The Dogs of War
By T S Bernard
A cold west wind stirred the hilltop tussock grass and rattled through the flax swamp beside a lonely dirt road. A line of figures trudged there, grim faced but determined, some in leather armour and others with woollen great coats, collars upturned against the chill. They carried weapons in holsters and slings and scabbards, their armaments ranging from crossbows to laser rifles. There were six humans in the company, and four who were definitely not human. 

At first glance, the creatures who paced beside the humans might appear to be canis lupis famialiaris – domestic dogs. But these were larger than even the biggest of the old breeds, from which they were created. They were Warrg. Leather armour clad their shoulders and flanks, and keen intelligence showed in their dark eyes. Muscles rippled beneath their fur, and massive jaws promised to crush the flesh and bones of any who crossed them. Some carried beam weapons fixed to shoulder harnesses; the targeting sensors tracked their head movements. Others were armed only with their teeth.

A tall woman led the column, her dark hair ruffled by the wind. Her bearing was cautious but determined. A faded blue jacket kept out the cold, and a machete hung over her shoulder in a leather harness, complimented by a battered laser pistol clipped to her belt.  A warrg strode beside her, his shaggy coat a mix of tan and black. He resembled a German Shepherd dog, but was twice the size of that breed, and more muscular in his build. His face and shoulders bore the scars of battle, and his watchful gaze roved the desolate hills surrounding the road.

 They approached a cluster of ruined farm buildings, and suddenly he froze, upright ears swivelled forward. Lieutenant Marcia Dreis seemed to have a telepathic connection with her warrg companion, for she immediately raised her arm in an urgent signal to the troops behind her. They followed her lead and dived for cover in the ditch beside the road, just as the rattle of machine gun fire erupted from the ruins ahead. 

Humans and warrg flattened themselves amongst the weeds, with one exception: the Shepherd worked his way forward up a hedgerow, then burst from cover and shot diagonally across the road. Even as the hidden gunners swung their weapon to bear on him, he leaped over a smashed wall and vanished with a single excited bark that reverberated amongst the broken stone buildings. In the ditch, the woman peered into binoculars which doubled as the viewer for the camera mounted on the warrg's shoulder. As he padded silently through a roofless barn, then leaped from cover once more, this time behind the machine gun, she tallied their numbers. Three stick-golems on the right, and at least four laser-armed electronicas hidden behind empty windows on the left, LEDs blinking in the gloom. Static and motion blur obscured the image as the scouting warrg jumped over a tangle of rusted machinery and disappeared into a thick stand of Manuka bushes, his ancient lupine heritage still evident in the stealth of his movements. When the camera cleared again, he had nosed his way to the edge of the thicket. 

A crumbling shed stood just beyond the road, and an ominous hum emanated from behind its dark windows. As the woman watched, a grolg emerged from the door, a magnetic rail gun slung over its shoulder. The slender creature glanced to each side, wary, but unaware that it was being watched. Other grolg would be found inside. There could well be more stick-golems and other inhuman grolg creations behind the windows or stationed strategically around the building, and from the faint hum, they probably had a gateway operating. It was a risky target, but it was what they had been searching for. 

The grolg was two meters tall, thin and stringy in appearance, and its skin was very dark blue. It crossed the road, scanning the approaches to the cluster of shattered buildings, and Dreis tensed when it looked their way. But, unperturbed, it stepped into the bushes. The warrg's gaze – and camera – followed as it squatted to relieve itself, and steam rose from its urine. The camera shifted, and she could imagine the shepherd's muscles bunching as he tensed, analysing the situation. The grolg's hand radio crackled, and the warrg sprang. In two bounds he cleared the scrub and leaped high, his jaws closing over the grolg's neck. The warrg twisted in the air and rolled as the two bodies crashed into the ferns, and with a flick of his head he snapped the grolg's neck. The canine was back on his feet in an instant, and vanished like a shadow into the trees.        

Muffled whines sounded from further down the ditch, for the warrgs hated waiting. They were not exactly under the command of the humans, but they understood the importance of discipline and coordinated action, and they took their cues from the few people who managed to earn their respect.  Anyone else they ignored.

Lang had watched the departure of the scouting warrg from the rear of the column. He was one of two humans who was not accompanied by a warrior canine. He had lugged a grenade launcher for many miles, and was making the most of the chance to rest. His gaze travelled along the line of canines and humans in front of him, and came to rest on the nearest warrg. Punraz was a massive male who’s ancestry might have contained Rottweiler and Cane Corso. Ropey muscles glided beneath his glossy black pelt as he eased himself lower among the weeds. He looked up as his human companion bent down to check the straps of his battered leather armour. Bella was a diminutive but stocky woman, and her small stature emphasized the bulk of the dog at her side. She carried a crossbow and a short sword; the warrg bore no weapon other than his massive jaws. She laughed often and was rarely bothered either by hardship or danger. The woman and the warrg shared an easy-going attitude to life, but Lang had witnessed first hand just how tough both could be in a fight. Punraz panted softly, pink tongue hanging out, as his dark eyes scanned the horizon. So canine, Lang thought, and yet so much more...
---
Lang slouched at a desk near the back of the classroom, daydreaming, as the teacher’s voice droned somewhere in the distance. The hot air smelled of chalk and stale yoghurt. The boy stared at the clock, watching the hands creep towards 3 pm. It was the last day before the summer holiday, he was eleven, and there was fishing to do. 

Finally, the clatter of the bell signalled the end of the term. “OK, everyone. Put your chairs up before you leave, and hopefully we will see you again next term.” There was tension in the teacher’s voice. Maybe she was worried about the grolg invasion. Lang’s parent’s didn’t talk about it much, but he heard things on the news. It seemed a long way away from Tauranga. He placed his chair on top of his desk, and joined the boisterous throng of kids as they swarmed out the door, heading for summer freedom. 

Damn! He’d taken his new fishing line out of his bag to show it off to his friend Chris, and it was still in his desk. He raced back inside and extracted it. The teacher had already left, and the room was quiet and deserted. He was reaching for the door when the world was ripped apart. 

He lay in darkness, deafened, hurting all over, too afraid to move. Slowly his vision cleared, and the ringing in his ears subsided. There was light above him, and he could hear sounds – sirens, distant screams, hissing noises he couldn’t identify. And nearer, a low humming sound. He was lying among  shattered wood, broken glass and chunks of concrete. What had happened? Blood trickled down his cheek, and he was bruised all over, but he couldn’t feel any serious injuries. He lay in a crevice below the collapsed roof, held up on one side by a broken concrete wall which had taken the force of the blast, and saved his life. He crawled towards the light, and squinted out. 

An undulating plane of cracked concrete spread where the playground had been, strewn with bits of broken fence and smashed bricks. Most of the school buildings  were piles of rubble, so that he hardly knew what he was looking at. In the middle of the playground the concrete and earth had been heaved up around a crater, and water spilled from a broken pipe at the bottom. For a moment, he wondered whether it could have been an accident – perhaps a gas explosion. But then he saw the iridescent sphere that sat on the crater rim, humming faintly, its swirling interior seeming to soak up the light around it. As he watched, a shimmering appeared in the darkness, then pop! A terrifying apparition stepped out into the light, into his world. It was something out of a horror movie – an impossible juxtaposition of random appliance parts and looped cabling which somehow moved. Lights winked within its torso, and it scanned the shattered playground though the lens of a dismembered Sony handycam. 

The thing had not seen Lang. He lay frozen, unable to look away. Then footsteps approached, running. Chris sprinted around the corner, one arm bloody, cement dust clinging to his clothes and skin. He skidded to a halt ten metres from the thing, eyes wide. Lang knew he must shout a warning, but he could not make his voice work. The thing’s arm moved, and a beam of blue-white light stabbed out across the gap, passing right through the boy. He didn’t even cry out as blue fire enveloped his body, and what fell to the ground was a charred mass, unrecognisable. 

Lang was sure he would scream then, and the thing would turn towards him with its laser arm. But he did not scream, and the thing moved away with a jerky walk, a horrible parody of a human. The sphere was already swirling again as another constructed monster stepped through. Two more followed in quick succession, and they all fanned out and moved off in different directions. Lang huddled in the shadows, rigid with terror. 

Somehow, the things hadn’t seen him. He lay still for a long time, expecting them to return. More sirens and screaming and laser fire sounded in the distance, but the ruined playground was strangely quiet and peaceful. Eventually he heard the pop and rattle of guns. Maybe the police or the army had arrived. Still he was too afraid to move. 

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ruined school. Movement caught Lang’s attention, and he peered into the gloom, expecting the machine-men to be back. But instead, he saw a large dog. It – he – scanned the playground from behind a broken wall, and his nose sniffed the air. He was pale brown, with a thick coat and a large muzzle. Darker fur covered his eyes and nose. Lang had always been a bit scared of dogs, and this one was especially large. But nonetheless, he was a normal everyday animal, and a lot less frightening than the unnatural electronic things. Lang hoped they wouldn’t kill the dog. 

The animal looked nervous, but also determined. After checking the area,  he sidled along the broken path on the far side of the playground, his eyes always turning to look at the dark sphere. He crept forward towards the black nothingness, his nose upturned as he watched the iridescent shimmering around the sphere’s edges. The sphere was surely evil; Lang wanted to chase the dog away, but he was too terrified. He watched in fascinated horror as the dog crept forward. His nose crossed the threshold of the darkness, and then his whole body seemed to elongate as it slid into the black heart of the sphere, and vanished without trace. 

Minutes passed. The sphere swirled again. Lang held his breath, waiting for the arrival of another squad of electronic horrors. Something moved within the darkness… and an animal shape leaped out, huge and shaggy and brown. It was canine in form, but surely not the tentative dog which had been drawn into the sphere minutes earlier. This one was easily half as big again, and muscles rippled beneath his tawny coat. There was confidence in his step as he climbed down from the rubble, his nose questing the air. He turned and looked straight towards Lang, and the boy knew that the dog had seen him. But where the electronic junk constructs had been terrifyingly inhuman in their movements, the new canine moved with fluid grace. Lang was drawn by his gaze. The new dog looked brave and intelligent. 

The huge canine walked towards him, but then froze, ears forward. He moved quickly to crouch behind the wall right below where Lang hid, his eyes on the nearest corner of the path. Sure enough, one of the electronic things weaved into view, lights blinking and metal feet clanking on the concrete. The canine tensed, then leaped. He knocked the electronic man to the ground, and managed to pin the thing’s laser arm – as if the canine knew exactly where the danger lay. There was a confusion of thrashing limbs and tearing jaws, then suddenly the thing fell apart and lay still. The canine struggled to his feet, panting hard. Blood seeped from scratches on his muzzle and shoulders, and he held one front paw off the ground. But his tail was high in triumph as he limped up the rubble pile and bent his head down to where Lang lay. 

The boy looked up into the canine’s large dark eyes. The canine gave a little whine, and nodded towards the open playground with his muzzle. He wants me to leave, Lang thought. And at last he was brave enough to scramble from his hiding place and follow the canine across the broken concrete and out through the shattered school gates. 

Lang let the canine lead, and they crept along streets that led away from the city centre. Everywhere there were craters and ruined buildings, and Lang saw another dark sphere humming in the distance. Several times the canine froze, then pushed him into the shadows of a doorway as squads of electronic things rattled past. 

Darkness was falling when they came to a barricade of trucks and barbed wire across the road, and a soldier with a grimy face and blood on his uniform beckoned them forward. The soldier was watching the canine with trepidation. “Don’t worry,” said Lang. “He’s OK. He saved my life.” The boy was taken to a medical tent, and as he went inside, the canine seemed to give him a little nod, then melted away into the gathering darkness. 

---

Lieutenant Dreis lowered her binoculars as her warrg companion – appropriately known as Scout – emerged from a hedgerow at the end of the ditch, and crept back to her position. His stern gaze softened for a moment as her hand ruffled his ear. Saying “Good boy” to a warrg was dangerous as well as condescending. She slithered back though the muck, ever wary of the machine-gunners who may, or may not, have got a fix on their location. Time was critical; the stick golems were not very smart, but smart enough to raise the alarm. 

“Rune, Bella, Lang – take out that gun. The rest of us will be dealing with the barn on the left of the road. Beyond that, there's a stable which I think will be full of trouble. Meet you there for the fun.”

Rune was Marci's second-in-command: heavy-set, dour and humourless. At his side crouched a tall warrg named Freya. Her deep muzzle and graceful lines hinted at Great Dane ancestry, but she was larger than even that giant breed. Light armour adorned her tan flanks, and a plasma cannon protruded from the harness at her left shoulder, its power cell faintly buzzing. 

Rune nodded down the line to Bella and Lang, and the three humans crept forward, accompanied by Punraz and Freya. Lang followed the others as they wormed through the weeds, finally slithering down into a creek that passed under the road just before it entered the ruined hamlet. Here they were hidden from the machine gun nest, but Rune scanned the vicinity for other threats with habitual caution before he proceeded. Lang didn't care much for the second-in-command: he was stubborn and short-tempered. He had not been with the squad for long, but he had quickly proved himself, and Lang respected his experience, and his good instincts. Nobody seemed to know much of Rune’s past, but given the desperate shortage of capable fighters in their rag-tag resistance, nobody asked too many questions. 

“Freya, wait there.” Rune's thick whisper was directed at the warrg who accompanied him, for she had sidled a few steps ahead. She gave him a disdainful glance, as if to remind him that she knew what she was doing, then resumed her study of the marshy ground beyond the bridge. In turn, Lang studied her proud silhouette, as he had many times before. Her tail made an elegant curve, and it seldom wagged, for the warrg generally remained aloof. He was captivated by the way she moved. Warrg had fascinated him ever since his rescue during the invasion of Tauranga, and Freya was no exception. He often wondered at her loyalty to Rune, for he showed her scant respect or love. The prominent theory held that Rune had found Freya as a small abandoned pup, and had nursed her back to health. Lang could not imagine such a caring streak in the big man, but perhaps Rune was motivated by practical reasons – a warrg made a fearsome addition to any combat unit. It was certainly true that Rune and Freya made a good team, even if there was little affection between them. 

As for Lang, no warrg had showed any interest in him, as much as he might want it, so he had to content himself with living, marching, and sometimes fighting along side them. Once during a long truck journey, Punraz had fallen asleep beside Lang, and the warm bulk of the big warrg had pressed against the man. He’d been brave enough to stroke the Rottweiler’s neck, and had not lost his hand. It was a fleeting moment, but he cherished the memory. 

Rune turned towards him, and gestured further down the creek. “Get into that patch of broom, and give our friends a couple of grenades to get things started. We'll go along that wall and finish up.”

“Yesir!” Lang crouched down so that he was below the high bank of the creek, and slithered his way down its stony bed until he reached the thicket of tall broom. He looked back to see the others gathered beneath the bridge, checking their assorted weapons. Rune gave him a thumbs-up then pointed forwards. Lang slipped the launcher off his shoulder and clipped two mortar rounds to the back of his belt. He scrambled up the bank and pressed forward among the stems, heart pounding with the excitement of imminent action, wondering whether the machine-gun would rattle again at any second, sending bullets to tear through him. 

Rune's estimation was correct, for when Lang peered out from the far side, he could make out the dark shape of the gun and the scraggly form of its three attendants, nestled in a pile of rubble at the far side of a field of heather. He eased a round off his belt and slid it into the back of the launcher with practised ease, then flipped down the target reticle screwed to his battered tin helmet. The tiny computer tracked his eye, and a red cross hair and range indicator appeared wherever he looked. He raised the barrel of the launcher and adjusted his aim until the computer was satisfied, then squeezed the trigger. 

The launcher always gave a satisfying “whump” sound and a kick as it sent the projectile on its way. Even before it landed, Lang was loading a second, and past experience had taught him to focus on this task and not watch for the original hit. The thud of the first impact rumbled across the open ground, and he sighted on the resulting dust cloud and sent the second shot on its way. He didn't look up as he slithered back into the dense broom bushes and scrambled to one side. He moved tangentially through the stems, in case the flash of the weapon had revealed his position, and only then did he scan the ruins to gauge the effectiveness of the volley.

He was disappointed to find the gun still intact and attended by two stick figures. However, the sandbag balustrade was smashed, and the dispersed splinters and tufts of brush indicated the third golem had been forcibly disbursed, so his shots had been partially successful. He looked to the left, in time to see Rune and party rise from the creek and start a low run along the fence beside the road.

Things happened quickly: The machine gun swung towards the attackers, and they scrambled for whatever cover they could find as bullets thudded and ricocheted around them. Lang took the chance to break from the thicket and sprint across the marshy ground, diving behind the rusting hulk of a tractor which had sunk belly-deep in the mud. Drawing a heavy revolver, he rolled to the side and peered over the vehicle’s crumbling engine block. He rested the barrel on his arm and loosed a few shots at the distant golems. He had little hope of hitting them and even less of inflicting damage; the bullets cut harmlessly through the tufts of stick unless they happened to strike the small nexus of pulsing orange energy at the centre of each golem. But Lang's shots had the desired effect as the golems turned the machine gun in his direction, and bullets rattled off the rusting metal as he ducked, distraction accomplished.

When he dared to raise his head again, he saw Rune running low along the fence line, while Freya dashed out into the marsh to draw the machine gun fire. She moved with a precision and grace that disguised her speed, and her face was set in determined concentration. Bullets raised showers of mud across the field, but they were too slow to track the sprinting warrg. Rune burst from the fence line and charged towards the gun, and Bella followed close behind, Punraz bounding beside her. 

Freya had closed to plasma cannon range; she skidded to a stop just long enough to drop to a firing crouch and unleash a dart of blue fire. The shot seared through the golems, but their greenery was too damp to ignite and they were left smouldering but intact. Then Punraz leaped over the debris pile and smashed into one, and they went down in a confusion of limbs and sticks, the warrgs teeth slashing as he sought for the energy nexus at the heart of the creature. A second later, Freya cleared the parapet and landed on the other golem, and her huge jaws tore at its head and torso as she ripped it apart. A double flash flickered over the ruins as both creatures dissolved. By the time Lang joined the others at the machine gun, all that remained was a scattering of charred sticks and brushwood. 

Mission accomplished, they sat down for a moment to catch their breath, until a commotion erupted from across the road. Shouts and the hiss of laser discharge echoed off the broken walls. Lang peered around the concrete to see the rest of their party, pinned down by laser fire from three electronicas who lurked in the empty windows of a crumbling house, LEDs blinking and relays clicking. These particular examples were built out of clock radio parts, and random digits flickered in red and green from digital displays scattered haphazardly across their bodies. They were a sinister parody of both human form and consumer electronics. Two more advanced along the other side of the road, and they would soon trap the Lieutenant in a deadly pincer of laser beams. 

The electronicas were always assembled from household goods captured by the grolg, although the sources varied. Since the fall of Tauranga City with its warehouses and shipping containers, they were well supplied with materials. Electronicas were much smarter than the stick golems, but also more vulnerable to normal weapons. 

Lang risked another peek across the rubble. Lieutenant Driess and Scout   had ducked for cover behind the rusted shell of an abandoned car, along with Jen. The latter was a graceful woman, tall and thin with long blond hair and ice blue eyes which matched the aluminium stock of her expensive laser rifle. A sword rested in a black scabbard strapped across her back, and its polished hilt caught the sunlight. Jen managed to appear well-groomed at all times, in contrast to the rest of their rag-tag party. But if the woman seemed other-worldly, the warrg beside her was doubly so. Star was a bitch of medium size with thick snow-white fur, upright wolf ears and piercing husky eyes. She wore no armour, but instead a harness of fine leather with intricate inlaid patterns on its straps and buckles. A cannister was fixed to the harness on one side, and a light laser on the other. Jen and Star had fought with the Lieutenant longer than anyone else in the party, and Jen was Dreis’s most trusted confident; however both Jen and her warrg companion tended to be reserved and aloof with the others. 

The two warrgs paced in frustration as they tried to find a safe line of sight up the road. It would be suicide to expose themselves to the windows where the electronicas lurked, and they were experienced enough to know it. Every so often, a bolt of laser fire hissed across the gap as a reminder. The exposed flank of the rusted car was already peppered with blackened holes, and only the bulk of the engine block and the dense Gorse bush which grew up through its floor had saved them from the penetrating beams. 

The final member of the company was Jono, a tough and competent man who carried a vintage World War One rifle and a machete. Like Lang, Jono had no warrg companion, and he showed little interest in the canines – although he definitely respected their abilities in battle. Jono crouched behind a low stone wall, rifle cradled across his chest.

Rune nodded to Bella and gestured towards to the pair of electronics moving along the road to flank the Lieutenant. The woman gave a grim smile and a nod, and Punraz gave a growl like a ship engine idling somewhere beneath the earth. His tail stood up in anticipation, revealing his tan-furred ass and heavy balls. Lang forced his eyes back to the electronicas glinting in the darkened window, laser rifles traversing the area where the Lieutenant and her companions huddled, searching for any sign of movement. 

“Wait until they attack” whispered Rune, “then open up.” Lang nodded, and eased his launcher up onto the shattered concrete wall, loading and aiming the weapon without conscious thought. Beside him, Freya shivered and tensed, her muscles bunching, and a gave a little whine. Bella and Punraz had gone; the stealth of the small woman and the giant warrg always caught Lang by surprise. 

The electronicas moved steadily along the road, faint whirring noises issuing from unseen motors jammed inside legs that looked like vacuum cleaner pipes. They were not works of precision engineering; somehow their animating force channelled itself through their parts to generate motion and simple electronic intelligence; but when the force dispersed, they disintegrated once more into what they were: a jumbled assortment of parts ripped from cheap electrical goods.

They paused suddenly, perhaps sensing danger. There was a twang-thud, and a crossbow bolt smashed into the lead electronica's head assembly, crushing circuit boards and generating sparks and a puff of smoke. Disorientated, the thing turned slowly, searching for its attacker. The other started to swivel its laser as a huge dark shape leaped towards it, but it was too slow. Punraz smashed into it at chest height, his weight sending it sprawling, laser beam hissing uselessly into the sky. At the same time, Bella jumped down from the broken wall, crossbow abandoned and sword in hand. This was no elegant sword-play; she slashed first at the creature's laser arm, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. She swung the blade again, this time aiming for its neck. But her momentum carried her too close, and her blow lacked force. The thing's other arm terminated in a flexible hose, and it wrapped this around her neck, meaning to strangle or crush her. 

Beside her, Punraz had the other electronica pinned under his bulk, and his huge jaws simply tore it apart. He seemed impervious to sparks and flailing wires as he tugged and ripped, and it disintegrated into broken pieces as he pulled off its chest section. Even as its pipe legs rolled away, he turned and sprang up, closing his teeth over the arm which held Bella. It tore away from the creature's body as his weight came to bear on it, and Bella, now freed from its limp grasp, stepped back and drove her sword through its centre. It reeled back as the warrg tore one of its legs off, and by the time it hit the ground it too had dispersed, and the the pair stood among a scattered pile of blackened circuit boards and trailing wires. 

Rune shouted “Now!”, and Lang squeezed his trigger. The grenade sailed in an elegant curve and dived neatly through the window. It ricocheted off an unseen wall in the gloom of the building's interior, and exploded perfectly with a flash and a bang as it bounced into one of the electronicas. Lang watched with satisfaction through his sight as smashed electrical parts peppered the remaining creatures and rained out into the road. As the dust cleared, the other electronicas let loose a volley of laser fire in their general direction, but they had no clear target.

The heavy crack of old-fashioned rifle fire echoed from further down the road. Jono had used the diversion to get a bead on the electronicas, and now he fired methodical shots until his magazine was empty. The old Lee Enfield used heavy ammunition, and the creatures reeled under the barrage. One laser rifle was smashed by a direct hit, and damage to both creatures' central circuits left them tottering. 

Jono dropped the empty rifle and pulled out his machete, and then, by unspoken agreement, they all leaped from cover and sprinted across the street. Freya unleashed a plasma burst that melted one of the electronicas to slag, and Jono's machete smashed the other one to bits a moment later. 

Lieutenant Dreis inspected the carnage. “Good work,” she said, “now let's finish this.”

At her side, Scout looked up, ears forward and eyes questioning. Her hand dropped automatically to brush his shoulder, and Lang imagined the warrg's thick fur under his own fingers. “Go find them, mister!” she suggested, and the dog gave a soft “Yip” of excitement, before he trotted off, tail high. He jumped over a wall and circled behind the ruined building, nose questing the cold wind. The party shouldered their various arms and moved forward, until the lieutenant called a halt as she peered into her viewer once more. 

Lang found himself crouched behind Punraz as they waited in the shelter of a ruined lean-to. The huge warrg sat with tongue out, content to wait for direction, and Lang could smell his warm animal scent. Jono reloaded the magazine of his rifle and clicked it back into place, as calmly as if he were making coffee. 

Dreis lowered her binoculars and turned to face the others. “OK everyone. We're taking out that shed. Could be a gate inside, and hostiles for sure. There are also some sticks hiding in those trees to the right – Jen and Jono, you two and Star can circle that way and keep them busy. The rest of us are going along that fence to the left and heading for the shed. Questions?”

The thump of Punraz's tail asked when they could start, but there were no other queries. They were all experienced and they worked well as a team. Without further word they split up, and Lang followed the Lieutenant along a crooked fence overgrown with blackberry and broom. She called a halt when they reached the end of the cover, and a stretch of hummocky grass separated them from the target. Its plank walls leaned sadly, and the winter wind had torn off several sheets of rusty iron from the roof. Ominous shadows lay beyond the broken door, and lights flickered in the gloom. 

A flash of movement drew Lang's gaze, and time seemed to slow for an instant as a brilliant white shape sailed through a gap in the trees beyond the shed. At the top of her leap, the can on Star's harness emitted a pop sound, and a fine mesh shot out to entangle a long-limbed stick golem as it lurched towards her. The golem tumbled into a confused heap as the strands engulfed it, and blue-white fire consumed it from the laser on the warrgs other shoulder even as her paws touched the earth. Other golems were rushing forward with their unearthly jerking gait as she leaped the burning pile of sticks and twisted to face them. At that moment, Jen came into sight, hot on the tail of her companion, looking every bit the warrior queen with gleaming sword drawn and blond hair streaming out behind her. Jono crashed through the bushes from another angle, machete swinging. A golem collapsed into a pile of brush as the rusty blade hacked through its centre. 

An electronica stepped out of the shed door and turned to study the commotion. Lieutenant Dries whispered “OK” and pointed forward. Lang was ready with a grenade in his launcher, the cross-hair already centred on the doorway. Kneeling beside him, Rune let off a well-targeted shot from his plasma rifle; crackling blue plasma flickered over the construct and it half turned towards them before pitching forwards and clattering to the ground. An old CRT television shattered somewhere inside it, and an electric frying pan lid rolled away into the long grass. 

Lang squeezed his trigger, and the grenade pitched across the clearing and through the doorway. A flash lit the inside, the tin roof rattled, and a shower of clock parts, broken telephones and twisted vacuum cleaner hoses exploded from the window. 

Jumping up, Dreis and Scout led the charge forward, and the others followed. Lang left the launcher by the fence and drew his revolver as he raced across the grass, bent low, waiting for laser fire to cut them down from the gaping doorway. But they got there safely, and were just pausing for breath beside the door when an electronica appeared in the window. The gaudy lights of a cheap car stereo shone where its head should be, and the lack of one arm indicated damage from the grenade explosion. Lang jumped towards the thing as it raised its remaining arm, revealing an undamaged laser attachment. A shot from his revolver sent it reeling back. He poked his head over the rotten windowsill, then dropped to the ground. “Two on the left, commander on the right, and something glowing.” He pulled a flare from his shirt pocket and tore off the paper cover.

“On three...” Dreis whispered, and started counting. On two, Punraz shouldered his way through the door and launched himself into the gloom, with Freya hot on his heels. Lang hurled the flare towards the far corner of the room. By the time it had fizzed into life, the warrgs had leaped on the nearer electronicas. Punraz hit one hard enough to sent it thrashing to the floor, and Freya pinned the other one to the wall with her front paws as she clamped its car stereo head in her jaws. The raw strength and ferocity of the giant dogs when they got in a fight was awesome and terrifying to Lang, and he was grateful they were on the same side. 

A black arm showed from behind a pile of mouldy hay bales, and a laser fizzed past Lang's ear. He let off another three shots in its general direction, then scrambled over the low windowsill as Bella and the Lieutenant blocked his line of fire. Rune was nowhere to be seen.

Punraz ripped apart the torso of one of the electronicas, and its assorted parts writhed and scattered as they lost cohesion. His dark coat gleamed in the orange flare light, and his heavy sheath swayed as he panted. He turned at a movement in the gloom at the far end of the shed, and a growl rumbled from his throat as the Grolg commander stumbled out from behind the hay pile and collapsed lifeless against the wall, dark blood oozing. 

Freya still pinned the other electronica to the wall, but its lights and meaningless readouts had faded. She dropped to the floor, and turned to follow Punraz. Lang watched her elegant curves move fluidly beneath her leather armour. 

A movement in the gloom caught his attention as lights flickered on the electronica. Horrified, he watched in slow motion as its remaining arm – still bearing the deadly laser – grated into motion. His brain raced ahead of his body, and he knew that arm was going to rise in a ninety-degree arc until it was levelled at Freya; however, it seemed like an eternity before his feet finally moved, and he dived across the intervening metres. He reached the electronica  just in time, and his revolver spun away into the corner as his hands closed around the laser. There was heat and blinding light – but no pain – as the weapon fired and the beam seared across his upper arm. Then they crashed to the floor in a heap, with Lang mostly under the electronica. It thrashed with terrifying strength as it tried to free its weapon, and splinters erupted along with the stench of burning wood as it fired into the floor. Lang held on grimly, and then Freya was tearing at it from above. In the confusion, he felt her hot breath and caught a frightening glimpse of her huge teeth as she bit and pulled. Then suddenly he was no longer struggling against a nightmare laser-arm with demonic strength; instead, his hands held a broken mop handle, parts of a desk lamp and an electric jug cord. The laser dropped to the floor and the rest of the creature fell apart around him as its unifying force dispersed.

He looked up to find Freya standing over him, her fury vanished as quickly as it had risen. Her tail wagged twice – high praise – and her massive nose lowered towards his upper arm. It was then that he noticed the throbbing pain, and realised that he'd been hit. His upper arm was scored by an ugly laser gash, blackened at the edges and oozing blood. It wasn't deep, though, and flexing his fingers caused only a minor increase in pain. He'd been lucky. 

Freya licked the wound a few times with her huge, coarse tongue, and Lang stiffened from the resulting pain. But being so close to the warrg bitch made the pain worthwhile, and he risked a caress of her neck. Her coat was softer than he expected. She eyed him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then turned back to the others, offering him a brief but intriguing glimpse under her tail from his low vantage point. He shrugged off inappropriate thoughts, and scrambled to his feet, sending junk scattering across the floor. 

The grolg gate was a crack in the fabric of reality. To their eyes, it appeared as a shimmering orb of light, and yet when Lang tried to focus on it, he saw only a blackness so absolute it seemed to be a doorway to a time beyond the end of the universe. He looked away; some said that staring into a gate could drive a human mad. 

Dreis poked the grolg with her boot, then bent over to confirm that it was dead. Satisfied, she turned back to the shimmering light, searching for the gate projector which they hoped to bring back for analysis – after they had turned it off. They must understand the grolg technology if they were to have any hope of ending the alien occupation, and the gates were the key. But most were heavily defended, and so they had searched far and wide to find a suitable grolg outpost. 

“Rune – guard the door. Jono – I believe you know the most about these things. See what you can do. Preferably before they figure out what's going on, and send something nasty through”. 

Rune stood very close to the rippling gate interface, and the lieutenant frowned when he showed no sign of moving. Then Lang noticed that Rune still held his plasma rifle in readiness, that its power indicator still glowed, and that it was pointing at them.  

“Stay back!” he growled, the weapon steady in his gnarled hands. “This is set to wide dispersal. I can sear you all with one shot if I have to.”

Lang felt detached despite his confusion. Rune was right; on maximum dispersal at that range, the plasma fire would engulf them all; it was not something he wished to experience. His mind began to connect the dots: Rune, who had joined them with his warrg companion six months earlier; who nobody had heard of before that; welcomed because they were so short of recruits; few questions asked because he added a fearsome warrg to their number. Rune, who had showed a strong interest in their mission to capture a gate.

“What are you doing?” Dreis's flat tone masked a growing impatience. But Lang suspected he knew the answer, and his suspicion grew as Rune, rifle still fixed on the rest of the party, stepped backwards into the gate. 

It looked as if the man was sinking into a pond of shimmering iridescence. His image shifted and warped as the light flowed around him. He convulsed for a moment, and then his eyes opened wide as lines of energy coalesced around him. 

“Get out of there, you idiot!” Dreis yelled, but it was doubtful whether Rune heard or cared. The truth was belatedly clear to them all: they had harboured a secret devotee of the Threshold Cult.

The Threshold Cult: Its members believed that standing in the threshold of a gate would bring godlike powers, perhaps even eternal life. The grolg invasion was to them a reckoning for humanity: The worthy would pass into a gate and become gods, masters even over the grolg. 

“I can see it! I can see it all!” Rune's voice issued from the gate surface, distant and echoey. A look of bliss had suffused his features, something that Lang had never seen in the taciturn man. The sight would remain burned in Lang’s memory. 

“It's grolg propaganda and bullshit!” cried the commander. “They'll just steal your mind!” She turned to the others. “Gods, if they pull him in, they’ll know all about us!”

It was then that Lang noticed Freya beside him, her cool gaze focussed on Rune. Suddenly, a look of utter terror twisted the man’s features, and the plasma rifle dropped from his hands. Freya sprang for the gate, and as the curtain of light closed around her, her massive jaws closed on the ghostly neck of her erstwhile companion. There was a flash of light, and both bodies crashed to the floor on the far side of the gate interface, solid and real once more. Freya scrambled to her feet, shook, and walked disdainfully back around the pulsating sphere to join the others. Rune lay still, throat torn and neck broken. 

“Fuck”, said Bella.

“Well.” Dreis stared at the lifeless form of her second-in-command. “Does anyone else want to try out the gate while we are at it?” Her sarcasm didn't invite any volunteers. “As you were then. Bella, you can watch the door.”

Lang blinked, and shook his head. Events had unfolded before his eyes like a bad film; he had never liked Rune, but he had respected him as a tough soldier. Now his body lay crumpled at the far side of the room. 

Jono crouched beside the gate projector, a jet-black box which sat on the dank floor beneath the shimmering orb. Lights appeared on the side of the cube as he slid his finger over it; he studied the symbols for a moment, before pressing one, then another. A humming filled the air, and dropped in pitch until it became a shaking of the air below the range of hearing, as the iridescent light faded and winked out. The humming stopped, and Rune's plasma rifle crashed to the floor. It was warped as if melted by extreme heat, and its power indicator was dead.

He felt a warmth at his side, and looked down. Freya dropped to her haunches beside him, her back to the gate and her eyes on the trees beyond the window. Lang stiffened in fear as he remembered the huge warrg leaping into the gate, and her jaws crushing Rune's neck. The man had risked all their lives, the fate of humanity even, and had presumably been seeking a gate for his own ends all along. Did Freya somehow understand this when she passed her judgement on her former consort? Her head turned and her eyes met his for a moment. Her soft fur enticed him despite his fear, and he risked a stroke of her head. She reacted by shifting so that her armoured shoulder pressed against his leg, although her cool gaze returned to scanning the forest outside. He caught Bella watching them, but she looked away. 

Jono tried to pick up the deactivated gate projector, but despite being only the size of a briefcase, he could barely get it off the ground. Lang helped him, and together they lugged it outside. 

Dries broke radio silence to report their success to HQ, then announced that their efforts had earned them the rare privilege of a helicopter evacuation. 

“Wow, they really do want that gate!” Bella was thrilled; she loved flying, but the few remaining choppers were never risked just to fly troops about. Only the gate could justify such an extravagance. Lang was just glad that he didn't have to carry the damn thing any further.  

Then came the grim job of zipping bodies into bags and tidying up as best they could. The two grolg would be studied; Rune would be buried, possibly with less than the usual military honours. Soon enough they heard the thumping of a Huey echoing off the hills, and the big machine circled and dropped into the clearing, scattering the piles of brush left by disintegrating stick golems. Heads lowered, they loaded the body bags and the gate, and scrambled aboard with their weapons and kit. Unperturbed by the noise and downdraft, the warrgs jumped up and found places among the humans and piles of equipment. The lieutenant gave a thumbs-up to the pilot, and the engines roared as they lifted away from the ruined hamlet and turned to the west.

Lang sat at the rear of the cabin, his back against the bulkhead. The back doors were missing, and the sight of foggy tundra speeding past below made him nervous. It didn't bother Bella, though; she perched in the doorway, one arm looped through a hand-strap. Punraz seemed to be just as keen on flying; he stood in front of her with fore-paws on a pack, tongue out in a happy grin and ears blowing back in the wind. Star sat statuesque in the centre of the cabin, looking ahead past the pilot; Scout lay curled up near her. But Freya had made sure (deliberately, it seemed) that she had a space on Lang's other side, and she lay, head on paws, contemplating the horizon.

By the time the company had arrived at camp, endured an interminable debriefing from the commander, and finally been discharged, the events of the day were starting to sink in, and Lang was yawning. His seared arm throbbed gently beneath a fresh bandage, despite a good dose of painkillers. 
The camp came with a significant bonus: a hot spring bubbled up at the foot of the hill, and a row of concrete bath houses had been constructed in times past to take advantage of the natural hot water. Lang dumped his pack and equipment at his tent, and made straight for the tubs. The sky had cleared during the afternoon, and the setting sun lit the last clouds with a deep red. 
 Each bath measured two metres by two metres, screened on three sides by walls of mossy concrete. The fourth side was open to give a view out over the  forest-covered hills. If there was ever a roof, it had crumbled long ago. A bench by the door offered a dry spot to place towels and clothes, and rough steps led down into the steaming water. 
As he was about to close the rickety wooden door, a shape moved in the shadows. Lang froze for a moment as Freya sidled up to him, her face impassive as ever. The sight of her jaws closing on Rune’s neck still occupied Lang’s mind. But she had stayed beside him on the helicopter ride, and had shown no desire to attack him since then. He had watched her for six months, his desire to touch her almost irresistible at times. Excitement as well as trepidation filled him as she pushed past him and sniffed the water of the pool. He held the door for a while as she looked back at him, but she showed no inclination to leave, so he closed it. 
Satisfied with her inspection of the water, the massive warrg turned around twice then lay down, her bulk filling most of the limited floor space beside the pool. A metal clasp on her leather armour dug into the man’s leg, and the smell of old leather and hot dog rose to his nose. Close up, she was just as magnificent as he expected, and he patted her neck. Her tail thumped the floor to indicate that she didn’t mind. Smiling, he stepped over her to stand on the edge of the pool, and eased off his clothes. 
Standing naked in front of the canine, he felt strangely shy. Don’t be silly, he told himself, and yet her gaze did travel up and down his body, as if in appraisal. He reached down to give her ears another caress, before he rested his bandaged arm on the edge of the pool and lowered himself into the steaming water. 
Freya’s ears twitched occasionally in response to a distant shout or the bark of another warrg from somewhere in the camp. She regarded Lang with eyes half-closed as he soaked away the grime and tension of the day. How a day can change things, he mused. And yet we adjust.

---

When Lang completed his bath, Freya had stretched, yawned, then trotted after him to the mess tent. He’d felt very embarrassed to have her pacing at his side as if he were a proper warrg-bonded warrior. He noticed others watching him, and wondered how far the news of Rune’s death had spread. He spotted Bella at one of the long tables, and slid in beside her, grateful to see a friendly face. Punraz lay under the table, tucking into a suitably large bowl of raw meat mixed with dried rations.

Bella raised an eyebrow when she saw Freya. 

“I wondered where she got to!”

Lang nodded. “She’s been following me around. I’m not sure what we should do, since Rune...” He trailed off, unsure how to continue. 

Freya was looking intently, first at Lang, then at Punraz, and especially his dinner bowl. Bella grinned. “Well, you could start by getting her dinner!”

Punraz was licking his bowl clean by the time Lang returned with his meal tray balanced atop a dog bowl. Freya made short work of her ration, while the humans ate at a more leisurely pace. She stretched and then lay down, her back against Punraz and her nose on Langs feet. Bella glanced down, then smiled. “It looks like you’ve got a new friend!”

Lang blushed. “What do I do if she keeps following me? I mean, do I let her stay?”

Bella laughed. “Well, I’m not going to try and stop her! You’ll just have to put up with it!”

She patted Punraz on the head, then continued. “But seriously, she’s always liked you. And I’ve seen the way you look at her!” She grinned and winked at the shocked look on his face. “Don’t play all innocent! I notice these things.”

Lang didn’t know what to say, and so he stared into his half-finished coffee. 

“There wasn’t a lot of love between her and Rune. I noticed that, too.” she said at length. “I guess she felt that she owed him a debt, or something.” She met Lang’s eyes then. “The warrg are very loyal. Don’t ever forget that.” 

But excitement was growing in Lang at the implications of her words, and a hope he hardly dared to think of. Would this magnificent warrg be walking at his side next time they started out on a sortie? And would she be curled up beside him in his tent, sharing her warmth through the cold nights?

He reached down to stroke Freya’s head, and the warrg looked up at him. “Don’t worry!” Bella laughed, “She won’t bite you… not without a really good reason, anyway.” She rubbed Punraz’s flanks to emphasise her point, digging her fingers into his glossy black hair. Punraz rolled over like a puppy, a goofy look on his face, revealing the tan fur of his belly. His large sheath and balls held Lang’s gaze. Bella rubbed his tummy, and Lang was sure that her hand caressed his sheath for just a moment. 

Lang had never seen any of the warrgs behave in such a relaxed manner – but the warrgs and their human companions tended to remain aloof from everyone else, and he had never been a part of that group before, as much as he had wanted to be. Plucking up courage, he used both hands to rub Freya’s neck, his fingers exploring the ropey muscles beneath her soft tan fur. She stretched and her tail thumped in response to his touch.

---

Night had fallen by the time Lang left the mess. Sturdy canvass tents were scattered amongst a forest of low Manuka trees, and well-worn paths to the latrines indicated their prolonged occupation. Lang had secured a cosy moss-lined hollow close to the rest of his company, but shielded by a row of ferns. Freya padded beside him as he followed the winding path through the trees, her nose ever twitching as she sniffed out the neighbourhood. 

The tent was high enough that Lang could stand in the centre, and a crude wooden floor kept the worst of the damp out. He lit a tilly lamp and hung it from the ridge-pole so that its warm glow spilled out into the clearing. Then he sat down in the doorway and stretched his tired limbs. He fished in a wooden chest and pulled out a biscuit from his ration stash. As he munched on it, Freya sat down in front of him, and licked her lips, her eyes on the snack. Gingerly, he held out the remaining half to her, fearful of her large teeth. She leaned forward and pulled the morsel ever-so-gently from his fingers, and he felt only her hot breath. She munched with contentment, then lay down, her eyes still on him. She looked dissatisfied, however, and in a moment she got to her feet again. She nudged his knee with her nose, then lowered her head and deftly unfastened the clasps at the front of her armour – first one side, then the other,  using her teeth.

“Ah, I see!  That armour is quite uncomfortable, and you want help getting it off!”

Warrgs couldn’t talk, he thought, but maybe it wasn’t so hard to understand them. 

It took Lang some fumbling around to undo all the clasps, and he found himself kneeling beside the huge dog with her tail in his face as he freed the buckles around her back legs. He couldn’t resist caressing the pale fur that lined her inner thighs. He half expected her to bite him, but instead she leaned her weight on his shoulder. Traces of dried blood and swamp muck clung to her fur, adding to her rich canine musk. It was hardly a delicate perfume, and yet it excited  him.

As the final clasp was undone, she dipped her shoulder and shook off the leather coverings. From his low angle, Lang caught a good glimpse of her vulva, standing out dark and proud from the pale fur beneath her tail. With a conscious effort he looked away, and instead focussed on massaging her back and shoulders with his fingers. She leaned more of her weight against him, and he had to brace himself to stay upright. 

He gasped as her cold nose brushed his neck. She turned to face him, and he looked into her deep brown eyes. At that moment, he was flooded by a feeling of warmth. This was what he had always wished for, what he had been missing all his life. He felt her strength and courage, and her devotion – all the elements from which the warrg were forged. There was a wildness there, too. They would travel together, he knew it, but she did not belong to him. Perhaps I belong to her, he thought, and he did not care. 

His hands explored her neck and shoulders, and her tail swished to and fro. She sniffed at his hair, and then licked his mouth in a sloppy kiss with plenty of drool and a huge tongue. He gagged for a moment at the taste and the thought of it – a warrg tongue, a canine tongue in his mouth. But the feeling passed, and excitement replaced it. He opened his mouth wide and returned the kiss, and he felt his tongue brush her teeth. He had seen those teeth tear mechanical golems apart, and crush a man’s neck, and now they were just a hair’s breadth from his face. But her fur felt hot against his skin, and her smell and taste filled him. Perhaps some of her wildness had transferred to him in her gaze. She was a warrg. Dangerous? Most likely. Unpredictable? Perhaps. Irresistible? Definitely. 

All of a sudden, Lang was more aroused than he had been in a very long time. He could feel his cock getting hard. That’s crazy, he told himself, trying to calm down. But the sensuality of the warrg bitch as his hands moved over her fur, and the wild smell of her – these obsessed him. He was playing with fire in so many ways, yet his hands would not stop. He caressed her flank, over her hip and down the back of her back leg, and now his fingers strayed beneath her tail, just enough to brush her vulva.  The lips were smooth beneath his fingertips after the softness of her fur, and her tail lifted a little. He caressed her ears with his other hand as he explored her opening. He licked his fingers, then ran them around the rim of her vulva. Carefully, he worked a finger inside, fascinated but also terrified of her rebuke. He felt heat and an exquisite silky smoothness there, and when he looked up, the canine’s eyes stared dreamily into the distance. When he stopped for a moment, she licked his cheek, then turned her rump towards him, and when she looked back at him, he was sure he saw laughter and also desire in her eyes. 

Encouraged, he explored further with his fingers, marvelling at the way her slick passage curved upwards and then inwards. Her muscles quivered and as he found her clitoris. Oh my god, he thought, am I really doing this? If it was wrong, he didn’t care. All that mattered was the glorious creature before him, and their mutual pleasure. 

Kneeling, he gripped her hind quarters while he lowered his face beneath her tail, which she lifted obligingly. He hesitated for a moment, excited but also repulsed. But after all, was it really that different from an encounter with a human? The warrgs carried no diseases that could be transferred to him. His fascination was strong, and he buried his face in her fur as his tongue explored her entrance. His revulsion vanished as sensual pleasure overtook him. Her taste was tangy and metallic, and her muscles quivered again as her pushed his tongue into her smooth folds. His cock was straining at the confining cloth of his pants.

Freya jumped forward and spun around, and her teeth flashed in his face as she gave a soft bark. He was terrified for a moment, but then she dropped her fore-quarters in a play bow, and her tail wagged. 

“Ah!” he murmured. “I guess you want more.”

Lang had never considered his attraction to the warrgs to be sexual. And yet the feelings had always been there, buried. Perhaps he’d been too afraid to admit them. Now his desire burned through him, and he could no more deny it than tell the wind to blow the other way. He fumbled out of his pants, finally freeing his hard member, and pulled off his shirt. The cool night air felt fantastic against his bare skin. Freya watched with interest, and before he could do anything else, she pushed her muzzle into his crotch, and a huge tongue engulfed his balls and then his cock. “Unngh” he mumbled, thrilling as her coarse tongue stimulated his member, and her teeth brushed his sensitive areas. Then, seemingly satisfied that he was both hard enough and slick enough, she turned around, and lifted her tail to entice him. 

He stood, grasped her hips, and rubbed himself against her rear. Soft warm fur pressed against his belly, his inner thighs, his cock… he was dizzy with desire. Despite Freya’s size, she was not quite tall enough, and he bent his knees as he guided his cock under her tail. Her tail pulled upwards and to one side as he penetrated her, and eased his member upwards and inwards. 

Sensations almost overcame him; her heat and her silken depths, and warm fur against his skin. This was raw animal passion, and it felt completely right that they should share it. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close while he buried his member in her, and with every thrust of his cock, her muscles clenched and she pushed back against him. 

Lang had been obsessed by the warrgs since puberty – although he had not dared to admit it – and it had been a while since he’d had the chance for any sexual release, what with long patrols and few romantic opportunities. It didn’t take long for the excitement of orgasm to start building. But before he could cum, he felt Freya twitch. She leaped forward, then spun around and dropped to a play bow before him, her tail slashing the air and a wicked glint in her eye. Lang had never seen such a display of exuberance from the normally reserved bitch.
 
“I guess you liked that?” he whispered. He was desperate for more, for release, but when he moved towards her tail end, she spun around again. Then she dropped to the ground, rolled over, and wriggled blissfully in the mossy grass. Her tan flanks merged to white on her belly, and her vulva stood out in the elegant ‘V’ between her hind legs, its entrance moist with his pre-cum. His hard cock throbbed at the thought of slipping inside that entrance again, but when he stroked her tummy, she rolled over and started to lick herself clean, and her message was quite clear. “You’ve had enough now, eh?” He murmured, trying not to sound sulky. Only a very brave and foolish human would disrespect the desires of a warrg. Well, if brief moments of passion were all he got, he’d take it.  Maybe I’m just her love-slave, he thought.

Respect for the warrg was all very well, but he was still desperately horny, and the memory of moving inside her sent shivers through his core. He would just have to finish himself off, he thought. He realised that he was getting cold standing around naked, and also that he was very tired, so he crawled into the tent and lay down on his bedroll. He’d grown accustomed to its firmness, and he had an excellent down sleeping bag to keep out the cold. He stretched his aching muscles, then ran his hand down his belly and over his cock, savouring the tingle of sexual excitement that still ran through him. His cock was sticky with the bitch’s juices, and he raised his fingers and inhaled the sweet metallic aroma that clung to them. He smiled as he thought again of her dark vulva, hiding secret depths, hot and slick with precum. His member was instantly hard again, and he stoked it slowly as he thought of the warrg. 

The door flap lifted, and a large brown nose pushed inside and looked around. 

“Hello!” He whispered softly as he caressed Freya’s ears. “You can come in!”

The huge bitch shouldered her way through the door, and Lang watched as she turned around twice in the middle of the floor, then lay down next to his mattress. He inched over until his naked body was snuggled against her fur, and stroked her face and neck with his hand. She was a fierce and fearless warrior, and now she lay warm and soft beside him. 

She sighed and rolled towards him, belly up and paws spread. This time, she did not move away as he stroked her, running his fingers around each nipple and then down towards the mound between her thighs. Instead, she stretched luxuriously, and her tail swished the floor. It looked like an invitation, as though she wanted to make sure that he was also satisfied. He hoped he was reading her body-language correctly as he raised himself on one elbow and stroked her flank. His burning desire spurred him to test his theory. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to bend down and nibble at her muzzle, and this time he was ready for, and even thrilled by, the wild animal taste of her mouth. 

He eased around until he knelt between her back legs, and now her dark slit lay enticingly before him. He rubbed a little extra spit on his cock and pressed the head inside her, until her labia closed over his glans. She lay with her back legs spread, front paws in a languid fold, and head to one side, and he was sure her expression was a relaxed smile. Holding his cock with one hand, he moved it up and down her slit, rubbing the tip against the lump of her clitoris. She quivered as he stimulated her again, and her muscles clenched. He couldn’t resist any longer; he pushed forward, deep into her, until his body was pressed against her warm fur. 

Lang could not remember the last time it had felt so good. Maybe it was a mix of novelty, years of repressed desire, and the sensual pleasure of skin on fur, but every nerve in his body sparkled with energy. He grasped her thighs as he thrust into her again and again, and with every penetration, her muscles clenched on his member and she pressed upwards with her hips to engulf as much of his cock as possible. 

He was panting, gasping, as his pleasure and burning need grew to a crescendo.  She moved in time to his thrusts, and his balls slapped against her tail as she humped his cock from below. 

Then he couldn’t hold out any longer. He thrust hard and deep as his release overwhelmed him, and he moaned as his first shot of cum gushed into her. At the same time, he heard the bitch gasp, and her vagina clenched around his cock. Then his vision greyed as pleasure overwhelmed him, and he thrust and spurted his cum into her again and again. Her abdominal muscles contracted rhythmically in time with his gushing ejaculation, her orgasm drawing his seed deep inside her. 

His breathing gradually slowed along with his pulsing cock. He felt Freya twitching, and as he let go of her legs, she pushed him off and scrambled up, her tail wagging more than he had ever seen before. She play-bowed again and whuffed in satisfaction, then lay down and started to lick the man’s cum off herself. 

Suddenly faint, Lang collapsed onto his mattress, filled with a warm glow. Now he really was tired, and it took a huge effort to sit up and turn off the lamp. He stretched out and pulled his sleeping bag over himself. 

In the darkness, the slurping sound of the bitch’s tongue stopped. Footsteps circled, then a heavy weight flopped down beside him. Lang wrapped his arm around Freya’s neck, and she sighed. 

Although they were far from grolg-controlled territory, they faced inevitable enslavement or extinction by the expanding grolg empire if they could not fight back. But next time he faced them, he’d have a magnificent warrg at his side.