There was not a lot going through Shepherd's mind as he pulled himself through damp underbrush, raced across blood stricken grass, and dodged the trees that seemed to leap out at him through the fog. He tried to focus on the pumping muscles in his legs, the steady breathing in and out of his lungs.

This wasn't the first time, he told himself over and over, and it would not be the last.

Not the first time his Master had been in danger. Not the first time he would have to come to save her at the last minute. Not the first time her screams of horror and pain had filled his head.

They had always been a bad match-up. Madame Terrebonne, a bitter woman pretending to be more frightening than she was, and Shepherd, a broken man-beast better fit for the gutter than the loyal pet of a witch. Time and again she had tried to replace him, and time and again fate had kept him the only familiar by her side. Hound's defection with the rest of the third generation had taken its toll. Shepherd had no doubt that his weak-hearted Master had caught feelings for the kind and proper man during the few times they had gotten to know each other. The Madame was weak to kindness during her early years as a free witch.

When word got around that Hound had fathered a son during his time as a familiar, his Master's love for the man turned to obsession for the son. The first time Shepherd met Mutt or, rather, the shell of a boy he was before his transformation, he knew it was another relationship destined for tragedy. The boy was single-minded-pure. Far too pure to really endure the corrupting nature of Knowledge. His personality did a complete 180 from a bottomless sadness to a boundless joy. He flipped the switch too easily. He took to the life too quickly. Shepherd knew he wasn't the only one who was aware of this. His other second gener's and the more seasoned witches could see it too. But, still they let it happen. All to appease Madame Terrebonne and her grief. And look where it got them.

Another tragedy. One more than his Master could take. She had turned her body into that of a monster to save her own life, but nothing could save her mental state when the bad news had to be revealed. Not good enough for the only man who was ever kind to you to keep him from betraying you. Not strong enough to keep his child, the only part of him left in the world, from dying a horrible death. Although his Master no longer spoke to him in much more than grunts and howls, Shepherd figured something like that was constantly going through her head. At least, if there was any part of her that was still human.

The brain was just another physical thing after all. Everything she touched bulged with monstrous terror. If she had found some way to reach her own brain with that Knowledge, perhaps there was no point in saving her.

Even thinking this, Shepherd did not slow in his pursuit. He was not sure if it was something compelled by his Master, but if it was, if something in her animal screams was commanding him to come and save her, perhaps there was a part of her that remained human after all.

...

But this...

Shepherd did stop when he finally reached his Master. He no longer felt the heated pulsing in his legs nor could hear his labored breathing. His senses were taken up by sight and smell. Parts and pieces. Blood and gore. Dogs shredded vertical and horizontal. Monsters that once ached with protruding bone and muscle, beasts that could take down scores of humans, lying steaming with guts spread open and drying in the dying sun. And everywhere red, red, red. As far as he could see painted by it. The acrid, toxic smell of blood, piss, and shit had been hinted for miles and now was invading him, tainting the familiar with its foulness.

He had spotted his Master, the massive mound of blue flesh and yellowed bone, slumped in her own personal pile of monster-dog carcasses. She had her dinner-plate sized claws covering her face as she continued to wail and cry. It was a common thing she did around people, so they could not see her face, but, as Shepherd forced himself to look upon the only other living thing in the bloodied woods, he was pretty sure she wasn't worried about it seeing her.

This is no human.

By most appearances what stood amidst the carnage was a young man in tattered clothes, with perhaps skin a shade too pale. But, upon closer inspection, no human could stand so calmly with broken arms hung up like a puppet. The legs seemed to be struggling to hold up their own weight with the knees bent towards themselves and constantly shaking. But the most unnerving part was the head, angled up towards the sky as if the setting sun was vastly more interesting than the score of bodies that surrounded him. This broken puppet of a body was facing Shepherd, but the familiar was unsure if it was even aware that he was there.

And then, it spoke.

"Ah, you are not like the other creatures, are you?"

A chill ran down Shepherd's spine. It was not the voice alone that caused him despair, with its wispy chill that seemed to meld with the air around him. It was its source. For while the boy's lips moved in time with the words as his head still lulled back to gaze at the sky, it was the open wound in his neck that the voice spoke out from. A ragged, gaping wound that revealed nothing but a swirling darkness.

"You do not charge at me with reckless abandon like the others did. Perhaps you might be more amenable to conversation."

With some effort, Shepherd looked from the puppet boy to his Master. She had not budged an inch and continued to sob quietly as she rocked her massive body back and forth. Without thinking, he took a step towards her.

"Stop."

Shepherd froze, afraid now to even look at the terror that stood just a short distance from him. If he wasn't careful, both he and his Master could lose their lives here. The body did not appear to be capable of fast movement, but it had to be in order to slaughter tens of twenties of dogs made faster and stronger than he could ever be. Perhaps this body was a product of that battle, no longer able to fight at the same strength. But Shepherd's instincts were telling him otherwise. That, and the chilling certainty laced within the puppet's words.

"I think you might be like the others I have come to know. Familiars. They say they have the capacity to change into animal forms, but I have yet to see the process myself. Are you a familiar, dog?"

Silence except for the gentle sobbing of Madame Terrebonne and the pounding of Shepherd's heart in his ear. He looked back into the wounded neck, attempting to lock eyes with whatever lurked in the darkness.

"If you cannot answer me with words, nod your head."

Shepherd nodded, the hairs on his back rising when the puppet boy took one, awkwardly bent step towards him in response. It was a quick step forward, despite the angle of the leg. Not a human, he told himself again. No human could move like that. A witch, then? In all his years with Wildwood he heard of no witch like this. And the body was too smattered with blood and dirt to recognize. It had to be a newcomer, but why now? An assassin sent by Whispermist? Was the Overseer too late in reigning the familiars in?

Shepherd did not have time to ponder more before the puppet boy spoke again, taking another, quick and jerked step towards him. "You are a familiar, then?" Its broken limbs danced uselessly, half held up by unseen forces or perhaps by their very own broken nature. "Please, nod again if you are."

Taken aback by the sudden pleasantry, Shepherd took a moment before nodding again. There was another sound from the puppet that sent another chill throughout him. Something akin to a relieved sigh that stretched out of the neck wound and into the air, carried up higher and higher before disappearing into the red sky.

"All is not lost, then."

Another step closer. Broken, hobbled, but quick. More despair, more chills. Something was snaking its way out of the neck wound. Like maggots or worms wriggling out of rotten fruit. Inky black tendrils slipped out of the darkness and into the air between Shepherd and the puppet.

This was them, Shepherd thought to himself, the strings.

Like tentacles they swarmed and writhed as they moved from hovering to digging into the ground around the puppet, moving aside bodies of massive size like they were discarded toys. After a short time, another boy was revealed hiding beneath the body parts. Motionless. Dead or asleep, Shepherd was unsure. But this child was not so heavily tainted by gore that he could not recognize him.

John Wing. Jin's younger son. Shepherd looked from the boy lying motionless to the other boy who stood stock still while the black tendrils continued to dance out from his neck.

"Once the Lady and her bastard child is dealt with we will have to turn our attentions to Jin and his boys," Madame Terrebonne had once said, months ago to an enraptured Mutt just as she had once told to a disinterested Shepherd. "That man is cruel, even by witch standards. Using his power to pit his two children against each other, just to see what's to come of it. He says it's to make them both stronger, but I know a twisted parent when I see one. He doesn't care if they both kill each other over his little game. Honestly, it would be better for us if they did. I would not want to see what sort of monster either becomes if they were to survive such horrors."

Once the boy was revealed, the tendrils retreated back to their host. However, they did not go back into the neck wound. Instead, they stopped and twisted themselves around the jagged limbs of the puppet's arms and, with a series of jerks and cracking of bones that make Shepherd wince, the arms were forced into a position more fitting the puppet master's needs as he forced the body of the older brother to kneel and lift the body of the younger.

"The younger child is said to have a shadow that is essentially invulnerable as a defense against his older brother's torments," Madame Terrebonne had once explained. "In response, the older brother seems to have created a light powerful enough to harm even the shadow. Of course, we don't know for sure how witches come to receive Knowledge, but Jin is convinced he can harness a great power from his game."

Madame Terrebonne had leaned in low from her cushioned chair to ensure that Mutt's focus was entirely on her. Shepherd had watched their exchange as he sat beside the nearby fireplace. He knew what was coming next. The words, the motions, they were all almost exactly the same when she gave him the same warning.

"The only thing we know for certain is that Knowledge is dangerous. The more we use, the more fragile the user becomes. Take it too far and you become a danger for yourself and everyone around you. That's why we have you familiars, as both defense and insurance."

"Even you?" Mutt had asked.

"Yes," their Master responded with ease, reclining back into her chair with a faint smile and a somber look in her eyes as she gazed at something far beyond the cozy room they inhabited. "Even me."

"The boy is sick," the darkness spoke, forcing the broken limbs of its puppet to raise its younger brother for Shepherd to see more clearly. "He is currently in the process of becoming a familiar, like yourself. Eventually I hope to stop this change, but until then I need something to soothe his ails. I was told by another of your kind that the witches possess the means to aid him, but the only one I have found so far appears as incapable of speech as these beasts that have been protecting her. I tried to explain to her that I meant her no harm, but alas it has come to this."

Is that what you told Jack? Shepherd wanted to ask him. He once again surveyed the remains of his pack. Perhaps some of their deaths had been swift. But many were not. Shredded and left to bleed. Left to whimper and whine until their spirits were gracefully free of their ravaged bodies. Though they were dogs, though he was, at least partially, human, his pack was his family. His Master their caretaker. And this thing...

Shepherd stared up at the puppet, twisted and broken, held aloft by a mad power crafted by a cruel man. Unconsciously, a low growl escaped his lips.

This thing was not human.

"Are you trying to speak with me? I am sorry, but I do not understand the speech of your kind. I know familiars are capable of communication with witches. Please, if you would just explain to this witch my intentions I am sure we could come to some sort of agreement. I would be more than willing to aid her in any way that I can in exchange."

And if she refused?

Another unanswered question, but Shepherd was quite sure of the answer.

If she was to avoid a slow, painful death, there was only one option.

Shepherd gave the puppet his third and final nod before making his way towards his cowering Master.

"If I become too far gone, it would be difficult to kill me."

He walked slowly, keeping the puppet and its burden always in the corner of his eye, but focusing the rest of his attention on Madame Terrebonne as she wept and shook. Though her blue flesh seemed to tremble amidst her antics, he knew it was as hard as stone, and the bone that jutted in various places and curled around her more vital areas harder still.

"Ever since...ever since I lost my husband and I nearly lost myself, I've been training my mind. I spent years teaching myself how to come back."

Shepherd lost the ability to keep track of the puppet when he stood before his Master, but he hoped it wouldn't matter. Madame Terrebonne had her clawed hands over her face still. At the sounds of his footfalls she flinched and let out low moans and growls. However, something reached Shepherd's ear that made his heart sink.

"Stay away. Stay away."

"I don't know what I'll be like if I ever reach my lowest point, and I pray it never comes to that, but if it does this should still give you a moment. Just make sure that moment is all you need."

Maybe it wasn't her voice. Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe he was finally slipping like his Master had slipped, after all these years. He had to believe that. He had to believe she was never capable of coming back to her old self.

"Hey!" he shouted in his head, his dog self barking at her in kind. She flinched again at the sound, but made no move to lower her hands. "You crying again? Huh!? Look at you, pathetic little girl!"

"It may seem wrong, perhaps even suicidal, but I made some of these words triggers for a sentimental reason. If you remember to say them in the right order, I should come back, if only for a moment."

"Life too hard?! Grow up! Get some sense! Stop being such a child!"

The long, taloned fingers splayed out across his master's face, allowing Shepherd to see the yellowed eyes, now partially red from crying. He felt his body tense when they locked with his, but he didn't let up with his shouting in her head. He was almost done.

"You were always mommy's ugliest rose!"

The hands fell away from her face a few fractions, revealing every hardened wart, every fold of fat, and the roughly hewn teeth that poked out from her underbite. A monster of her own design. Every trait she despised amplified to a comical degree. Even the fresh tears that spilled out from her eyes were overly large as they trailed the many contours of her face before splashing against the dirt.

"Why...you...say...?"

There it was! Not a trick of the mind. She was speaking. His Master spoke words. And, there! The folds were slowly, but surely, sliding off her face, the bone poking out from her forehead and cheeks sinking back down. She was changing. She was coming back!

"Ah, I see," a cold voice spoke, chilling the air between Master and familiar. "So the witch lies beneath."

Damn, you. Shepherd cursed himself. Swept up by emotion. Caught in the ebb and flow of his Master again. Happy to see her. Happy to hear her.

This is only temporary. He told himself. She's too far gone.

Indeed, the process was already slowing down. Though he could now see the pale flesh revealing itself after the layers of blue sloughed off, it was glimpses at most. Pale heads gasping out in a surging sea. The bone wasn't vanishing entirely. The tears weren't stopping.

"Why...why..."

Shepherd tore his gaze away from her face. Even her speech was failing. Would there be enough time? Would he get his shot? He searched and searched every part of her body, but while her face was barely changing, the rest of her body remained firmly planted in its monstrosity. Arms, legs, stomach firmly encased in blue stone flesh and hard yellow bone. Higher, he had to search higher.

And there. The cage of bone around her neck. It was half formed at best, the two ends, like a ribcage, almost struggling to reconnect.

"Witch?" The cold voice called out. "Do you-"

Shepherd couldn't wait any longer. Closing his eyes, he lunged out at his Master and clamped his jaws on the swirling mixture of blue and pink flesh. Though many of his teeth cracked and broke against the blue flesh, many more found purchase in the softer skin that had hidden beneath.

"What are you doing!?" the voice exclaimed, the chill of the words almost whipping him in the back, but Shepherd did not relent. He shook his head back and forth, feeling the loosened blue skin topple and crash against his body like slabs of stone. Blood was finally pouring free, and he choked against the rush.

"Release her!"

Something was snaking up one of his back legs, but it only made him trash wilder. More blood. He tried to drown out the gurgling and sobbing from his Master with his own furious growls. It was the only way, he shouted in his head over and over. The only way.

Shepherd clamped his jaws shut when whatever had hold of his leg tightened. He felt the bones snap almost instantly, but he only held on tighter, clenching what remained of his teeth against the pain. Then, with one swift motion, he was torn free of his Master, taking a good chunk of her with him as he was thrown backwards. His broken body was dashed against the ground and he slid for a solid few seconds before coming to rest against a nearby copse of trees. He kept the flesh of Madame Terrebonne in his mouth as he looked up with bleary eyes at the scene before him.

His Master, still on her knees, clawed hands rising up to meet the gushing wound in her throat. Her yellow eyes wide, her jagged mouth agape.

The puppet moved towards her, dropping the boy in its arms somewhat unceremoniously as he reached for Madame Terrebonne.

"What can I do?" it asked her. "How can I save you?"

But Shepherd knew it was already too late. The blue skin was shedding off her in droves now. The bones across her body slipping away into obscurity. And, through the mess of all this, he caught his Master looking at him with eyes that had already shifted back to the brilliant blue he remembered.

For a moment, he thought she would leave him with a few words in his head but, instead, he was gifted with just the faintest of twitches at the corners of her mouth before his Master fell forward, disappearing into the now literal pile of blue flesh.

Shepherd rested his own head down with a sigh. Though his mouth and leg ached horribly, he felt calm. At peace. Nearly lost in the strange serenity, he barely caught the subtle movements of the puppet as it stood before what remained of Madame Terrebonne.

"I see now that many of you are either horribly misguided or insane." In two wide and jerky motions, the puppet spun around to face Shepherd. "Whatever you think you accomplished here, it was in vain. There are plenty more witches to give me what I need."

But none that are mine, Shepherd thought back.

The dark tendrils were unwinding themselves from the broken arms, stretching out slowly, purposefully towards the fallen dog. In return, Shepherd closed his eyes and awaited their fatal grip. After everything, it was enough. He welcomed oblivion.

He knew he would see his pack, Mutt, and his Master again soon.