Story by Custos
(Original posting 10 December 2023 on https://inkbunny.net/Custos)

Please don’t repost this story, let it remain in my galleries!
This story contains material for adults only, do not read if you’re a minor.
The material presented is fictional and for adult fantasy only.
The author does not condone any of the depicted illegal activity in real life.

——

Ashwyn commission: The First Wish

The feline woman is running through the overgrown forest, dangers and traps lurking around every corner. She’s clutching a bundle to her chest, her eyes speaking of exhaustion and fear as her lithe paws drive her ever deeper into the enchanted woods. Grasped in her hand is the magical map as it flutters in the wind, the one thing that could save her little kitten’s life. Never mind her own. Drops of blood are coughed onto the ginger fur of her arm, her emerald green eyes once vibrant but slowly fading.

From the darkness behind her, a soft whistling can be heard as it resonates through the trees. An omen of impending doom. A herald of the end. The mother does not fear for her own, though, she could save herself with the wish this magical map guides her towards. Her sole concern is the survival of her sweetheart, her cherished little Puss.

The whistling grows louder in volume, drawing ever closer as the ominous sound seems to echo from all sides surrounding the poor woman. She tries not to panic, uttering soft little prayers to whomever may listen, to keep the darkness at bay for just long enough. Just long enough to reach the star that crashed into the lands surrounding San Ricardo.

Her ears are perked, catching the snapping of twigs just out of view, the rustling of clothes and the movement of a predator. Her heart beats ever so fast, rushing the poor woman towards the end, the fever nearly making her fall but through sheer willpower she stays upright. And then, a bright brilliant light as the ground underneath her feet give way, the cat woman shrieking as she tumbles downwards into a plane of heavenly glow. She tries her best to keep her son safe, taking as many of the blows as she rolls up into a ball to protect her little boy.

With a sickening smack, the feline smashes into the hard diamond-like surface of the shining star embedded into the land, her moans of pain crying through the silence of the night. The little baby swaddled in cloth on her chest cries loudly, awoken and probably a little bruised from his mother’s fall. The woman’s nose is bleeding and tears are streaming from her eyes as she bites through her own pain and tries to hush her child:”Silencio, hija mía. Esta bien. Estás bien.”
One of her eyes is bloodshot and she tries to stand up, shrieking and falling back down as she collapses through her broken ankle. Then, she realises the map is gone from her hands, panic overwhelming her as she looks around to locate it. She can’t fail so close to her son’s redemption. She has to succeed!

Her gaze lands on the dark parchment a little distance away, and she tries to get back up only to collapse once more. Tears roll over her cheeks as she can feel her strength fading, her arm barely able to clutch her crying son to her chest as she grits her teeth, eyes set on the piece of paper:”Por favor, por todo lo bueno de arriba. Permíteme salvar a mi hijo. Please, by all that is good up above. Allow me to save my son.”

The whistling chimes over the beautiful but cold surface of the star, a black shadow forming as it steps towards mother and child. Slow and steady, and without hesitation. Impartial and incorruptible, its steps halt as it reaches the parchment. A light-furred clawed hand reaches down and grabs the map, lifting it up as the ginger feline’s frightful eyes peer up into the face of a ghostly wolf man clad in a black poncho with the hood drawn over his head. The red eyes are unmistakable, the long muzzle pointed straight into her direction as the wraithlike canine slowly approaches once more. The woman cries softly, holding her wailing baby as she despairs. All hope is lost.

Then, the wolf’s digitigrade feet stop just a few feet away from the sobbing mother, the unmoving red eyes peering down at her form as a deep but not unkind voice speaks up:”Dry your tears, mi gata. I am not here to make you suffer.”
The woman’s wet eyes turn up to the wolf’s face, one bloodshot and the other’s vibrancy fading fast:”Por favor, señor. Please. Spare the life of my child. Mine is forfeit, but save my little boy. Spare my little Puss.”

The ghostly wolf’s eyes then turn downwards to the crying child in the woman’s arms, a little bundle of fur just as ginger as hers and ever so small and helpless. His nostrils flare, he can smell the disease coursing through her veins and claiming her. But he does not detect any in the child.

He approaches and kneels down to the woman, the feline slightly recoiling as she shields her baby from him with her arms. His expression is unmoving, yet the tone of his voice is soft. He’s giving her a little more time. What is a minute when it comes to a lifetime, after all. What wrong could there be in a little compassion when what needs to happen will inevitably happen.
- “You are fading, señorita. I have not come for your child, but after you’re gone… it won’t be long before I’ll need to claim him too.”

A deep sob emanates from the woman as she clutches her small baby, her bloodshot eyes turning from the wolf’s face down to the magical map he’s still holding in his hand. So close and yet so far from her reach. Lobo, as this spectre of death is called, follows her gaze and huffs indignant as he waves the parchment before her eyes:”This? You think this will save your life, gata? You cats are already privileged in the grand scheme of things, what with your nine lives and all. And you still want more?”
The ginger cat woman shakes her head violently, tears streaming down her cheeks as she turns her baby to be revealed to the wolf:”No, señor. I just wish to save him. At the cost of damnation, I would do anything to save my little boy. Whatever punishment that would invoke in this life or the next.”

Lobo’s red eyes settle back on the mewling kitten in her arms, the boy barely six months old and clutching his mother’s breast. Alas, the dried spots of red in her robe reveal her disease has impacted her ability to care for her child, even on a pure physical level. The kitten has not eaten well in days but is fighting for his life. The wolf’s shoulders lower slightly, his demeanour softening. He believes her.

After a moment of silence and quiet despair, Lobo’s arm leans forwards and he offers the woman the parchment in his hand. Her eyes are full of shock and surprise, trailing up to meet the immovable red gaze of the aspect of death, staring him straight in the eye.
- “Go on, then. Señorita. I may not interfere. But you have a chance. Make it count.”

With trembling fingers, the feline mother accepts the parchment from the wolf’s hand. Their touch is brief, and he feels colder than a normal person. Yet, temperate and not cold. Merciful and kind, whenever permitted in his line of work. Compassionate.
- “Gracias, buen señor.”

Lobo remains hunched down in front of the mother as she leans against the wall of the crater, the cold light of the star beneath them doing nothing to soften the withering image of what once used to be a beautiful healthy woman. Her eyes speak of gratefulness, her body of resignation and relief. Radiant words in the hue of a rainbow magically light up on the black parchment as they seem to write themselves into existence. The mother’s voice is soft and determined as she starts to read:

“Star light, star bright.”
“First star I see tonight.”
“I wish I may, I wish I might.”
“Have this wish I wish tonight.”

The entire surface of the star is illuminating brightly in a heavenly glow, warmth suddenly coursing through the woman’s veins as if all worry and fear are lifted, all pain abolished. Lobo’s eyes are unmoving, staring directly into hers as he stays put, still kneeling in front of her. He seems curious as to whether the woman will honour their agreement. His curiosity is answered, as the mother embraces her child one last time, planting a kiss on top of his little head:”Te amo mi ángel. Mamá te ama.”
Without having noticed the spectral wolf had moved, the ginger cat feels herself land in the arms of Lobo to hold her in her last moments. To offer that final little consolation as the last chapter of her book is written and the cover closed for good.

- “I wish my little Puss to have a healthy and long life, filled with happiness.”

The star underneath them bursts out into brilliance, shooting up towards the night’s sky and exploding into an impressive display of magic. Thousands of falling stars decorate the sky and it is almost as if a shiny new one glitters in the darkness up above after the spectacle has run its course. The woman’s body lies limp in Lobo’s arms, her final sigh exhaled and her eyes closed as the blush from her cheeks fades.

The wolf rests the remains of the woman respectfully against the side of the crater, turning his attention to the still whimpering and mewling kitten on her chest. He had felt it, as soon as the wish had been granted to the mother by her dying breath. Permission from the powers beyond comprehension. An exception made. The fur on his back stands on end underneath his simple black poncho, the collapsable scythes on his belt unused. His hands reach forwards and lift the little baby up into his embrace, the ginger ball of chubby fluff mewling for warmth. For its mother.
- “Very well, gatito. Whether the first or the last of your nine lives, your mother’s wish shall be granted.”

Lobo walks into the forest with the mewling baby cradled in his poncho, offering it what little warmth the aspect of death could muster. The enchantment on the woods has broken and the silence of the night is once again interrupted by the noises of wildlife and the wind rustling through the trees. The ghostlike male wolf finds a quiet little clearing with a lone tree stump in its centre. Even now, as he’s permitted to interfere in the life of just one mortal this once, his line of work doesn’t escape him with the stump symbolising his place in the greater order. The eerie whistling that heralds his arrival is deemed inappropriate for this moment by Lobo, the aspect of death instead rocking Puss and humming the melody that would haunt any other living being:”Ay, gatito. Now what to do with you, I wonder.”
Puss seems to calm down in the wolf’s embrace, the humming of the male wolf causing the otherwise haunting tune to sound softer and even soothing.

The workings of the greater powers are mysterious and shrouded to mortal understanding, though Lobo is no such thing and thus he knows exactly what is expected of him to keep this hungry little kitten alive. He grunts and sits down on the tree stump, laying the six-months-old ginger baby kitten on his lap with his poncho as a cushion underneath. His torso is bared to the world, an impressive sight to see as despite his immortal nature and the gloom of his line of duty, Lobo is a handsome and slightly muscular male. His blades are deposited by the sides of the stump, forgotten and unnecessary for what is to come, the wolf gently pressing down on a few spots of baby Puss’ body. Lobo seems pensive, and whilst life is not his area of expertise, he is very knowledgable about mortal anatomy.

Little Puss has been spared of the disease that took his mother, though he is severely malnourished and running a fever. Lobo lifts the baby up to his face, Puss mewling in protest before the wolf places his forehead against the kitten’s:”Si, gatito. It will be alright. Just a moment.”
The warmth of the kitten’s fever is transferred to Lobo’s temperate body, effectively funneling the heat over and curing the discomfort that is caused by it to the little infant.

Then, without further thought or regard for mortal customs and objections, Lobo releases his belt and pushes down his pants to his ankles, revealing his manhood for all of the forest to see. He does not seem boastful or prideful about what many mortals would envy; a rugged handsome body and a well-sized sheath and balls. Despite never having been a mortal, at least that is what he reasons, the powers beyond had granted him the form of one. An avatar with which to console or to punish as he saw fit in his line of work. For the moment, however, it has an unexpected benefit. The ability to provide nourishment to the small mewling baby.

It is a rare experience to Lobo, his fingers being held by the whining six-months-old Puss, this feeling of… paternity. He can feel time is of the essence, though, and his free hand darts down to his groin as he holds Puss with the other:”Paciencia, gatito. Let me prepare your ‘bottle’.”
Lobo’s fingers seize his plump sheath, giving it a squeeze. A gasp escapes the wolf’s lips, for he has almost never indulged in the mortal frivolity of self-stimulation before. He simply never has need nor desire to do so, his work never ending. Though, in this very rarest of moments, he’s almost grateful for the late woman’s wish as he gets to have that little taste of what mortality and its brief pleasures have to offer.

Lobo cradles the baby in the crook of his arm, allowing the hungry little kitten to suckle his manly nipple, a pacifier to soothe the most direct of aching needs whilst he prepares Puss’ first proper meal in days. The agile clawed digits massage the sensitive sheath, daring to dip the tip of his index finger inside the black lip atop of the swollen furry cover, inserting it and swirling it around the delicate pointy head of the wolf’s quickly-swelling penis. The breath he exhales in pleasure is neither warm nor cold, temperate as he is with all of his being, though he can feel the spark of kindling set aflame arise within himself. Slowly, the pink pointy tip of his feral canine member emerges from his white sheath, like a dagger from the confines of an assassin’s cloak. It glistens in the moonlight and looks slightly pale, though the flame of arousal awakening within the ghostly wolf’s loins imbues it with the temporary simulacrum of mortal flesh, causing it to bloom into a healthy pink.

The spectre pants, his red eyes half-lidded as he gets into the rhythm of things, though a sting pains his heart. This sensation, this feeling of pleasure. It is simply wonderful. And that is just solo play! Imagine dancing the tango with two or more, and intensifying this feeling by as many multipliers as one chooses! Greedy little mortals, to want to experience such divinity for eternity. If Lobo could experience this delight as often as he wished, he may grow to wish for mortality himself!

Lobo’s tongue lols out of his long wolfish muzzle, his red gaze setting upon the six-months-old baby still nursing his nipple without the reward of nourishment. Even such administrations are starting to feel good to the grown male, his free hand caressing the ginger fur down Puss’ back:”Ready for your meal, gatito? Careful now, we wouldn’t want to make a mess.”
The wolf’s pink erection is leaking copious amounts of precum by now, the scent of virile masculinity saturating the air of the forest as Lobo adjusts the baby’s position, sliding him downwards to lay Puss’ small head against his stomach instead. Carefully and with the tenderness of a parent, Lobo guides his spritzing tip into the infant’s mouth, little Puss immediately opening wide and closing his lips around the slick flesh, its warmth still rapidly increasing to the heat of a proper mortal male.

A long whistle echoes through the forest, Lobo’s mind nearly short-circuiting as the baby’s first suckle on his sensitive doggy tip causes an overwhelming sensation of pleasure:”¡Dios mío! ¡Hijo de puta! You mortals get the best gifts!”
Puss is unaware of the pleasurable agony he’s causing the spectre of death, his eyes closed as he greedily swallows the continuous stream of male essence squirting from the throbbing feral dog cock clamped by his lips. His infantile body is aching for nourishment and having found some after days of nearly nothing is determined to extract as much as possible!

The wolf leans back as he sits on the stump, his feet paws stretching and clenching as he tries to process the overwhelming sensations from his loins. He pants, lolling out his tongue, staring up at the starry night sky with his half-lidded red eyes, keeping Puss firmly in place with one hand whilst his other slides down the baby’s back in exploration of his own:”Perhaps a little quid pro quo is in order, gatito. I offer you this meal, and you offer me a chance to explore these mortal pleasures a bit… deeper.”

Lobo’s fingers slide from Puss’ small buttocks underneath the fuzzy feline baby’s tail, gently pressing the very tip of the middle digit against the tight little anus. The wolf had intended to claim some of this pleasure for his own, outside the confines of the transaction that was granted by the wish. But when he feels that the baby’s temperature is far below what is healthy, his ears perk up in worry. Lobo brings up his fingers again and licks them, licking his chops afterwards as he darts them back down and against the infant’s tail hole once more. Slowly and delicately, Lobo massages the very tip of his middle digit inside the mewling kitten’s anus and rests it there for a moment, the tight little sphincter clenching him rhythmically as Puss’ hungry stomach is slowly filling up with a healthy meal of wolf precum. It is as the otherworldly wolf had feared. Puss’ temperature is dangerously low, the exhausted kitten’s body clinging to life by a thread. If the wish hadn’t been made and granted tonight, the baby’s nine lives would have been forfeit in very short order of each other’s.

The wolf is still massaging the length of his cock outside of Puss’ muzzle, occasionally squeezing his sensitive knot through the cover of his sheath, the canine acutely aware he’ll need to draw it back before it becomes a painful affaire:”Oi, hijo. Drink up. And after you’re done, we’ll do something about warming you up.”
Lobo continues to masturbate his exposed shaft and sheath, humming the soothing version of his whistle melody for the baby as he nurses from his cock, slowly pulling the furry cover back and causing his knot to be exposed to the air with a pop. He grunts in pleasure, nearly unable to stand the touch of his own fingers as the bulbous flesh pulses with the warmth and excitement of a virile mortal male. His free hand remains firmly cupping Puss’ small but plump baby bottom, his middle finger gently digging deeper and deeper inside the tight anus until all of it has vanished from sight. The infant’s feline member is engorged as well, the tiny barbed pinkness catching Lobo’s eye.

Curiously, Lobo spreads the baby’s legs and secures him in the crook of his arm and loins, ensuring Puss could continue to suckle and nurse from his doggy cock whilst freeing up his other hand. Fingering the baby with his right, and gently taking hold of Puss’ small feline bits with the others. The six-months-old mewls around Lobo’s pulsing erection, the infantile body recognising the pleasure the wolf is administering to it but unable to process such feelings effectively yet. Still, it seems like baby Puss is content and happy for the first time in a long while. Lobo gently peels back more of the baby’s sheath, stopping when he feels it has withdrawn as far as it goes, studying the anatomy of a feline penis:”Oi, gatito. Such an odd shape. I suppose life truly works in mysterious ways. I hope pleasure is universal, though, and that this cute little rod of yours may one day grant you the sensations I’m feeling right now.”

Puss is suckling away obliviously, his tiny paws kneading the wolf’s hefty balls as they churn in their sac, subconsciously stimulating the production and flow of Lobo’s precum just like it would the milk from his mother’s breasts. The phantom pants and digs his finger deeper into the baby’s anus, finding his tiny prostate and gently swirling the flat of his digit around it:”Si, hijo. Good kitty. Careful now. Wouldn’t want you to lose a life by something as silly as drowning in a meal.”

And then, blackness in Lobo’s head. An explosion of stars, synapses firing away in mortal delights his rugged handsome body has never experienced before. His wolf-like nature emerges, his free hand pushing Puss down onto his shaft as he seats his throbbing cock deeply into the baby’s throat, throwing his head into his neck and howling at the full moon up above. Wave upon wave of heated wolf essence ejaculates from the swollen pointy tip of Lobo’s member, flooding baby Puss’ throat and rushing down straight into his hungry tummy. The wolf’s dog-like member is bypassing Puss’ oesophagus, ensuring the infant wouldn’t choke or drown as jet after jet of virile male ‘milk’ is deposited inside the baby’s stomach.

Finally, after a minute of the greatest pleasure Lobo has experienced in his infinite existence, he slowly withdraws his pulsing ‘baby bottle’ back from the six-months-old Puss’ lips, the infant coughing a little but purring radiantly at the sated pleasant feeling of a tummy full of a nutritious meal. The spectral wolf pants and his red eyes are met by Puss’ emerald green ones. They are small yet big pools of vulnerability, cute and full of gratitude, as the baby beholds his saviour up above. Lobo’s free hand reaches down and cradles the purring kitten’s head, Puss responding to the gesture by nuzzling into the wolf’s large palm. There is something else emerging within the wolf. After first being introduced and swept off his feet by lust, now there is something similar but milder. Something, that resembles the same need to protect this vulnerable little life, but not motivated from lust or instinctual procreation. Affection.

Lobo finds the feeling confusing. All of this mortal shit is confusing. Tempting and alluring, certainly. But incomprehensible. It doesn’t seem to make sense, even from a biological standpoint. Despite his musings, he caresses the purring kitten’s cheek and gently scratches the top of Puss’ head as well as behind his ears. Lobo knows he’d like that, at least:”Bien. Muy bien, gatito. You’re very cute, but my work isn’t done yet. I need you to be brave for a moment.”

The ghostly wolf’s middle finger on his other hand is still embedded in Puss’ little bum, having closely monitored the baby’s temperature whilst stimulating him at the same time. The kitten’s body is still below average warmth, and Lobo realises what part of his body would be the hottest to hopefully improve Puss’ situation. Gently, the wolf removes his digit from the baby’s plump buttocks and tries to turn him away so that the infant could sit comfortably on Lobo’s lap for what is to come. Yet, Puss fusses, mewling pitifully as he claws to turn back around. Lobo is slightly confused, but turns Puss around so the baby’s tummy rests on his own slightly muscular stomach, their eyes finding each other and the infant lays his head down onto Lobo’s body as he starts purring again. It seems the needy little kitten wants to keep seeing the wolf’s face, to keep connecting with his saviour. Almost as if thanking him.

Lobo smiles for the first time that night, genuinely, and gently pats and scratches the baby’s head and ears again as his other hand is massaging his throbbing feral canine erection:”Very well, gatito. We’ll do it your way. I have a feeling that’s gonna be a theme in your lives. Annoying as that might prove to be.”
Clutching the baby to his abdomen, Lobo masturbates himself to full strength once more, aided by the purring baby’s body pressed against him, Puss continuing to nuzzle into the wolf’s stomach and chest. Satisfied with his firmness, the panting spectre then raises the kitten up, spreading the furry little buns underneath the curling ginger tail with his fingers whilst guiding the pulsing pointy tip of his canine cock in between with his other hand.

The first kiss of his heated member’s pointy tip to the tight tiny sphincter is sizzling, both Lobo and Puss cooing in pleasures unknown. Strange as it is, the thought crosses Lobo’s mind that this would be his first time just as much as it would be the baby’s, medical necessity or not. They’re both about to lose their proverbial ‘virginity’, as mortals call the concept, to each other. Somehow linking them together from the start of Puss’ lives, until the inevitable reconciliation they’ll have at the end of them as well. It is nearly poetic, and Lobo generally isn’t one for fancy philosophy. He’s the sort that likes directness and tolerates no nonsense. Cherish the gifts you’re given. If you waste them, it is your loss.

Slowly and methodically, Lobo’s penis is rhythmically pressed into Puss’ clenching tail hole, the kitten mewling in slight discomfort as the pink veiny shaft of the canine slowly enters his most private of places. A necessary evil, but not an unwelcome one by either’s account. The gentleness that Lobo musters is quite out of character for him, but appropriate given the circumstances, he reasons. Warm flesh is suckled at and engulfed by the tight ring of the baby kitten’s anus, Puss mewling and purring warmly into Lobo’s stomach and chest as slowly their bodies are united and their heat shared.

Having replaced his finger by his member to gauge Puss’ temperature, Lobo is satisfied to note that his method is working. First he sated the baby’s need for a warm nutritious meal via his wolfish semen, and now he’s satisfying Puss’ need for warmth as the spectre’s heat is transferred into the infant via the same cock that fed him moments ago.

Gently and carefully, the furry buns of the ginger kitten bump into the hot veiny bulb of the wolf’s knot, seating the baby firmly upon it as its heat radiates further into Puss’ body. Lobo is panting still, his body wrought with the pleasurable sensations of having his cock engulfed by a warm wet velvety body, like a hand inside a tight-fitting glove. He smiles down at the purring but mewling little kitten, Puss clearly experiencing both pleasure and discomfort by the large feral manhood lodged into his tiny tail hole:”Ah. There we go, gatito. Fitted nice and snuggly. Don’t worry, you’ll be much warmer soon.”

The soft tone to his own voice surprises Lobo, the wolf’s heart filling with all these confusing sensations that have their basis in this ‘affection’ he has come to realise he has. His clawed hands gently stroke baby Puss’ back whilst the other continues to cradle and scratch the infant’s head. He can feel his loins beg his body for relief, to thrust up into the tight passage with all his might. To sink his knot inside and lock his mate to his groin. To claim and rut this little hole for himself. The instinct is present and not fleeting, yet Lobo has mastered control over his body since the dawn of time, and he is not about to give into these demands. He has no desire to endanger his duty and the task laid before him for even a second, and he will glean what pleasure he can from it in a safe and comfortable way for his ward.

Slowly, the wolf’s hips start to thrust upwards rhythmically, barely a fraction of an inch, and the little Puss in his embrace coos in newfound pleasures as his tiny paws continue to kneads Lobo’s abs and pecs. The purring vibrates through both their bodies, soothing both spectre and child as the minute friction of the wolf’s pushes generate even more heat.

Lobo’s red eyes close and he embraces the small kitten with both arms, cradling the happily purring baby feline to groin and his stomach, gently bouncing the infant up and down as if they’re both locked in an intimate dance. The wolf feels baby Puss’ body recover and warming up, realising his duties will soon be over and thus, the brief glimpse into mortal pleasures will end as well. He feels the sting of melancholy grasp his heart, and right then and there, he realises what it is to be mortal. To have but a moment to spare before the flame snuffs out. And to take his own advice to heart to cherish every second of it for as long as it lasts.

The ghostly wolf nuzzles the top of Puss’ head and softly speaks, almost whispering:”Ah, mi lindo gatito. Let’s make this moment count, eh? And when we meet again, I want to hear of all the great things you’ve done with this blessed life you’ve been granted. I can’t wait.”

The rhythm of his hips increases as Lobo senses Puss’ body has adjusted to his size and is able to tolerate a little more. His white furry balls dance up and down in the moonlight and softly bounce against the ginger kitten’s plump buttocks and his own fleshy pink knot. Puss mewls in immature pleasure as well, his six-months-old body wrought with sensations usually reserved for adults. His tiny nails knead and claw into Lobo’s fur, as if sensing their moment together is coming to an end, clutching to the virile male as if unwilling to let him go. The ghostly wolf pants and tightens his embrace on the little kitten further, throwing his head back into his neck as the point of no return fast approaches once more.

Another howl echoes through the forest, this time answered and joined by the eerie crying of the feral wolves roaming these woods. A beautiful and slightly melancholy melody as it follows the tune of the aspect of death’s usual whistle, transforming it from haunting into a tribute to mortality’s graces for just tonight. For tomorrow, the temporary pleasures briefly gifted to Lobo would be gone, but not forgotten.

The light of dawn is breaking over the horizon and the small streets of San Ricardo are void of any activity still. Its slumber would soon be lifted, and its daily life would go on, unaware of the sacrifice made that night. The silhouette of the hooded embodiment of death glides through the streets, lithe and nearly as if not even touching the cobblestones underneath.

In front of a quaint house with a plaque reading ‘Mama Imelda’s Orphanage’, the spectre stops its thread and opens its black poncho. A healthy and happily sleeping six-months-old baby Puss is resting peacefully against Lobo’s stomach, held in place by straps of cloth… and by the firm wolfish manhood still impaling the cute infant’s bottom as the kitten is firmly seated on Lobo’s swollen knot. The ghostly apparition gently raises the baby up and off of his natural ‘hot water bottle’, which then slowly retreats back into the plump and furry white sheath not to be used for who knows how long again. The wolf ensures Puss is back to normal temperature and his hunger is sated fully, almost as if wishing himself that the cute little baby would need him a bit longer.

Alas, such is not the case, and Lobo lays the sleeping infant on the soft mat before the orphanage door, ringing the knell before turning around and slowly walking away, melding into the shadows of the fading night:”Fare thee well, gatito. Make the best of your mother’s sacrifice. We will meet again one day. And when we do, I hope you’ll foster no regrets.”