A Canine Conundrum

## A Golden Opportunity

Murakami looked up at the night sky, his paws tucked beneath his head. A cool breeze tousled his fur, sending shivers through the tall grass field he rested in. Dew had begun to settle onto the field as the night waned on, the small droplets shining like small stars in the moonlight. Murakami lifted his head up and plucked a long strand of grass from the ground. Drawing it closer to his face he watched as a single droplet of water ran slowly down the stalk, leaving a minuscule gleaming trail in its wake. It drew closer and closer to the end of the strand till...

***"Plop!"***

It reached the edge of the blade and trickled off, glittering in the starlight as it fell. The bead of water plummeted through the night sky, falling down towards Murakami's snout. The whole field seemed to freeze while it fell, the gentle symphony of the bugs faded away, the whisper of the grass was hushed, and the breeze itself seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly the tiny droplet smacked gently against its quarry.

The water ran slowly down his nose and into his thick brown fur, streaking down like a freshly shed tear. Suddenly, Murakami's vision blurred. A scent emanated from the dewdrop so dense and hauntingly familiar it shook him to his core. In a second his memories, his whole life flashed before his eyes. The years he had spent locked away in laboratories, the painful testing routines and the momentary bliss he had found staring out his tiny window at the sky. His mother, his own blood, giving him to a hooded man when he was but an infant, leaving him with only a ragged blanket and the word, **"Foxpack."**

His vision snapped back into focus, his chest heaving. In that moment the field came back to life, sounds and smells and movement flooding back into Murakami's mind. Suddenly he felt the cool breeze close in on him, the soothing air turning sharp and cold. The sounds of the field became sinister and menacing. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes flicking wildly around, froth dripping from his jaws. Murakami knew somewhere in range of his nose there was a presence, a mink that held some bearing to his past. Not just any mink, though, one of such power and strength their scent alone was enough to send shivers down his spine.

Raising his head to the sky he let out a howl, its tone sorrowful and confused. It split through the sky and raced out in all directions, seeking out the ears of the mink that had come before.

Wolfgang’s presence in the area was a matter of military protocol, the self-styled Greatest Son of Zou routinely visited places that might prove to be interesting to the efforts of the Black Widows. Yet all of a sudden in the middle of discussing matters with the rather reluctant and downright hostile chief.. he was about to consume the first of several children to demoralize his opposition when he caught a familiar heart-wrenching scent on the wind, it smelled much like his deceased brother Foxpack and for a moment the great warlord could think of nothing else than that.

It had destroyed him utterly when his brother died, the light of his life, the one man that had never failed to guide him. Wolfgang did not notice how strongly this affected him until the precise moment where he felt the salty sting of tears upon his cheeks, his breath ragged, his throat parched.

Humanity rekindled.

“S-Sir?”

The entire square looked at him with surprise, shock and horror, unable to determine the reason for his tears and fearing what they might mean but nothing mattered now and with a single dedicated dash he’d spurred himself into motion.. the land vanished underneath him, images flashing by until at last he stood there.. a few paces away from the painfully familiar scent.

He knew it couldn’t be his brother, his brother had perished years ago, but it did not matter and when he saw the splitting image of him in Murakami his reaction was immediate, he did not care if this was a trap, he did not care what this meant.

The distance between them melted away in an instant, and through unreal speeds Wolfgang sought to clutch Murakami tightly to his chest in a loving embrace, the mighty Ulfgarn still resting in his hands as Wolfgang began sobbing uncontrollably.

Murakami's howl had crumbled at the arrival of the foreign mink, turning from a proclamation of fierce emotion to a discordant, petrified snarl. His vocal cords croaked as his lungs struggled to take in air. The arrival of the mink had brought a presence so stifling it had seemingly conquered the clearing. The grass no longer swayed. The gentle lullabies of crickets no longer floated on the night breeze. The zephyr had ceased to exist completely, leaving Murakami face to face with what could only be described as a nightmare animated.

Murakami's eyes widened, trying to comprehend the situation at hand. In less than an instant, the figure which he had smelled on the wind had appeared before him. A well muscled yet equally lean, wolfish, mink; his silhouette loomed ominously, an inky contrast to the rest of the valley, his dark eyes flashing with an emotion Murakami could not decipher. He scrambled backwards, dirt cascading from underneath his paws. All thoughts of his past had melted away, his mind flooding with fear and adrenaline. His usually soft hair stood coarse and on end, each individual strand glinting in the moonlight like a forest of auburn spears.

Suddenly the mink in front of him spurred into action. Murakami's vision blurred as he struggled to track the wolfish beast that once stood infront of him. Suddenly he found himself flying through the air, spit rocketing from his mouth and ears waving wildly. The air had been knocked out of him, and at least one of his ribs had snapped on contact with the monstrous spear the mink carreid. He tensed, bracing for another hit, his muscles rippling under his thick coat.

He smashed into the ground in a mushroom cloud of dust and debris, clods of grass and dirt erupting in an earthen tsunami. Murakami struggled to push himself up, the weight of the foreign mink and his spear resting on Murakami's chest. After several massive efforts he managed to prop himself up, pain flooding his system. Contact with the mink's spear, and the mink itself, had seemingly fractured a plethora of bones in his body. A droplet of water hit his shoulder, and another. He quickly glanced up at the clear night sky, then at the mink that he lay embracing. His eyes widened again, this time out of surprise, rather than fear. Tears now ran freely down Murakami's shoulder.

His mind was again flooded with emotion, no longer sorrow, no longer fear, but instead a strange feeling of belonging. An instinctual urge filled his body, sending shivers through his aching extremities. The same scent he had detected earlier inundated his senses, this time filling him with nostalgia and an unfamiliar feeling. A feeling of companionship. Wrapping his arms around the other mink, he found his eyes welling with tears.

He managed to utter a single pronunciation, emotion and pain wrapping their hands around his throat and tightening their grip.

"Family?"

They sat together amongst a crater of moist earth, bathed in the moonlight, their tears glinting like the cosmos as they fell.