Of Wolves and Lions: 15-16

Chapter XV
20 years later, Wolf knew something was wrong.
Sjora was staggering into the oasis, as if she was drunk. Wolf felt a strange mixture of irrepressible joy and wariness. It was the first time he had seen her in at least nineteen years, but... something was wrong. There was a quite sound of metal as Dante drew his sword. Sjora drew closer, and Wolf could see her face. A manic, cruel grin scarred her face, and her irises were bloody red, and glowed from within like gemstones,, quite Like Dante's golden eyes, but Wolf nearly flinched as he felt the nearly tangible loathing and malice that seemed to emanate from them.
Slowly, cautiously, he approached her. When they were a mere metre away she stopped, glared at him, and then howled at the sky in laughter, hoarse and cracked, like ravens crowing. Wolf stopped in alarm, and she suddenly rushed forward and kissed him. Wolf had never had human ashes or blood anywhere near his mouth, a fact he cherished, but he decided that that was what her lips tasted like.

20 years ago, Wolf threw the sword, rage and hatred giving him strength.
He missed, of course. Wolf could barely hit a wall in front of him with even a knife, but the whirring blade nicked Korroth's ear before landing solidly in the chest of the guard who had recognised Wolf. The second it left his hand, though, chaos erupted. Elven of the guards, five of which Wolf realised were women, turned on the others, catching them off guard and dispatching most of them in seconds. But Korroth was already rushing forward, hurling the guards corpse at Wolf and Sjora with a single hand. Sjora leaped aside, but Wolf was not so lucky, and was sent sprawling to the ground under the bleeding corpse. Panic and adrenaline coursed through him and forced him to ignore the pain, to struggle to push off the oppressive weight of the corpse. Every second that passed Wolf expected to see Korroth suddenly loom above him and finish him off. But, fortunately, it never happened and Wolf got unsteadily to his feet, ignoring the warm blood spattered over his armour. He was momentarily confused as he apparently saw Korroth tightly hugging Sjora. But then he registered her screams, that he was lifting her up, but most importantly he registered the sickening, grisly crunch of bone. Mindlessly, Wolf rushed towards them, the only goal in his mind to save Sjora. He didn't even know what he was going to do, but he never could anyway because as soon as he was an arms length from Korroth he lashed out with his foot, shattering Wolf's knee.

Red mist seemed to descend over Wolf's eyes as the pain shot through him, a pain that even adrenaline and bloody-minded determination could not conquer. For what seemed to be hours Wolf writhed on the stone floor, screaming until his throat was hoarse.  
Therefore he was in no condition to see the Deathguard rushing to Sjora's aid, lodging their long-bladed daggers into Korroth's lower torso, carefully calculated to incapacitate him and not kill him. But by that point Wolf had blacked out.

Chapter XVI
20 years ago, Wolf shuddered with revulsion and pulled away.
His joy and hope was shattered as he staggered backwards, and heard Sjora say "Did you miss me?" in a voice that wasn't hers, but was as hoarse and cracked as her demented laugh, which she broke into. It stopped abruptly as Dante approached, wielding his longsword which was made of a strange, unearthly metal. But Wolf wasn't looking at the sword. Tears were running into his greying beard as he choked out, "Sjora? What- what's happened to you?"
Sjora tilted her head to one side. "Sjora? Sjora Sjora Sjora... Oh yes, that's her name isn't it? But I'm not Sjora. My name escapes me at the moment, but you know, don't you Dante?"
Dante nodded. "Wolf, this is Bala. The Demon who made the pact with the Houses," he said tersely, "my fears, it would seem, have come true. She's taken over Sjora's body."

20 years ago, Wolf lay on a bed in the Sandpeak Infirmary.
His knee hurt and itched intensely after the healers had repaired his knee with magic. He had been told not to touch it, however, and though he wanted nothing more than to defy that order he didn't dare to. The insanely optimistic woman who watched over him told him that he was lucky that he was wearing the armour, otherwise Korroth's kick would have sheared the leg right off. Sjora, who was elsewhere in the infirmary, had been far less lucky, and had nothing but her supernatural endurance to protect her. Wolf had not been told exactly what injuries she had sustained.
Korroth himself was dead. One Deathguard had a made a tiny miscalculation and stabbed a millimetre too high and had caused internal bleeding, killing Korroth before Byron could reach the castle. Despite his pain, Wolf felt slightly smug. Byron had escaped injury and was apparently enraged that he had been cheated out of his revenge.

Wolf spent several days in the infirmary, which was hot and stuffy and something he never wanted to experience again. Each hour had dragged on until it seemed like a day, and Wolf's only company was himself. He had been told not to get up, magic taking care of the issues of such an arrangement, and he couldn't have done so anyway with his knee.
When he was released he was immediately sent back to the city, where he stayed in Lovinnia's house. Lovinnia herself had stayed with Byron in Sandpeak castle, a place Wolf was rarely allowed to visit. When he did, of course, Lovinnia was either "occupied" or visiting Solomon. She's avoiding me, he realised on his last visit.
One day, as Wolf sat in the house, he decided that whatever had existed between himself and Lovinnia was over. After all, he though surlily, the excuses have been getting weaker and weaker. On his last visit, he recalled in disgust, they hadn't even given one. Might as well just say; she's not interested in you anymore, Wolf thought. But now he didn't feel the usual anger. Shallowness was not a positive trait in friends. What really hurt him was that he hadn't seen Sjora since the battle, with Korroth squeezing the life out of her.