Darkness, a shadow so black that no light could penetrate it. The sounds of battle assailed him; shouting, the clash of weapons, the screams of the dying. He cried out, adding his voice to the many, howling back at the unseen tormenters that surrounded him. He clutched his head with his paws, trying to block out the sounds, but it was no use; the noise drove inside his skull, ringing out from within his ears, behind his eyes. Ice gripped him, a cold that sheared through flesh and bone, freezing his heart and limbs. He was swirling, tossed about with the tumultuous throes of agony, falling without moving. The cold was gone, the chill in the air replaced by a metallic tang. He was floating, the lancing pain of cold a recent and fearful memory, a warm and sickly fluid enveloping him. He could not breathe; he struggled, his movements laboured, lungs burning as the crescendo of battle battered at his senses. He opened his mouth to gasp for air and choked as blood gushed in. He thrashed wildly as more and more poured in, drowning him, gagging as it forced its way down his throat. He felt revulsion as the sticky liquid filled his belly, fuelling the crashing of conflict. The roar of death grew as life faded from him, pain and terror and clamour mixing into one.
And then, for an instant, he saw grey eyes framed above and below by faded blue cloth and felt the dry, scorching desert air.
It stopped. The noise, the pain- all was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. He fell to his knees and vomited blood, then took a ragged, gasping breath; he was weak, but even as he looked about him he could feel strength returning to his limbs. He found he could see, barely; some pale light shone from above, giving outline to a huddled shape ahead. It rocked and jerked, movement accompanied by snarling and the grisly, unmistakeable snap of bone. He approached, cautiously. Some creature was crouched on the ground, bare back towards him. It hissed and growled wetly over a limp figure, slavering jaws working noisily as it bent down to tear raw flesh from the corpse. Black tendrils were etched on the beast’s arm and back, almost lost against the dark fur. He tried to draw back as the beast turned its head, catching sight of him with a glinting eye. It turned on him with a snarl, lunging forward with claws bared. He saw its gore-covered teeth flash, then everything dissolved into blinding white.
He blinked in the bright sunlight, raising a paw to shield his eyes. A soft wind blew, disturbing his fur and rustling the long grass that surrounded him. He was stood on a hill overlooking a vast field below. All was quiet bar for the swaying of the grass in the wind. At the centre of the field stood a figure, cloaked in shadow like a blot of darkness against the light. As he watched the grass around it began to wither and die, like a wave of pestilence rapidly radiating out from the silhouette. The figure moved, began walking towards him, death and decay following. He turned to run, fear clawing at his heart. Beside him stood a creature he knew, that he recognised. Gabrielle. She looked up at him vacantly, placing a paw on his arm. She spoke, her voice sounding far away.
“The taint of the fiend.”