appreciate knowing what a Feral would think of such a find.”



They were soon taken to a room that was otherwise off-limits. John noticed the vampires and werewolves working on the exhibits that would eventually be placed out. At one point, he spun around, and gave a sharp whistle, that caused a certain amount of pain in the ears of the vampires and werewolves. He quickly hobbled up to a werewolf that had tried to grab a pet human that had been following behind their vampire owner in the back, grabbed them by their shirt collar, and dragged them to him.

“In a place full of mirrors, it’s a bad idea to try to sneak up on someone,” he said, as he looked the werewolf in the eyes. He looked at the young pet human, before looking back at the werewolf. “She’s not even fifteen, my friend, and I’m certain that her owner didn’t give his permission for you to have her as a snack,” he said. He shoved the werewolf away.

He turned back towards Sam, whose ears were now recovered, along with everyone else’s. “Sorry for the pain, my friends, but this fool thought that he could steal this underage human, and have her as a bite to eat. Whatever else I think of you, you do have rules against theft, as well as the destruction of underage humans.”

“That we do,” said Sam, as he came over. He got out a phone and punched in something.

John carefully watched the vampire’s face, noting the anger that showed up.

“Charles, get your stuff and get out of here,” said Sam. “Consider yourself fired, and banned from this place.”

“But, I was just-”

“Now!”

There was a sound of shuffling, as the werewolf left the room.

“You are fairly observant,” said Sam, as he looked at John. “I’m surprised that you’d risk such trouble for a pet human. My ears are still ringing.”

“You have laws, and we have rules,” said John. “If I was still free, and if I caught Charles trying to do that sort of thing to one of my herd, I’d be adding his teeth to my necklace, and he’d be lucky if I let him live afterwards.”

“Still, you just gave at least three dozen vampires and werewolf hearing issues,” said Sam.

John grinned. “Billy! Your ears working?”

“Yes!” the cub called out.

“See, you’re getting better already,” said John. “And Charles got to walk away.”

“What would you have done?” Sam asked. “If you hadn’t decided to use that whistle instead.”

John chuckled. He then tapped his staff against the ground. “I would have given him quite the headache, if I felt inclined to let him live.” He then started walking forward. “Now, you’ve mentioned something about educating me about loyalty.” He motioned his free hand towards the line. “At the moment, this is my herd, and they are to whom I’m loyal to. Anyone messing with them, messes with me. Anyone threatening them, deals with me. I don’t even know them, and yet I look out for them.”

Sam chuckled. “Something to keep in mind, if I ever decide to allow Ferals in here as patrons.”

“In that case, you might want someone who can write Feral Script to explain what’s going on, on those signs you like to use for displays,” said John. “Might keep them from ruining things.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

“One must take care questioning the word of a Herd Leader, such as myself,” said John. “I used to possess the teeth and claws of five dozen vampires and werewolves, and I remember each of them. About two dozen of them came from this group of fools that tried to kill a law enforcement officer that they’d taken prisoner – they were after my herd, so I went after them. The fact that I saved an officer at the same time, well, that was luck for him, as he wasn’t after my herd.”

“You’re pretty casual about claiming such things,” said Sam.

“Just as I’m sure that you’re just as casual about draining the lifeblood of a human,” said John. “There isn’t much that you can do to me that I’m afraid of. You try to kill me, and I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life.” He chuckled. “A blade through the heart and lungs tends to do the job, along with decapitation, or just plain smashing the skull in.”

“Talking about such things in front of children?” Sam asked.

“I think it’s a good idea that they know that they can potentially lose in a fight against a human,” said John. “I wonder if you’ve ever dealt with an unrestrained Feral that was willing to do whatever it took to get away from you, even trying to kill you.” He then chuckled. “Although, I’ve heard stories where, it turns out, even Slaves, Pets, and Livestock, who otherwise have no history of violence, became aggressive enough to kill vampires and werewolves. Granted, a number of them did so to protect their Master from intruders that were trying to kill their Master, but there are plenty that went after their Master because they were abused or neglected.”

The look on Sam’s face became one of careful neutrality. “There are, indeed, stories of such things.”

“There’s others, like how there are some humans that reverse the usual scenario, and eat vampires and werewolves,” said John. “I’ve even seen evidence of this myself – apparently, vampires taste like duck, and werewolves taste like chicken.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know though – I simply yanked their teeth, and left the body to rot – didn’t want to risk poisoning my herd.”

Again, Sam’s face stayed neutral. “You like annoying vampires and werewolves, I take?”

John grinned. “I think it’s good for vampires and werewolves to learn that they can’t have everything their way all the time.”

“I see,” said Sam. “Let’s get going.”



They soon came to an area, where the first thing John noticed, was a large image of an area that was in the process of being excavated.

“Where is this?” he asked.

“A site in Western Europe,” said Sam. “A local grape grower was doing some digging when he found some rather old beads and pottery. They contacted the local Archeology groups, and now, my cousin is leading the team.”

John looked at the image, and saw the skeleton of a human, one that had been deteriorated by some sort of damage, beyond just time, as well as the skull of a werewolf, along with a collection of bones that, as John looked closer at, were those of werewolf feet, hands, and tail. There was also a collection of weapons – knives, spear points, and some arrow points – as well as various goods that one might use – jewelry, pottery, some basic tools, and so on.

“Where’s the rest of the mutt?” John asked, as he kept his expression neutral. He had an idea, or two.

“The team is still looking,” said Sam. “That being said, it’s clear that the werewolf was highly important, with an important human slave accompanying him in the afterlife, presumably after she – as you can tell by the pelvic bones – was eaten by another member of the werewolf’s group. Loyalty even beyond death.”

“That’s a good theory, I’ll give it that,” said John. “However, I doubt that is the whole story.”

“Do you have a degree in archeology?” Sam asked.

“I can barely spell the word,” said John. “Let me see, its, A, C, H, E, O, L, O, G, and Y, right?”

At this, Billy ended up chuckling.

“I’m impressed,” Sam said, somewhat sarcastically.

“I can spell sarcasm too,” said John. “It’s S, A, R, C, A, S, and M.”

Billy burst out in laughter.

“Billy, stop being rude,” the teacher said.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” said John. “I was holding the notecards when he was learning to spell such words.” He looked at Sam. “At the moment, Decapitation might be a good word to describe this situation, along with Dismemberment.”

“Why would you suggest that?” Sam asked.

“While I lack your fancy degrees and such, I do have an understanding of Feral behavior,” said John. “This is typical of a trophy – keep the head, hands, feet, and tail in the case of a werewolf, as a symbol to show that you not only beat someone, you killed them. They probably even took the fur and skin, but that might have deteriorated into nothing by now. As for the rest, well, what do you typically do to the bones that you don’t want?”

“So, you’re saying that a Feral killed the werewolf?” Sam asked.

“Possible,” said John. “Possibly out of revenge for killing the female, if the werewolf just ate her recently. I can relate to that possibility for sure. Or, maybe he was killed by a rival werewolf, or vampire even, all because the female either belonged to them, as a slave, pet, livestock, or, perhaps, was someone that they viewed as a worthy opponent that they wanted to have the honor of killing, or maybe, and this is stretching it, they could have been friends, lovers even.”

“Really, a vampire or werewolf being friends with a Feral?” Sam asked, skeptically. “Slaves I know, Pets, I know, and everyone Knows about farmers and their Livestock.”

“Guess you never heard about Tooth Wearers and Bone Carriers,” said John.

“Please, the idea of a vampire or werewolf just refusing to eat or drink human meat or blood is just plain silly,” said Sam.

John noticed a few of the vampire pups and werewolf cubs looking nervous. He also noticed the necklaces around their necks – at the end would be an pendent that looked like a bundle of bones – the symbol of their religion, and their promise to respectfully bury the bones of any humans that they ate, instead of just tossing them into the trash or grinding them up before they were sent into the sewer system.

He looked back at Sam. “I know of a Silver and Garlic agent who happens to be a Bone Carrier,” he said. “I’ve worked with him on more than a few occasions, and we got each other’s respect. If someone killed him, I’d go after their killer, take their head, and place it upon that agent’s grave, to symbolize that I got revenge for them.”

“What about these days?” Sam asked.

“We’ve had a few encounters,” said John. “Helped catch some rustlers a few years back.” He looked at Billy. He looked back at Sam. “Ten years ago, a group of Extremely Dangerous Ferals moved into the area – not Dangerous in that they’d kill you for calling them tasty, but Dangerous because they’d see you as being tasty. They killed some young ones – some livestock, a pet, and one of Billy’s friends – in addition to various lone travelers and small groups out walking. Took a few years, as they’d travel around, never really having an actual camp, but Robert and I finally tracked them down – found them in the middle of a cookout. It was only fitting that they became part of another cookout – an auction barbeque.” He looked at the exhibit. “So, if someone like me, who has such a body count of vampires and werewolves, is willing to kill a fellow human in order to avenge a werewolf or vampire, the same could hold true for a vampire or werewolf being willing to kill another vampire or werewolf over the death of a human.”

“So, any other theories?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I got plenty,” said John. “One is, neither of them actually met in life. This place could just be a convenient spot to take a shit, dump garbage, or toss things no longer needed. Some other werewolf could have eaten the human, taken a shit, and some other human could have tossed out a trophy head set that they no longer needed or wanted.”

“You’re telling me that this could be a garbage dump?” Sam asked.

“You got an exhibit dealing with the contents of an outhouse,” said John. “You probably have one for garbage. So, it’s possible that, other than location, nothing here is connected.”

“You might have a point,” said Sam.

“Of course, the situation might be the opposite of my first theory – the human killed the werewolf, turned them into a trophy set, only for friends of the werewolf find her, turn her into shit, and bury them together.”

“That is possible,” said Sam.

“Got a few more,” said John.

“Do tell,” said Sam.

“She could have been Trade Goods,” said John. “It’s not uncommon for Ferals to trade either bodies that they can’t just simply bury, or live captured enemies, in order to get things that they need or want. We’re talking about things like medicine, clothing, maybe a place to stay during harsher times of the year if the herd can’t just migrate, and/or food and good drinking water if things have been really bad. Maybe she was a friend of the werewolf, and died, but her last request was to be given to this werewolf, perhaps because they had a certain amount of mutual respect for one another, or, much like something from some teenage romance series, they were actually lovers, and I’m not talking about her being the werewolf’s sex slave.”

“Just like those dumb Twilight novels?” Sam asked. “Those were clearly written by a Bone Carrier.”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever read the series myself, but I’ve heard that the author actually spent some time talking to the various local Feral herds in her area, so I might give reading them a go, if I can borrow the books from Hanna, Billy’s older sister,” said John. “She just loves that sort of stuff.”

“So, what else do you think could have happened?” Sam asked.

“They both could have been children of their respective herd/tribe leaders, who made an arrangement, where the pair became a couple, due to political reasons,” said John. “This I’ve seen before – one herd has access to very good hunting grounds, while the other has access to herbs that the first needs for medicines. As for what happened to them – a common enemy killed them – ate the human, and dismembered the werewolf. However, their herd-tribe found them, avenged their deaths, recovered what they could of the pair’s bodies, and then buried them together, along with the various things that they might need in the afterlife.”

Sam scoffed at this. “I doubt a werewolf, or a vampire, would ever marry a human, aside from some betrothed-to-meal thing,” the vampire said.

John grinned. “I’ve heard of that practice – the human promises themselves to a particular werewolf or vampire, who will be the one to eat or drain them. I suppose that there is some comfort in picking out one’s murderer. Hate it when a healthy human decides to become dinner though, especially since, in my opinion, it’s because they have no real choice in the matter, due to how you like to mess humans up in the head. Or, if they did have a choice, they had the equivalent of a blade to their throat, or, rather, there was a figurative blade pointed at the throats of those that they cared about. Either they got ate or drained, or someone else does. I’ve seen plenty of that.” He glared at Sam. “I wonder how you get your human blood.”

“Through the store,” said Sam.

“Fang brand?” John asked.

“Largest supplier of human blood in the area,” said Sam.

John chuckled. “You’d be better off sticking to pig or cow blood in that case,” he said. “The drugs he uses basically turns an A-Grade into a D-Grade at best and the rest might as well be either F-Grade or G-Grade. My blood was once valued at $50,000 per ounce – probably worth more.”

“Well, your markings do indicate that you are Prime Grade,” said Sam.

John grinned. “I’ve been told that for a long time,” he said. “That being said, you might be better off switching to Small Batch Operations stuff – they tend to not use drugs, so higher quality blood, for a slightly higher price. It’s also much healthier for both the human, and the vampire. Of course, non-human blood is much cheaper.”

“So, back to your theory,” said Sam. “Why would you suggest that they might actually be willing partners?”

“The knives, and how they’ve been made,” said John. “The design is rather utilitarian – skinning game, cutting meat, plant fiber, and self-defense even. However, assuming that rawhide was used as the grip, and that these were intended to be used with one hand, there’s plenty that could be comfortable in the hands of a human, or vampire even, but there’s plenty that would be more comfortable in the hands of a werewolf due to their larger handgrip size. Of course, this is assuming that these are all knives, and not spearpoints.” He chuckled. “Of course, I could be wrong – the other items could be battle trophies, or maybe, this was simply used as a gravesite on two separate occasions.”

Sam looked at the indicated items. “You might have a point. I guess without more evidence, we won’t know.”

“Still, your theory could be the right one, with the human being a loyal servant, slave, or pet that was sacrificed to travel with their Master in the Afterlife,” said John. “That being said, until evidence shows otherwise, it pays to keep an open mind.”

“Are you sure that you’re not a philosopher?” Sam asked.

“My mate’s father was very wise, and was the prior leader of my herd,” said John. “Last I knew, he believed in learning all the information that he could, before making a decision. Even when the position of leadership was given to me, due to him losing his leg to a bear, I’d listen to his advice, before making my own decision.” He looked back at the images. “If nothing else, I’ve come up with a number of theories about how Loyalty could work for this – friends of the human avenging her death, friends of the werewolf avenging their death, how they might have been a couple who were buried together after remains were rescued by their friends. There’s plenty of ways.” He then chuckled. “At least you don’t need to worry about removing any werewolf teeth – they might belong to this fella.”

“If nothing else, your theories are worth thinking on,” said Sam.

“You did ask what a Feral would think, in regards to how such a find was concerned,” said John. “That being said, sprinkle some sort of alcoholic beverage over the human remains around this place. Keeps Vendalg from causing trouble.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Vendalg? That’s an interesting superstition for one such as you to believe in.”

“As far as a Feral is concerned, Vendalg are more dangerous than Greater Beasts, Vampires, Werewolves, or hostile Humans, given how all they desire is the deaths of those who wrong them,” said John. “Still, by sprinkling some alcohol on the remains, it shows respect. Also, as I mentioned, signs in Feral Script should reduce the amount of vandalism by Ferals.”

“Something to think on, especially since I have the feeling that the place will need to prepare things for yet another exhibit,” said Sam.

“What would that be?” John asked.

“An exhibit for the Homo sapiens familiaris, the Domesticated Human,” said Sam. “The idea has been gaining traction in recent decades.”

“I’ve heard of this,” said John. “The idea that humans whose lines have been domesticated for generations, ten or more at any rate, especially those who become sexually excited while being licked or nibbled on, to say nothing about those being swallowed or drained, are becoming a new subspecies.”

“Yes,” said Sam. “The evidence seems to be pointing in this direction.”

John chuckled. “Sounds like wolves and dogs.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Wolves are the same thing as dogs, only while dogs like to live with vampires and werewolves, or the humans that gain possession of them, wolves like to live free, and don’t trust strange folks too easily,” said John. “That being said, while wolves have a certain reputation, they rarely attack people. As for dogs, you do them wrong, you’re looking at a very dangerous creature. Also, wolves and dogs are known to hybridize, because, let’s face it, the dog is just a domesticated wolf, with a fancy coat for the most part.”

“So, what is your theory on the whole idea?” Sam asked.

“I’d say that I’d be careful about it,” said John. “I knew an 11thgen, whose father, a 10thgen, fought and killed his Master and several others, in order to free the 11thgen, because the Master didn’t follow the practice of declaring 11thgens Declared Free, and adopting them into the family like servants.”

“Perhaps the Master couldn’t afford it,” said Sam.

John grinned. “He could have – he just didn’t want to,” he said. “10thgen killed at least a dozen. 11thgen, he got adopted by a herd, found a mate, had a child. Then someone took them. 11thgen tracked them to some illegal facility. Mate was already dead by the time he got there. However, he managed to save the child, losing his life in the process, but he burned the place down – took at least thirty with him. The owner of the place was rather surprised to find the place destroyed. However, I think he’ll be more surprised when he encounters that Feral again, for that Feral has sworn a promise to kill him. Ferals tend to keep their word, one way, or another.”

“So, you’re saying that a Domesticated human that has reverted to a Feral state is more dangerous than the typical Feral?” Sam asked.

“Yes, for they do not fear death for themselves, but rather, they fear the death of those they care about,” said John. “Nothing will stop them from keeping their loved ones safe or getting revenge upon those who harmed their loved ones. I’ve seen this sort of fearlessness in those whose ancestors had been livestock, pets, or slaves for generations before they managed to get free of their masters. Of course, they also keep the sexual excitement when they are licked or nibbled on. I’ve seen that one, first hand.”

“Interesting,” said Sam. “It’s something to think on.”

“Sounds like humans are worth some actual studying,” said John. “For once.”



The group soon entered the museum lobby. The area was quieter than normal. John soon saw why. Looking at some of the class’s art was a werewolf wearing a wide-brim hat, along with a gray coat. Holstered revolvers were clearly visible on a gunbelt.

“Billy, stay behind me,” John said.

“I take it that you know him,” said Sam.

John nodded. “I know a Garlic and Silver Agent when I see one,” he said.

“It’s been a few years John,” the werewolf said, as he spun around. “I picked up a call about some Feral that gave one Heck of a whistle that made the ears of vampires and werewolves bleed, and tossed the caller around. Going by the description of the Feral’s markings, I ended up picturing you. I told the locals that a Feral of your general description was of interest to the Agency, and that I was to deal with you.”

“You’re a little out of your usual stomping grounds, Rex Fenrir,” said John.

“Eh, powers that be wanted to reward me for catching some murderous rustler/poacher, and thus I was in the area,” the werewolf said, as he came up to him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” said John.

“What’s your version of the story?” Rex asked.

“Muttface tried to steal an under-aged pet-slave, with intentions of eating them,” said John. “I was merely protecting them, for their master, preventing said theft and destruction, which I’m allowed to do.”

Rex grinned. “With a whistle of a pitch high enough to cause pain?” he asked.

“Given that I was surrounded by a small armory of weaponry, including hammers, axes, knives, spears, and other such things, not to mention chisels and screwdrivers, plus my own walking stick, dealing with a loud whistle is nothing compared to what I could have done,” said John.

Rex chuckled. “I can imagine,” he said. “I remember how we first met. I wouldn’t be alive, if it wasn’t for you.”

“I remember,” said John. “Hand still bothers you?”

“Yes, although Wyona helps out with her own,” the werewolf. “She’s like owning a chiropractor. Then there’s Katie – my niece and nephew enjoy playing with her.”

“My daughter’s doing well?” John asked.

Rex nodded. “She and Wyona.”

“Good to know,” said John.

“Your other daughter’s doing well too, same with your son,” said Rex. “Your daughter’s a lot like her mother, and your son is a lot like you.”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“I ran into Bella a few weeks back, along with the rest of your herd,” said Rex. “She asked if I knew anything.”

“What did you say?” John asked.

“I couldn’t tell her much, beyond that you were alive when I last saw you,” said Rex. “You know that I can’t tell them where you are, and I can’t tell you where they are.”

“I know – you have to prevent any escapes, and them, or I, knowing, where the other is, might encourage an escape attempt,” said John. “Have you been looking into that one I told you about?”

Rex nodded. “Problem is, no real proof,” the agent said. “They’re highly connected, in many ways. I’m surprised that Robert has held out as long as he has – most folks tend to fold when that one is trying to throw money around.”

“I know,” said John. “Robert knows the score though. He knows why I don’t like that one.”

That was when Rex sniffed his nose a few times. He then looked at Billy. “Mind if I speak with John privately?”

John glanced at Billy, who was looking at him, nervously. “I’ll be alright, Master.”

“Alright, you may,” said Billy.

John chuckled, as he followed after Rex.

The two soon entered the Male restroom, which was empty, save for a werewolf that had managed to corner a female human. They had fear in their eyes.

John looked at her. The woman had a Declared Free marking. She was probably someone’s household servant.

“Excuse me,” said Rex. “Unless you’re in the middle of taking a piss or shit, get out of here, now.”

The werewolf turned. “Sure thing, officer, I will, once I get my lunch.”

“You’ll be leaving now,” said Rex. “Get your lunch someplace else. That female’s a Material Witness in a crime I’m investigating.”

“And what crime might that be?” the werewolf asked, with a chuckled.

“The one where I beat you to death with my walking stick,” said John.

The werewolf looked at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“That we have,” said John. “He was one of those at the illegal blood production facility that Fang ran. Guess he escaped the fire, just as I did.”

The werewolf’s eyes widened. “How do you know about – wait – you’re the one worth fifty grand an ounce one!”

A growl came out of John’s throat, as he swung his staff, the knob on the end impacting the werewolf in such a way, he was sent flying into the wall, knocking them out.

“Remind me to never make you angry,” said Rex, as he took out some cuffs. “Luckily, he’s on one of my Lists. Wanted for Poaching, Rustling, and Murder.” He rolled the other werewolf onto their stomach, and handcuffed them. He stood up, and carefully pulled out his pendent, a symbolic bundle of bones wrapped in cloth, as he looked at the woman. “You’re safe with me, miss. Now, just come with me when we leave. I’ll take you any place you want to go. Understand?”

The woman nodded.

John looked at Rex. “You were going to say something out there?”

Rex nodded. “When was the last time you saw the vet?”

“About six months back,” said John. “I had to deal with a cougar. That pussy-cat got lucky with one of their scratches. A few lacerations needed stitches. Robert got a new trophy though.”

“You might want to pay another visit soon,” the agent said, as he tapped his nose. “You smell like some of the meals I tend to get from those who trust me, or trade a body for goods, and that sort of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“I think that you got cancer,” said Rex. “Tends to occur in older humans though, but it’s not unheard of for younger ones to get it.”

John’s face became neutral. “Thomas died because of it.”

“A friend of yours?” Rex asked.

John nodded. “Back when I first got caught,” he said. “He was reduced to F-Grade, and Fred came by to eat him. I made damn sure that Fred treated him with respect.” He looked at the werewolf. “How long do I have?”

“Kind of depends on where it is,” said Rex. “It also depends on if it is operable, and if Robert is willing to pay to save you. I’d say at least six months, maybe a year.”

“I’d say in August, towards the beginning of the month,” said John.

“Any special reason?” Rex asked.

John nodded. “It was when Robert and Julia had their first actual date. Furthermore, James and Hanna will be on their respective honeymoons, and Billy will be at a friend’s place. It would be the perfect time.”

Rex nodded. “I understand. I’ll pass on the message.”

“I also think that the vampire will make his move then,” said John. “Be prepared for anything.”

“I will,” said Rex.

“Now, could you help me with a small favor?” asked John.

“What would that be?” Rex asked.

“The students have been asked to take photographs recreating their paintings,” said John. “As you might have noticed, the paintings are of a member of their family and some human that the person owns. Needless to say, I don’t think that anyone will take the picture right.”

Rex chuckled. “I understand. Just let me put this sack of shit in the back of my car.”

“An appropriate name for him,” said John.



A few minutes later, the students and their humans were recreating the scenes from their paintings. Rex had convinced Mrs. Dewclaw that allowing him to take the photos would add some excitement to the moment. He was taking the pictures as the vampires, werewolves, and humans, readied themselves.

“John, what happened in there?” Billy asked.

“Oh, just assisting the agent in capturing a murderous poacher/rustler,” said John.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” said Billy. “That wasn’t what he wanted to talk to you about.”

A frown came to John’s face. “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said. “Just know this – your father trusts me to look after you, and I will look after you.”

“Are you sure about that?” Billy asked.

John smiled. “The only thing you might have to worry about is my daughter, if you ever encounter her,” he said. “If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll use some sort of trick to put you at disadvantage, before yanking your teeth.”

“No offence, but I don’t see a female human my age beating me,” said Billy.

John chuckled as he ruffled the fur between the werewolf’s ears. “Don’t be surprised if she does,” he said. “I know how Bella was around that age.”

Soon enough, it was their turn. Billy mimicked his father, laying down under the stand-in for the tree, his feet pointed at the camera. John sat upright, his walking staff next to him, and he stared right into the camera, into the eyes of whomever saw the photo in the future, long after his own death. Even Rex felt a slight chill as he took the picture.

“Matches the painting for sure,” the werewolf said.

Billy quickly got up, and quickly hurried over to look at the result. John got up more slowly, using his staff to help him stand.

“That was rather eerie,” said Sam, as he came over. “It is as if you were staring into Rex’s soul, and that of anyone looking at the photo.”

“Good,” said John. “I like leaving an impression on people.”

“Were you serious about the Feral Script?” Sam asked.

John nodded. “I believe it would be useful for Ferals to understand the past. Might help out the future generations.”

“Think that you could give me a translation key?” Sam asked.

John chuckled. “You must learn it yourself,” he said. “I’ll write one for the Loyalty Beyond Death display first, as well as one for my ten thousand year old friend. Good news is, once you realize what each symbol means, it’s easy to come up with new words.”

“Such as?”

“Give me a pen or pencil, and some paper, and I’ll show you some very quick examples, using what we discussed.”

Sam pulled out a pen and notepad.

“At its most basic, Feral Script is a series of pictures which anyone can make,” said John. “We’ve made it an art form.” He made something that looked like a human inside of a werewolf. “This says that the human got ate.” He made a sketch of a werewolf’s head, hands, feet, and tail. “Werewolf was turned into a trophy.” He made some more sketches. “They didn’t know each other. They knew each other. She was his. He was hers. They were enemies. They were allies.” He then tapped on one, which showed the human and werewolf holding hands. “This one shows that they were good friends.” He then added something else to it. “This, however, indicates that they might have been mates.”

“Those look like rings,” said Sam.

“Noticed what looked to be a pair of them in with the artifacts,” said John. “Don’t know if they were connected of course.”

Sam chuckled at this. “A very interesting theory. A husband and wife pair.”

“Better than what some get,” John said, as he looked back at the room. “I wonder if we’ll ever learn the truth. It could rewrite a few things.” He then turned to look at the painting that Billy had made. “It’s a very good painting.”

“Same one as the photo,” said Sam. “Just what were you staring at?”

John chuckled. “The front gate,” he said. “It’s the only thing standing between me, and freedom.”

“What do you think your odds of escape are?” Sam asked.

“The escaping isn’t the problem,” said John. “It’s the staying free part.” He tapped his leg. “I’d slow down my herd.” He then chuckled. “Still, it is something that I can think on – it keeps me alive.”

“I suppose that hope is a good thing to have,” said Sam.

“And I got more than enough hope to keep me alive for a very long time,” said John. “You may send the info to the Wolfe Family Farm. Billy knows the information that you need to know – phone number, email, physical address, and all that stuff. Or, you could ask Rex – he knows that sort of thing too.” He looked back at the painting, and grinned. “Kid has quite a future ahead of him.” He then walked away.



Sam looked at the image of the captured Feral known as John Wrangler. The years had passed, almost three decades worth. William Wolfe had become a prolific painter. Many of his paintings showed Feral humans doing various activities, from fishing, to hunting, to courting, to partying, to holding a funeral. There were many things. Then again, the Wolfe family had set up a refuge of sorts for Feral herds, thus allowing him plenty of subjects to paint, or rather, as he’d noted, take photographs of that he’d later paint. Most were of members of the Wrangler herd.

John Wrangler though, according to what Sam had been told, had been killed while trying to protect the Wolfe Family Farm’s herd from a rustler, who’d taken all of the human livestock, and destroyed them. He’d also indirectly save his master’s life, when the rustler attempted to murder the master afterwards. Despite the insurance payout, along with the lawsuit against the rustler’s family, granting the family more than enough money to start over, the Wolfe family didn’t get back into the business of farming humans. Instead, they’d turned the majority of the property that they owned into a park of sorts, as well as a wildlife refuge, at least were Feral herds were concerned. Vampires and werewolves were even allowed to interact with them. Among other thing, visitors were allowed to non-fatally drink the blood and swallow the ferals, if only to enjoy the tastes of the different grades, as well as have sex with them.

That was when Sam noticed someone standing next to him. It was a female human, in their mid-twenties, wearing relatively decent clothing for the typical slave. More importantly, they were alone.

“Humans aren’t allowed to be unescorted while in the museum,” he said. “Where is your owner?”

“John went to take a shit,” the mare said. “I told him to not eat pork before coming here.”

“Why aren’t you with him?” Sam asked.

“He’s a grown adult, and can wipe his own ass,” the mare said.

“I’m surprised that you’d talk that way about your master,” said Sam.

The mare looked him in the eyes.

A chill came down Sam’s spine, as he recalled another set of eyes like hers.

“What makes you think that he’s my master?” she said, quietly. “I’m a born feral. I don’t need someone to tell me what to do.”

Sam then noticed the string of a necklace. He had an eerie feeling that, if she pulled it out, there’d be some teeth on it. He also recalled whose eyes had sent chills down his spine.

“You’re of John Wrangler’s line?” he asked.

The mare chuckled. “Roberta Wrangler,” she said. She then looked past him. “Excuse me.” She then walked away.

A few seconds later, a male werewolf came up to him. “Have you seen – oh, there she is.”

Sam saw that the werewolf was looking past him. He turned, and caught Roberta having a very quiet conversation with some tour guide, or rather, talking in their ear while standing behind them. It was rather clear that the tour guide had been caught in the middle of something. Sam took out his phone, and checked the security cameras, and saw that the tour guide had tried to snag some cub’s pet human.

“He’s lucky Roberta’s not carrying a knife at the moment,” the werewolf said. “I’m John Wolfe, by the way. I see that you have an exhibit featuring my older brother’s artwork. I got some more examples of his stuff, although some are more personal. There’s one of Roberta and I just sitting under a tree, fishing for trout, offering her a diamond ring. She normally doesn’t wear it, at least, not on her finger, but she does on her necklace.” He held up his hand. There was a wedding band on the ring finger. “It’s something to admire.”

“So, tell me, do you understand Feral Script?” Sam asked, as he watched the tour guide cautiously walk away from Roberta.

“I know it pretty well,” said John. “I grew up learning it. In case you’re wondering, the translations that my namesake gave you are accurate, especially that ‘Loyalty in Death’ one – showing the various theories that they came up with.”

“There were a lot of artifacts with it,” said Sam. “Couldn’t really confirm or deny any of them, even his theory about them possibly being willing mates, and not just that of an owner with a sex slave.”

“Or the possibility that the werewolf might have been the slave,” said John. “I’ve actually heard stories about such things.”

“To be honest, there is an exhibit that I wonder about,” said Sam. “It’s what was submitted to go with the ‘Watching over His Master’ piece that your brother made. I feel that there’s more to it than just merely a translation of what your brother wrote about his piece in general.” He pointed at it.

John looked at it. Unless one was a Feral, or knew how to read the script, it looked simply like childish gibberish. However, John had to chuckle as he read it.

“What does it say?” Sam asked.

“It’s practically a confession on how he planned to free the Wolfe Family Farm herd,” said John. “Beyond the wire, where I’ll never run again, freedom is out there. For my herd, I’ll give my life, for them to be free. While the Masters sleep, digesting their Big Meal, the gate shall be open. Into Master’s face I’ll stare, as he now knows, I’ve ruined his family name. Freely the herd will walk, out into the dark of the night, enjoying the world beyond the wire.”

“So, he was planning an escape,” said Sam.

“It’s funny how that rustler saved our family name,” said John. “To be fair, my father once told me that, when he found John, badly injured mind you, after John told him what had happened, about what had happened to the rest of the herd, father was rather willing to forgive him. Then Marcus came, and tried to kill my father. Apparently, John had just enough strength to take the initial stab that was meant for my father, saving his life. Father never did like Marcus, given what he’d been doing beforehand, and that attempt to murder him, well, father did what he had to do. The whole thing was rather open and shut.”

“Sounds like it,” said Sam.

John nodded. “That it was. And since the herd had been destroyed, and such, father just didn’t have it him to start from practically nothing.”

“Was all of it destroyed?” Sam asked.

“Father had genetic material left over, and could have eked out a living selling it, but it wasn’t the same,” said John. “He uses that stuff to try to improve the quality of the feral lines of the herds that spend time in the park. The cubs that Roberta gave birth to some months back were from the genetic material of a buck father once owned easily forty years ago, one he’d called a friend on occasion, according to him.”

“Sounds like he’s sowing the seeds for a future generation to enjoy Wolfe Family Farm product,” said Sam.

“You’re not wrong,” said John. “There are plenty of Wrangler herd members either born of Wolf Family Farm livestock, or are carrying offspring of said livestock, or mated someone of said livestock. Only thing is, if you want the blood or meat, you’ll have to work to get it. After all, they’ve been raised Feral, like those maverick cattle and mustang horses out west. “

”And I’d wager that one can’t just hunt them while they are in the park, correct?” Sam asked.

“The blood is easier to get than the meat,” said John, as Roberta walked back towards them. “We use Small Batch Operation methods. You get the blood from an individual human instead of some blend from over a dozen humans.”

“For a suitable donation, you’ll even get a nice bottle, easily worth what you donated,” said Roberta. “Something to think on, if ever you are interested.” She then looked at the painting of John Wrangler. “William made a very good painting.”