Chapter 1:
Beginnings

Will Fury preferred the company of his wolf, Ringo, to anyone else. Their bond was steady,

simple, unburdened by the complexities of human relationships. Years ago, while traveling

through the Dark Frontier on his way to Boot Hill, he’d come upon Ringo in Box Canyon. It was

the kind of place that even hardened men avoided, a natural kill zone where cliffs loomed like

silent sentries. There, he found the remnants of a slaughter. Ringo’s pack had been cornered,

wiped out by something far more formidable than any wolf. Blood still painted the rocks red;

whatever had done this was close, maybe even watching. Warily, he surveyed the scene, alert for

any threats. But there were only fallen wolves, the silence hanging thick in the air. Amid the

devastation, a single pup clung to life. Its breathing was faint, fur matted with blood

and dirt. Will’s first instinct was to draw Roach, his matte black pistol, and end its suffering. But

then he saw it. The small pup’s jaws locked around a strip of rotted green flesh.

 

"Would you look at that" he thought, admiring the pup’s spirit. "This one’s got grit."

 

Curious, he followed the trail of dark, tarry blood leading away from the green flesh and deeper

into the canyon. It led him to the beast responsible for the massacre. It was a Verdant Fang, a

massive, reptilian creature rare this far north. Its scales were like armored plates and covered in

moss, each claw protruding from its webbed feet like obsidian blades.

 

"What’s a beast like this doing so far from the swamps?" he wondered before deciding that

question could wait.

 

He returned to the pup, knowing he couldn’t leave it to die. But he had neither the resources nor

the time to tend to it. So, he devised a test. He would place a piece of dried meat beside the

Fang’s carcass. If the pup chose the meat, he’d put it down, quick and clean. Mercy. He would

have to. He lacked the resources for them both to survive. But if it went for the Fang... he would

 take the pup with him, bound by honor to give it a fighting chance. No matter the cost.

 

The pup, wavering on its paws, looked longingly at the dried meat. Will’s heart sank, hand

resting on Roach’s grip. But then, with a surprising resolve, the pup turned to the Fang and

lunged, weakly biting at it before collapsing on top of it. With a grim smile, he picked the pup

up.

 

"Guess we’re in this together now, little one."

 

Ringo, he’d named him, after his son’s favorite stuffed animal. Now grown, he was no longer

helpless. A fearsome wolf, muscle rippling beneath a white coat that shimmered with a crimson

hue. His eyes still embodied the wildness, the Dark Frontier still running through his blood, but it

was tempered now, a calm that mirrored Will’s own. Together, they’d survived so much. Their

bond was unbreakable, forged through trials, sharpened by loss, love, and sacrifice, growing

stronger with each shared battle.

​

Chapter 2:

Into the Frontier

 

Will and Ringo had been traveling through the Dark Frontier for days… maybe weeks. Time

moved strangely here. The Dark Frontier was a harsh land, thick with unseen dangers lurking in

every shadow. For most, just setting foot in it brought a weight of dread and despair. The air was

stale, thick, every step heavier than the last. It was a place that preyed on the weak willed,

twisting their minds to madness if the shadows didn’t take them first. They needed fire. They

needed food.

 

“We’ll get some chow soon, buddy… as soon as we find something worth chowing on,” Will

muttered, his stomach twisting with hunger.

 

 Ringo, ever vigilant, glanced up at Will, then looked back at the setting sun. The burnt orange

glow stretched across the horizon like dying embers and they both knew they were running out

of time. The ancient powers tied to the Dark Frontier itself became more potent… more…

unnatural at nightfall.

 

“We need to get that fire built,” Will said, eyeing the sun’s dying glow.

 

He found a clearing by a dead, twisted tree whose branches stretched out like skeletal fingers.

Luminescent fungi clung to its bark, casting a faint glow in the growing darkness.

 

Will gathered kindling, glancing at Ringo.

 

“You going to help, or just stand there, ya mutt?” he teased.

 

Ringo huffed as if rolling his eyes, then joined him. When they both had gathered enough fuel

for the fire, Will took his knife to flint. As the fire caught, its flames took on a strange purple hue

from the fungi laced wood, casting an ominous, unearthly glow as they danced across the

scorched earth. Satisfied, Will sat down, and Ringo lay at his side. Despite their hunger, the fire’s

warmth was a balm, and together they drifted into a restless sleep.

 

A screech shattered the night. Will jerked awake, hand reaching instinctively for Roach. Ringo

was already up, fur bristling, fangs bared, eyes locked on the yellow eyes emerging from the

shadows.

 

“Screechers!” Will growled as the creatures charged.

 

Their shrieks pierced the night air, feral and bloodthirsty, as they moved in for the kill.

Ringo moved like the wind, lunging at the leading Screecher, taking it by surprise. His jaws

tearing through flesh. Will raised Roach, steady and sure, firing two rounds in quick succession.

Two Screechers fell, their eyes going dark as their bodies crumpled.

 

“Five left,” he muttered, his voice low. “Stay close,” he whispered to Ringo.

 

The remaining Screechers circled them, closing in, their screams growing louder. Ringo moved

closer, bracing himself, and when the creatures charged, they attacked as one, a force of nature.

The firelight flickered, casting shadows as Will and Ringo fought in deadly sync. Ringo leaped,

evading claws, tearing into a Screecher’s neck with a savage bite. Inspired, Will fired again,

dropping another Screecher with a shot right between its glowing eyes.

 

“Three left!” he called, feeling the thrill of battle rise in him. “Let’s finish this.”

 

They surged forward together. One Screecher sneered, its fangs glinting as it readied for an

attack. Will feigned a strike, confusing it just long enough to drive his blade deep into its side.

He twisted the knife before ripping it out, and it fell with a guttural groan. As one retreated into

the shadows, he looked for Ringo, a surge of fear sparking in him.

 

“Ringo!” he called, spinning around, only to see his wolf with the final Screecher limp in his

mouth, eyes gleaming, tail wagging as though he’d won a game of fetch.

 

Will smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Good job, buddy,” he said, looking over the

battlefield.

 

“Good news is, we are going to eat tonight… Bad news is… Screechers taste like shit,” he said, as they settled by the fire and started preparing their meal.

 

The meat was tough, bitter, but it filled their bellies. As Will chewed, his thoughts drifted. They’d survived, but the shadows never fully left him. There was always the memory, the one that gnawed at him day and night, a piece of his past he could never bury. Ringo, sensing his unease, leaned into him, grounding him in the present. Eventually, with the fire crackling, their bellies full, and the night quiet once more, Will and Ringo let sleep take them. They’d survive whatever else the Frontier threw at them. For dawn would bring another trial, and they would be ready.