Zoofic longer fic...
Zoofic:
The Fuhrers Pack part 2 I guess.
Al watched the kit crawl across the dense mat of pine needles that covered the forest floor. The kitten stopped to bat at a pine cone, catching it with a claw and throwing it away, then chasing it as fast as he could on hands and knees. Indulgently, Al slid off the rock to join his brother, easily catching up to the slow moving kit and tossing the wayward cone back in his direction.
Al was beginning to see a bit of Ed in the kitten. The hair was still very short, and it wore a baby pelt, but the eyes were definitely Edwards. Maybe in another year or two the kit would act a bit more like Ed, and Al would feel less lonely.
Al snorted. What a silly thought. It was time for him to leave the den himself, find a mate and territory of his own. As much as his father Alphonse loved him, there was beginning to be an awkward tension between them. And his Father Edward had begun to look at him in ways he hadn't before. Al had lost his kittenish looks and most of his kittenish behavior. He was too old to stay home.
There had been no scent nor boot print of a traveling Edward in years. Waiting for a mate to come to him was simply not an option. No it was time to don a traveling pelt himself and go out into the wild and see what fate brought him. Al's fighting skills were more than adequate, and his hunting skills had improved a lot in the last year. There was nothing holding him back but inertia.
Al ruffled little Ed's hair. The kitten cooed happily, "Da, da, da!"
"I'm not your Da," said Al, then impulsively picked up his younger brother and cuddled him in his arms. He licked the kits face and paws and nuzzled it's cheek, breathing in the sweet young scent. "I've got to go, little one." He licked the kittens ear. "I'll probably never see you again."
"Da," said the kitten not understanding at all.
"But don't worry," Al said. "You'll have another brother soon. And Daddy Alphonse and Daddy Edward. You won't miss me. You probably won't even remember me."
Having made up his mind to leave, Al decided he really didn't want to wait any longer. Clapping his hands he pushed it into the mat of needles, transmuting them instinctively into a new pelt. Black, long sleeved jacket and a red coat to go over everything. The kitten watched him dress, while mouthing the pine cone. The significance of his actions were utterly lost on the tiny elric.
"Ah!" said the kitten suddenly, while Al was pushing his new undershirt over his head. Al pushed the shirt down and smelled the scent himself.
Havoc.
A single havoc was no match for an Elric, but havocs tended to hunt in packs, and sometimes they hunted with a Mustang. A mustang would not be good at all. Mustangs - mustangs were tricky.
When Al had been a kit not much older than Ed, a mustang had wandered into their territory. The fight had been horrendous, and through luck and the combined efforts of both his parents the predator had been driven off. Driven off, not killed. And both his parents had been singed and clawed.
They had brought back to the den a swath of the mustang's pelt for Al and Ed to sniff. It had smelled of smoke, but underneath that had been an interesting scent that Al had immediately liked in some strange and hard to understand way.
"They trick you," Edward Father had said. "They lure you out to where you are vulnerable, and then they kill you. If you smell this scent, run away kit. As fast as you can, run away."
Al sniffed the air again, and yes, there was just the tiniest trace of that sweet alluring scent.
"KIT," said Al, shoving the last of new pelt on. "Stay close."
The kit was too young to comply, so Al snatched it up and hugged it close to his chest, under his red coat. They had to get back to the den as soon as possible. The den was defensible, and it would be where Father Alphonse was. Between the two of them, they had a chance to drive off this pack, but if Al and the kit were caught out in the open, they were likely to get caught and killed.
Al crossed the forest, following the deer tracks, figuring that speed at this point was more important than stealth. Inside he kicked himself. He shouldn't have brought the kit so far out to play. There were plenty of pine cones to bat nearer to home, why had he roamed so far?
A loud explosion stopped Al in his tracks. The kit held on tight to his chest, pressing it's face against him in fear. Suddenly the smell of smoke overwhelmed Al's nose. There were more upheavals, and the earth beneath Al's feet shook from the force of the fight. Al could hear the noises of the shouting havocs, and his own Father Alphonse voice.
The Mustang pack was at the den. There was no going back there. As if to confirm that, he heard his father's scream above the din. It was a long chilling wail of pain that abruptly cut off.
Al froze a moment, standing in the deer track indecisively. The earth had stopped shaking, but he could hear the roar of a fire burning out of control. The smell of smoke was overwhelming, and the kitten tucked under his coat, coughed. That pushed his actions more than anything else. Al turned around and began running away from the noise, the smoke, the smells. He'd take the kit to the river, where they could hide from the fire, and lose their scent and tracks in the water.
Other forest creatures had much the same idea. Squirrels scampered around Al's feet, threatening to trip him up. Eyes tearing from the smoke and beginning to cough himself, Al scrambled the last few feet out of the shrubs and onto the broad reedy banks of the river.
He'd hardly left the cover of the bush before he felt heavy arms grab him. Off balance, Al fell, instinctively curling and rolling as he went down to protect the kit next to his chest. Al's back sank into the mud, and he stared up through the reeds at the grim face of older, grizzled Havoc.
"Found one, sir!" shouted the Havoc, then he sniffed again. "Two. An Alphonse and his kitten."
Al froze. He couldn't fight with the kitten clinging to his chest. Its weight hampered him, and at least one of his hands needed to hold it. Yet if he put the kitten down, it would be killed immediately. It was too young even to hide itself.
He wanted to protect the kit, but logic said that was impossible. Little Ed was doomed, and it would only be by sheer luck that Al survived. Al tried to push the kitten way, even though the act tore at his heart, but the kitten refused to let go. Al hissed as Ed's claws cut painful holes in his shirt, gouging into his side.
No! He would not abandon his brother! He tried to rise again, holding the kitten. If he could run past this Havoc, he might lose himself and the kit in the scent killing smoke. But the moment he was on his feet, the havoc grabbed him and held him.
Al sank his teeth in the Havoc's arm but tasted only pelt. The havoc's teeth however didn't miss their mark. It bit precisely on the spot on the back of his neck that triggered his kitten reflex.
Al purred instinctively, out of fear rather than pleasure. He closed his eyes and waited for the killing blow.
And waited. And waited.
There was a sound of crashing in the reeds around him and Al dared to peek to see what was going on. He was surrounded by the mustang pack, two more havocs, a hawkeye and a smaller darker creature that Al had never seen before, and there was the Mustang, two stars on it's shoulders.
"It's not the father," said the Mustang. "It's an adolescent. See, notice it's hair is still short. Probably a kitten, despite the coat. Hold it still."
Al purred louder as the Mustang approached. He hoped it would kill him with its claws rather than burn him with fire. Al sniffed in a deep reflexive breath at it approached. Over the reek of smoke and havoc there was that strangely pleasant scent. Al's insides squirmed a little in an unfamiliar way, and then Al realized with surprise that he actually felt an urge to mate with this predator. He shuddered with disgust and embarrassment.
"Take the infant," ordered the Mustang. "But don't kill it. The older one hasn't abandoned it. Apparently it feels some affection towards it. That could be useful." The mustangs eyes never left Al's. "I've heard these creatures are very loyal to their brothers, alphonses in particular."
The Hawkeye closed in and pried little Ed from Al's chest. "Da!" the kit wailed as it was separated, but the Hawkeye nipped the back of it's neck and it quickly went quiet and limp in her arms.
Al's eyes widened, and he abruptly stopped purring. Now the kit was out of his hands, he was free to contemplate his own selfish needs. The havoc's teeth had loosened, and that that was all Al needed to throw himself into one last desperate bid for survival. Spinning in the havoc's embrace, he hooked his leg around the predator, and knocked it off its feet. The second he was free he dashed away.
He'd gotten no more than three feet before the reeds around him whooshed into flames. Coughing Al reeled back and attempted to bolt in another direction, but the havocs were on him again. This time they wrestled his pelt off his shoulders and around his arms in such a way that they were locked behind his back. Then he felt those sharp teeth at the nape of his neck again.
He was pushed back towards the pack. The Mustang seemed neither upset nor pleased at Al's escape. Al flinched a little as the mustang put out a gloved hand and stroked the underside of Al's chin.
"Behave yourself and we won't kill the kitten. Fight us or try to escape again, and we shall take its head off and feed you the flesh."
Al trembled. "Aren't you going to eat us?"
The mustang arched an eyebrow. "I have orders to collect unmated adolescents. You fit the description; the kitten, however, is of no use to us if it doesn't keep you in line. What do you say? Is it dinner? Or a hostage?"
"Don't kill my brother!" said Al. "I won't run." There was no point in it anyway. If they had taken out his Alphonse father, then they could surely take out him. At least they didn't seem to want him dead.
"Excellent," said the mustang. "Fall in, we are heading back to base."
As they walked more creatures joined. More havocs, more hawkeyes, a few other creatures, all in identical blue pelts, signifying their pack status. Al's fathers had lead him to believe that mustang packs were fairly small, two to five other creatures, but this pack was enormous, ten, fifteen, almost twenty strong. Al's fathers didn't have a chance.
Several havocs came carrying large pieces of carcasses. There was enough left of the charred pelts for Al to recognize them belonging to a mature Alphonse and Edward, though thankfully his fathers' scents were obliterated by the roasting. Al began to purr again in fear, and his eyes swam with tears.
The mustang noticed. "Get the meat out of the kit's sight, it's upsetting him. Take the ridge path back" The havocs nodded and pealed off to the left, leaving nothing but a trace of burnt meat smell in the air.
For a while Al walked in silence. Al sniffed as he left the familiar hunting grounds and crossed over into the unknown. He smelled the faint boundary markings his Father Edward maintained. He'd known that he would be leaving, but never thought it would be under these circumstances.
"Why aren't you killing me," asked Al after a while.
"The Fuhrer has plans for you," replied the mustang. "I'm not privy to what they are, nor can I guess what use he has with a lesser creature such as yourself. But it isn't my place to question my orders."
That seemed to be all the mustang had to say about the issue, but then after a few minutes the creature spoke again. "The Fuhrer has been collecting a lot of odd creatures lately. And he's sent furys into human inhabited territories. It's worrisome."
"Worrisome, how?" asked Al.
The mustang jerked a bit and looked at him. Al realized that the mustang had been speaking to himself. "Nothing that you need concern yourself with, Alphonse. You wouldn’t understand tactics or pack decisions anyway."
"I -" said Al, but then stopped. The mustangs face then went hard, and it bared its teeth.
Al knew enough about tactics and pack decisions to keep quiet the rest of the journey.
Al smelled the command center long before they reached it. They'd been following the edge of a cliff over a stream for about an hour when they turned away and happened on a much larger well trodden path. The place reeked of creatures and smoke, and tantalizingly of food. Al's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since morning. The kit would be hungry too. Al realized that it now fell on him to feed his brother.
They crossed between a tangled web of vines and branches that seemed almost deliberate in their placement. Al looked up and sure enough, perched in the trees to either side of the narrowed path were hawkeyes, guns at the ready. No wolf or cayote would be able to cross into this protected area without risking its fur.
The path wound down the steep side of the hill, so narrow that they were forced into single file. Though Al could see nothing below but the canopy of trees and bushes the smell was unmistakable. This mustang pack was huge.
A cave opened up in the side of the hill. Al was reluctant to follow the havoc inside, but the mustang at his back left him no choice. Inside echoed with noise. As his vision failed, Al's other senses grew keener. There were scent trails left on the walls that lead off in different directions. What they signified Al had no idea, nor was he allowed to figure them out. As soon as he shifted to follow one, he felt those abrasive paws on his shoulders again, pulling him back in line.
"Stay in formation."
The cave narrowed to smooth odd tube like formation of rock broken periodically by holes.
"Halt!" The pack stopped. "Take the kit to the puppy nest," ordered the mustang.
"Aye, colonel," came the sharp reply, and then the hawkeye carrying the kit moved down one of the side passages.
Al attempted to follow, but again the mustang stopped him. "You stay with me."
"My brother needs me," Al protested. "Who will feed him? He's not a puppy!"
"I'm sure the hawkeyes will take good care of him. You gave your word of honor that you would obey my commands. You come this way."
If Al disobeyed little Ed would be killed. Reluctantly he let himself be pushed on. Soon Edwards smell was lost in the general miasma of scents.
Miserably, Al trudged on.
The cave system did not resemble his parents cozy den at all. It was cold and craggy and slippery, and it dripped in places. Still other places he felt warm puffs of moist air and a trace of sulfur and iron. At times it smelled predominantly of havocs, and other times it smelled like hawkeyes, furies, and a couple other unidentified pack types. Still more bizarrely was the smell of multiple mustangs.
Father Edward had assured Al that, puppies aside, there was only one mustang per pack, and that mature mustangs were fiercely competitive, much the way Edwards were, driving away or killing any rival they happened upon.
But here Al smelled many mustangs, in close quarters, and none of the fighting scent he expected when two creatures disputed territory. The mustangs were cooperating with each other.
Al had no sooner come to that conclusion than he found himself shoved into a smaller room. As al was pushed past layers of draped pelts and furs, he suddenly blinked and saw light.
For the briefest of seconds, Al wondered if they had passed out of the cave all together, but then his stinging eyes focused on a roaring fire at the far end of the cave. Instinct told Al to run. Forest fires and smoke would kill, but then he realized that he was with Mustangs, and fire was their forte. Sure enough after the Al's initial panic died down he realized the fire was confined to a nook, and the smoke and embers were being funneled up a hole away from the room.
Which was a good thing, because the cave was simply covered in flammable pelts and furs. Al recognized deer hides, rabbit, cayote, hides, littered so thickly across the floor that he felt the ground squish under his boots. There was none of the outer cave systems chill, nor the sting of late fall air. A slight draft kept the air fresh, but not enough to despell the thick smell of sweat and mating, and the powerfully seductive odor of mustangs. Al blinked.
"Do you like my office?" came a soft, low voice. Al turned and saw a Mustang relaxing on a mound of pelts. It was an older mustang, it's hair peppered with grey, and one eye covered by an enormous patch.
Al didn't smell hunger from it, and it's voice sounded amused if anything. Al spoke up. "Who are you?"
"I'm the fuhrer," said the Mustang. "This is my command center. You've been captured by my pack."
"Why have you brought me here?" Al asked again.
The Furher sat up and eyed him. "To serve me. To join my pack."
Al swallowed. "I'm not .. I'm an Elric. We don't mate with your kind. Besides, you appear to have a lot of other mates. I can't be one of your pack. Why would you want me?"
"Under usual circumstances, I wouldn't even consider taking you as a mate. Your kind is notoriously finicky, and not particularly susceptible to my leadership scent. Pupping with such a lesser species is difficult and rare." said the Fuhrer. "But mating and pups are not my interest with you. As you pointed out, I have plenty of both.
"No, Elrics have interesting abilities. Useful abilities. I'm willing to overlook a few drawbacks, in return for your loyalty and your obedience. Will you give them to me?"
Al felt a bit relieved that the Mustang wasn't planning on mating him, but that left him even more confused as to what his purpose might be. "Or else what?" Al dared ask. "What if I don't do whatever it is you want." He knew the answer but he wanted to hear it.
And the Mustang didn't surprise him. "Or else you become food, along with the kitten brought with you." The Mustang chuckled. "You will serve my pack in one way or another, you see. I am expanding my territory, young Alphonse. My furys have reported of several other elric packs. If you do not serve me, one of them might."
Al swallowed and nodded. "What do you want me to do?"
"For now, keep me company. Come close, little creature."
Reluctantly Al approached. The fuhrer mustang gestured until Al was crouched at the Mustangs knee. He felt the Fuhrer stroke his hair with a lazy hand. "I'm building an empire. Soon this entire forest and all within it will be mine. None shall move within it's borders without my permission. The game shall be managed and divided amongst my loyal packlings. Preditors shall be hunted down ruthlessly, and their pelts shall line the caves where my many pups sleep. Even the humans themselves will not dare encroach upon my territory. It will be glorious, kitten, and you will be part of it."
Despite what the Fuhrer had said about Elrics not being susceptible to the leadership scent of Mustangs, Al did find himself entranced with it. The Fuhrers words painted an exciting if strange picture, and his hand on Al's head felt reassuring and comfortable. He leaned on the mustangs thigh, the way he sometimes did with his father Alphonse.
For a while the Fuhrer talked in soothing tones about his dream of empire. Al closed his eyes and relaxed and started to purr.
The Fuhrers Pack part 2 I guess.
Al watched the kit crawl across the dense mat of pine needles that covered the forest floor. The kitten stopped to bat at a pine cone, catching it with a claw and throwing it away, then chasing it as fast as he could on hands and knees. Indulgently, Al slid off the rock to join his brother, easily catching up to the slow moving kit and tossing the wayward cone back in his direction.
Al was beginning to see a bit of Ed in the kitten. The hair was still very short, and it wore a baby pelt, but the eyes were definitely Edwards. Maybe in another year or two the kit would act a bit more like Ed, and Al would feel less lonely.
Al snorted. What a silly thought. It was time for him to leave the den himself, find a mate and territory of his own. As much as his father Alphonse loved him, there was beginning to be an awkward tension between them. And his Father Edward had begun to look at him in ways he hadn't before. Al had lost his kittenish looks and most of his kittenish behavior. He was too old to stay home.
There had been no scent nor boot print of a traveling Edward in years. Waiting for a mate to come to him was simply not an option. No it was time to don a traveling pelt himself and go out into the wild and see what fate brought him. Al's fighting skills were more than adequate, and his hunting skills had improved a lot in the last year. There was nothing holding him back but inertia.
Al ruffled little Ed's hair. The kitten cooed happily, "Da, da, da!"
"I'm not your Da," said Al, then impulsively picked up his younger brother and cuddled him in his arms. He licked the kits face and paws and nuzzled it's cheek, breathing in the sweet young scent. "I've got to go, little one." He licked the kittens ear. "I'll probably never see you again."
"Da," said the kitten not understanding at all.
"But don't worry," Al said. "You'll have another brother soon. And Daddy Alphonse and Daddy Edward. You won't miss me. You probably won't even remember me."
Having made up his mind to leave, Al decided he really didn't want to wait any longer. Clapping his hands he pushed it into the mat of needles, transmuting them instinctively into a new pelt. Black, long sleeved jacket and a red coat to go over everything. The kitten watched him dress, while mouthing the pine cone. The significance of his actions were utterly lost on the tiny elric.
"Ah!" said the kitten suddenly, while Al was pushing his new undershirt over his head. Al pushed the shirt down and smelled the scent himself.
Havoc.
A single havoc was no match for an Elric, but havocs tended to hunt in packs, and sometimes they hunted with a Mustang. A mustang would not be good at all. Mustangs - mustangs were tricky.
When Al had been a kit not much older than Ed, a mustang had wandered into their territory. The fight had been horrendous, and through luck and the combined efforts of both his parents the predator had been driven off. Driven off, not killed. And both his parents had been singed and clawed.
They had brought back to the den a swath of the mustang's pelt for Al and Ed to sniff. It had smelled of smoke, but underneath that had been an interesting scent that Al had immediately liked in some strange and hard to understand way.
"They trick you," Edward Father had said. "They lure you out to where you are vulnerable, and then they kill you. If you smell this scent, run away kit. As fast as you can, run away."
Al sniffed the air again, and yes, there was just the tiniest trace of that sweet alluring scent.
"KIT," said Al, shoving the last of new pelt on. "Stay close."
The kit was too young to comply, so Al snatched it up and hugged it close to his chest, under his red coat. They had to get back to the den as soon as possible. The den was defensible, and it would be where Father Alphonse was. Between the two of them, they had a chance to drive off this pack, but if Al and the kit were caught out in the open, they were likely to get caught and killed.
Al crossed the forest, following the deer tracks, figuring that speed at this point was more important than stealth. Inside he kicked himself. He shouldn't have brought the kit so far out to play. There were plenty of pine cones to bat nearer to home, why had he roamed so far?
A loud explosion stopped Al in his tracks. The kit held on tight to his chest, pressing it's face against him in fear. Suddenly the smell of smoke overwhelmed Al's nose. There were more upheavals, and the earth beneath Al's feet shook from the force of the fight. Al could hear the noises of the shouting havocs, and his own Father Alphonse voice.
The Mustang pack was at the den. There was no going back there. As if to confirm that, he heard his father's scream above the din. It was a long chilling wail of pain that abruptly cut off.
Al froze a moment, standing in the deer track indecisively. The earth had stopped shaking, but he could hear the roar of a fire burning out of control. The smell of smoke was overwhelming, and the kitten tucked under his coat, coughed. That pushed his actions more than anything else. Al turned around and began running away from the noise, the smoke, the smells. He'd take the kit to the river, where they could hide from the fire, and lose their scent and tracks in the water.
Other forest creatures had much the same idea. Squirrels scampered around Al's feet, threatening to trip him up. Eyes tearing from the smoke and beginning to cough himself, Al scrambled the last few feet out of the shrubs and onto the broad reedy banks of the river.
He'd hardly left the cover of the bush before he felt heavy arms grab him. Off balance, Al fell, instinctively curling and rolling as he went down to protect the kit next to his chest. Al's back sank into the mud, and he stared up through the reeds at the grim face of older, grizzled Havoc.
"Found one, sir!" shouted the Havoc, then he sniffed again. "Two. An Alphonse and his kitten."
Al froze. He couldn't fight with the kitten clinging to his chest. Its weight hampered him, and at least one of his hands needed to hold it. Yet if he put the kitten down, it would be killed immediately. It was too young even to hide itself.
He wanted to protect the kit, but logic said that was impossible. Little Ed was doomed, and it would only be by sheer luck that Al survived. Al tried to push the kitten way, even though the act tore at his heart, but the kitten refused to let go. Al hissed as Ed's claws cut painful holes in his shirt, gouging into his side.
No! He would not abandon his brother! He tried to rise again, holding the kitten. If he could run past this Havoc, he might lose himself and the kit in the scent killing smoke. But the moment he was on his feet, the havoc grabbed him and held him.
Al sank his teeth in the Havoc's arm but tasted only pelt. The havoc's teeth however didn't miss their mark. It bit precisely on the spot on the back of his neck that triggered his kitten reflex.
Al purred instinctively, out of fear rather than pleasure. He closed his eyes and waited for the killing blow.
And waited. And waited.
There was a sound of crashing in the reeds around him and Al dared to peek to see what was going on. He was surrounded by the mustang pack, two more havocs, a hawkeye and a smaller darker creature that Al had never seen before, and there was the Mustang, two stars on it's shoulders.
"It's not the father," said the Mustang. "It's an adolescent. See, notice it's hair is still short. Probably a kitten, despite the coat. Hold it still."
Al purred louder as the Mustang approached. He hoped it would kill him with its claws rather than burn him with fire. Al sniffed in a deep reflexive breath at it approached. Over the reek of smoke and havoc there was that strangely pleasant scent. Al's insides squirmed a little in an unfamiliar way, and then Al realized with surprise that he actually felt an urge to mate with this predator. He shuddered with disgust and embarrassment.
"Take the infant," ordered the Mustang. "But don't kill it. The older one hasn't abandoned it. Apparently it feels some affection towards it. That could be useful." The mustangs eyes never left Al's. "I've heard these creatures are very loyal to their brothers, alphonses in particular."
The Hawkeye closed in and pried little Ed from Al's chest. "Da!" the kit wailed as it was separated, but the Hawkeye nipped the back of it's neck and it quickly went quiet and limp in her arms.
Al's eyes widened, and he abruptly stopped purring. Now the kit was out of his hands, he was free to contemplate his own selfish needs. The havoc's teeth had loosened, and that that was all Al needed to throw himself into one last desperate bid for survival. Spinning in the havoc's embrace, he hooked his leg around the predator, and knocked it off its feet. The second he was free he dashed away.
He'd gotten no more than three feet before the reeds around him whooshed into flames. Coughing Al reeled back and attempted to bolt in another direction, but the havocs were on him again. This time they wrestled his pelt off his shoulders and around his arms in such a way that they were locked behind his back. Then he felt those sharp teeth at the nape of his neck again.
He was pushed back towards the pack. The Mustang seemed neither upset nor pleased at Al's escape. Al flinched a little as the mustang put out a gloved hand and stroked the underside of Al's chin.
"Behave yourself and we won't kill the kitten. Fight us or try to escape again, and we shall take its head off and feed you the flesh."
Al trembled. "Aren't you going to eat us?"
The mustang arched an eyebrow. "I have orders to collect unmated adolescents. You fit the description; the kitten, however, is of no use to us if it doesn't keep you in line. What do you say? Is it dinner? Or a hostage?"
"Don't kill my brother!" said Al. "I won't run." There was no point in it anyway. If they had taken out his Alphonse father, then they could surely take out him. At least they didn't seem to want him dead.
"Excellent," said the mustang. "Fall in, we are heading back to base."
As they walked more creatures joined. More havocs, more hawkeyes, a few other creatures, all in identical blue pelts, signifying their pack status. Al's fathers had lead him to believe that mustang packs were fairly small, two to five other creatures, but this pack was enormous, ten, fifteen, almost twenty strong. Al's fathers didn't have a chance.
Several havocs came carrying large pieces of carcasses. There was enough left of the charred pelts for Al to recognize them belonging to a mature Alphonse and Edward, though thankfully his fathers' scents were obliterated by the roasting. Al began to purr again in fear, and his eyes swam with tears.
The mustang noticed. "Get the meat out of the kit's sight, it's upsetting him. Take the ridge path back" The havocs nodded and pealed off to the left, leaving nothing but a trace of burnt meat smell in the air.
For a while Al walked in silence. Al sniffed as he left the familiar hunting grounds and crossed over into the unknown. He smelled the faint boundary markings his Father Edward maintained. He'd known that he would be leaving, but never thought it would be under these circumstances.
"Why aren't you killing me," asked Al after a while.
"The Fuhrer has plans for you," replied the mustang. "I'm not privy to what they are, nor can I guess what use he has with a lesser creature such as yourself. But it isn't my place to question my orders."
That seemed to be all the mustang had to say about the issue, but then after a few minutes the creature spoke again. "The Fuhrer has been collecting a lot of odd creatures lately. And he's sent furys into human inhabited territories. It's worrisome."
"Worrisome, how?" asked Al.
The mustang jerked a bit and looked at him. Al realized that the mustang had been speaking to himself. "Nothing that you need concern yourself with, Alphonse. You wouldn’t understand tactics or pack decisions anyway."
"I -" said Al, but then stopped. The mustangs face then went hard, and it bared its teeth.
Al knew enough about tactics and pack decisions to keep quiet the rest of the journey.
Al smelled the command center long before they reached it. They'd been following the edge of a cliff over a stream for about an hour when they turned away and happened on a much larger well trodden path. The place reeked of creatures and smoke, and tantalizingly of food. Al's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since morning. The kit would be hungry too. Al realized that it now fell on him to feed his brother.
They crossed between a tangled web of vines and branches that seemed almost deliberate in their placement. Al looked up and sure enough, perched in the trees to either side of the narrowed path were hawkeyes, guns at the ready. No wolf or cayote would be able to cross into this protected area without risking its fur.
The path wound down the steep side of the hill, so narrow that they were forced into single file. Though Al could see nothing below but the canopy of trees and bushes the smell was unmistakable. This mustang pack was huge.
A cave opened up in the side of the hill. Al was reluctant to follow the havoc inside, but the mustang at his back left him no choice. Inside echoed with noise. As his vision failed, Al's other senses grew keener. There were scent trails left on the walls that lead off in different directions. What they signified Al had no idea, nor was he allowed to figure them out. As soon as he shifted to follow one, he felt those abrasive paws on his shoulders again, pulling him back in line.
"Stay in formation."
The cave narrowed to smooth odd tube like formation of rock broken periodically by holes.
"Halt!" The pack stopped. "Take the kit to the puppy nest," ordered the mustang.
"Aye, colonel," came the sharp reply, and then the hawkeye carrying the kit moved down one of the side passages.
Al attempted to follow, but again the mustang stopped him. "You stay with me."
"My brother needs me," Al protested. "Who will feed him? He's not a puppy!"
"I'm sure the hawkeyes will take good care of him. You gave your word of honor that you would obey my commands. You come this way."
If Al disobeyed little Ed would be killed. Reluctantly he let himself be pushed on. Soon Edwards smell was lost in the general miasma of scents.
Miserably, Al trudged on.
The cave system did not resemble his parents cozy den at all. It was cold and craggy and slippery, and it dripped in places. Still other places he felt warm puffs of moist air and a trace of sulfur and iron. At times it smelled predominantly of havocs, and other times it smelled like hawkeyes, furies, and a couple other unidentified pack types. Still more bizarrely was the smell of multiple mustangs.
Father Edward had assured Al that, puppies aside, there was only one mustang per pack, and that mature mustangs were fiercely competitive, much the way Edwards were, driving away or killing any rival they happened upon.
But here Al smelled many mustangs, in close quarters, and none of the fighting scent he expected when two creatures disputed territory. The mustangs were cooperating with each other.
Al had no sooner come to that conclusion than he found himself shoved into a smaller room. As al was pushed past layers of draped pelts and furs, he suddenly blinked and saw light.
For the briefest of seconds, Al wondered if they had passed out of the cave all together, but then his stinging eyes focused on a roaring fire at the far end of the cave. Instinct told Al to run. Forest fires and smoke would kill, but then he realized that he was with Mustangs, and fire was their forte. Sure enough after the Al's initial panic died down he realized the fire was confined to a nook, and the smoke and embers were being funneled up a hole away from the room.
Which was a good thing, because the cave was simply covered in flammable pelts and furs. Al recognized deer hides, rabbit, cayote, hides, littered so thickly across the floor that he felt the ground squish under his boots. There was none of the outer cave systems chill, nor the sting of late fall air. A slight draft kept the air fresh, but not enough to despell the thick smell of sweat and mating, and the powerfully seductive odor of mustangs. Al blinked.
"Do you like my office?" came a soft, low voice. Al turned and saw a Mustang relaxing on a mound of pelts. It was an older mustang, it's hair peppered with grey, and one eye covered by an enormous patch.
Al didn't smell hunger from it, and it's voice sounded amused if anything. Al spoke up. "Who are you?"
"I'm the fuhrer," said the Mustang. "This is my command center. You've been captured by my pack."
"Why have you brought me here?" Al asked again.
The Furher sat up and eyed him. "To serve me. To join my pack."
Al swallowed. "I'm not .. I'm an Elric. We don't mate with your kind. Besides, you appear to have a lot of other mates. I can't be one of your pack. Why would you want me?"
"Under usual circumstances, I wouldn't even consider taking you as a mate. Your kind is notoriously finicky, and not particularly susceptible to my leadership scent. Pupping with such a lesser species is difficult and rare." said the Fuhrer. "But mating and pups are not my interest with you. As you pointed out, I have plenty of both.
"No, Elrics have interesting abilities. Useful abilities. I'm willing to overlook a few drawbacks, in return for your loyalty and your obedience. Will you give them to me?"
Al felt a bit relieved that the Mustang wasn't planning on mating him, but that left him even more confused as to what his purpose might be. "Or else what?" Al dared ask. "What if I don't do whatever it is you want." He knew the answer but he wanted to hear it.
And the Mustang didn't surprise him. "Or else you become food, along with the kitten brought with you." The Mustang chuckled. "You will serve my pack in one way or another, you see. I am expanding my territory, young Alphonse. My furys have reported of several other elric packs. If you do not serve me, one of them might."
Al swallowed and nodded. "What do you want me to do?"
"For now, keep me company. Come close, little creature."
Reluctantly Al approached. The fuhrer mustang gestured until Al was crouched at the Mustangs knee. He felt the Fuhrer stroke his hair with a lazy hand. "I'm building an empire. Soon this entire forest and all within it will be mine. None shall move within it's borders without my permission. The game shall be managed and divided amongst my loyal packlings. Preditors shall be hunted down ruthlessly, and their pelts shall line the caves where my many pups sleep. Even the humans themselves will not dare encroach upon my territory. It will be glorious, kitten, and you will be part of it."
Despite what the Fuhrer had said about Elrics not being susceptible to the leadership scent of Mustangs, Al did find himself entranced with it. The Fuhrers words painted an exciting if strange picture, and his hand on Al's head felt reassuring and comfortable. He leaned on the mustangs thigh, the way he sometimes did with his father Alphonse.
For a while the Fuhrer talked in soothing tones about his dream of empire. Al closed his eyes and relaxed and started to purr.