Through fortune and flame, we fall

@Kuhn, but AW!

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In this realm, Hank existed only as a dream. He was a vague dream with flashes of emotion and impressions, but anything concrete slipped through his mind's fingers like water.

Combat. Madness.

He did not know who or even what he was within this dream, within himself; only that he must fight. For himself? For others? It didn't matter. And fight he did, against the odds. Against the madness. Against old foes, shapeless and nameless. Against dissenting once-allies.

Death eluded him, whether he wanted it to or not. Through otherworldly powers, through technology, time and time again he was denied the peace of unbecoming. And though different now, it seemed he would be denied that peace once again.

Hank awoke with a start, disheveling cold wetness from his would-be resting place onto the ground. Cold... why was it cold? Frigid, even? This was a foreign sensation to him. The world was tinted red, but he for some reason did not even think to question this, like the world being red was normal to him. Pale, reddish clumps of The Cold clung to his fur. Sweeping a glance around, he found that it clung to everything it touched. A word flashed in his brain: snow. For some reason, he knew what snow was despite having never seen it first-hand before. Strange. Hank heaved himself to his feet— of which there were four, he noted. Something in his core told him this was unusual. When he was a dream, he did not have four feet. He had... two? Yes, two.

Upon taking his first step in this foreign body...

he fell. There was nothing but air immediately beneath his foot. The shift of his weight caused the something supporting him to crack and give way. His heart sank with him as he entered freefall before colliding with the ground. It was a fairly long fall, but fortunately the snow piled high here, wherever he was. It cushioned his fall, though it still wasn't the softest landing. His body carved a deep, Hank-shaped hole in the snow, of which he ungraciously wrenched himself from with much effort. Snow was strange, somewhere between a liquid and a solid. He hadn't decided whether he liked it or not, yet. Somehow, despite having just broken its surface, he was now able to stand on top of it. Snow was magical stuff. Hank shook out his pelt— another action some core part of himself told him was foreign. He was not accustomed to having hair anywhere, yet here he was now, utterly covered in the stuff. He'd better get used to it.

Craning his neck, he looked at the spot he'd fallen from. His aspen cradle up in the treetops had given way; a fragile thing, it was a miracle it'd held his weight at all. He was a sizable fellow, heavy yet well-muscled. That was one thing that hadn't changed, and he was grateful for it. Turning his attention back to the terrestrial, Hank felt at a loss. What now? Where would he go? What was there in this world but him, the snow and the trees? What was his purpose here?

Well, he supposed he'd just have to find out.

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The Everfrost was ripe with prey these days. Lack of hunting in the big cat's absence left fatter stupider versions of these animals to graze almost carefree.

Coming back to these lands was a melancholy experience, on one hand there where pleasant memories of hunts, Valmua, Tiberius. On the other hand this place no longer felt safe, as if behind every tree would be a pack of wolves ready to shred his hide.

Then suddenly, snapping and crashing, sent the cat hopping backward into the air. A moment later, the striped beast could only take in what happened. Instinctually, he found that his body was low and coiled to the ground near the base of a tree.

Nerves settling a bit more, he remained low. Putting an apprehensive paw forward, the tiger crept closer, not sure what he was looking at half buried in the snow.
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The answer to one question came to find him, instead. He noticed movement in the corner of his eye and whipped his head around to face it. A humongous feline looking quite spooked was inching closer, its fiery pelage making it appear to glow amongst the sea of white. Another impression hit him, neurons in his brain setting alight at the sight of a cat. He loved cats. Like, a lot. But this was no house cat— no, this was a tiger, an apex predator, and it was sneaking towards him. Perhaps he should be a smidge more concerned about that.

It was then he noticed the coarse hairs at the back of his neck had risen to stand up straight. A low rumble left his throat, scarcely audible, and he instinctively widened his stance in preparation for a fight as if he'd done it a million times before. He probably had. The being at his core said he'd taken on foes leagues more powerful before. He could take 'im. The question of whether it was stupid to try in a new body and a new world never even crossed his thick skull.

Some things really never changed.

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When the wolf whipped himself around, the cat picked up on the snarl. The way he appeared was eerily familiar to the ambush he had to face months ago. Looking over his shoulder to the left and then to the right, the cat retuned bared fangs of his own.
 

Blitzing forward, the cat exploded from his coiled position charging straight forward to the could be assassin. If there where more near by, there wouldn't be time for talk.

With a few explosive strides, the cat burst from the ground leaping at the man opening wide his chest, claws, and maw. Aiming to take the man down swiftly, it might provide enough shock factor if there where more near by would falter. Taking a hostage had proven useful in times past, perhaps if he could pin the grey wolf, he could bargain his way out.
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The cat glanced around frantically, like he was expecting an ambush. But Hank was completely and utterly alone, save for the panther himself, who was now flashing his lethally-long pearly fangs at him.

They'd both exchanged their threats. Holding his body low to the cold floor, Hank began to strafe, circling 'round his adversary. After assuring there were no others like him in the vicinity, the feline charged straight for him. Hazel eyes hardened as he slipped into a familiar rhythm. He'd just woken up, but Hank was born ready. There was enough distance between them to give him ample time to move. The fiery cat shoved off of the ground with great strength and took to the air, outstretched arms thick as tree trunks; their claws sought purchase in his flesh, but they would not get it... yet, anyway.

Kicking up snow, Hank had dashed clean out of the way by the time the tiger landed with a thud. He turned on a dime and approached the enemy's backside while he collected himself. Without a second thought in his mind, he lunged and tried to bite down hard on his flank and then swiftly pull back, anticipating retaliation. His teeth would sink in deep enough to leave a potent sting in their wake, but it'd surely be shaken off by the behemoth. That prompted him to actually rub his brain cells together and think, hm... Maybe this would be harder than he initially thought. Stealing a glance at his own feet, they were unfortunately not the wonderfully dangerous paws of a feline that housed razor-sharp claws. No, his were dull, built for traction on the ground as opposed to combat at someone's throat.

He was outweighed and outgunned here, but running was a distasteful option. His pride would of course suffer, but he also had no idea where he was going. Could he even outrun a tiger? Its legs were longer, and he certainly knew the area better than him. Dull claws were not ideal for climbing, either, and he'd already established he was not meant for the trees with his debut in this world.

Best case scenario for him here would be to put up enough of a fight for the cat to believe him not worth the risk. There were much safer bets than Hank Motherfucker Wimbleton, regardless of what form he took on. At his core, he was the same sturdy bastard who'd never go down without a good fight.

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It was obvious this wasn't the man's first fight.  The wolf seemed to narrowly sidestep, Kuhn's first attempt at a takedown, landing a counter attack in the process.  Pulling away quickly before the wolf's fangs could do to much damage, the tiger faced him once more. Hissing, the cat barely registered the shot, adding to the collection of scrapes and scars. 

The man appeared to actually be competent. Spitting in malice, "So that bitch, is sending me more than children now?", the tiger took a moment to circle with the wolf.  Keeping his guard this time, it was obvious that the man wouldn't be taken down like simple prey. Pitching back onto his hind legs, in the next moment the beast threw a claw filled swipe at the man, prepared to leap back out of range in anticipation of a counter attack, holding the second paw in reserve.  If his claws could find purchase and hook, he could drag this assassin to the ground.
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His counterattack was but a scratch and seemed to only piss the cat off more, eliciting a hiss from him. Great.

"So the bitch is sending me more than children now?" He spat. Hank furrowed his brow. His gut was right, there was a story here he was missing. This guy thought he was with an enemy and not... you know, someone who literally just woke up in a new body. No biggie.

He didn't let this information distract him. The cat reared back to swing a foreleg hard and fast— a heavy attack he really didn't want to get caught by. He leapt aside, but the tips of the tiger's massive claws caught the meat of his hind leg, tearing it open like paper. They dug in deep, and the force knocked him down onto his side. He grit his teeth through the searing pain, an all-too familiar sensation. That was nothing to him, but the fact still stood that he was down and in an awfully disadvantageous position. Blood trickled down his leg, staining the once-pristine snow. Adrenaline coursed through his body with every thudding heartbeat, numbing the pain. He knew enough about bleeding to know this wound on its own wouldn't be enough to make him bleed out, but getting out of this would be pretty damn tricky.

Hank wasn't a talker, nor was he the spineless type to beg for mercy. But there was clearly a misunderstanding here, and staying silent wasn't going to help with that. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” He squeezed the words out from his lungs. “I just woke up and fell out of a tree; I don't even know where the fuck I am. So whatever you're talking about, I got nothing to do with it.” His voice was gruff, further textured from the poorly-restrained disgruntled growls erupting from his throat. A man with more self-control in his position would've fought the urge to bite the foot dug into him, but Hank was not that man, and he wasn't exactly delighted by the wholly undeserved wound he was suffering right now. It wasn't a hard bite, just enough to humbly request he get his sharp daggers out of his flesh.

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Luckily for the cat, claws found purchase hooked into skin. Using the momentum of his the swipe, the tiger pulled the wolf in closer at the same time stepping onto him. Looking down at the man, showing his fangs, the tiger's jaws where only a whiskers length away.  All the malice in his toothy grin began to drain from his expression as he took in the man's scent and listened to the short explanation. He did not smell like them.

A wrinkled face that was once full of vengeful intent seemed to now be full of dread and panic.  Another twang of pain shot across his wrist as teeth warded off his paw. Obliging, claws returned to their hiding place as he stepped off the man in a panic. "Oh... Uh... Shit... I...", he stammered, giving the man some space. 

As the adrenaline began to wear down now the tiger scanned the tree line once again catching the glint of red blood dripping from his own hind.  Now that he saw the wound, it began to throb as blood tricked down his back leg.  "I... thought, you... I'm sorry."

The cat was obviously in a panic, the world seemed to be spinning around him now, completely out of control.  He knew he was out of line.
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Like the flick of a switch, the tiger's expression flashed from full of murderous rage to... panic? Why was he panicking? At least he was decent enough to back off and was clearly apologetic. “I've had worse,” Hank brushed off. That didn't mean he was totally forgiven, but being nearly mauled was more an inconvenience to him than anything. Just another day in the office, really.

With a grunt, Hank rolled himself over to lie on his belly and assess the wound while the stranger had his moment. It could've been worse— wait. Was there medical care in this world? If it got infected, he was screwed. Hm, that could be a problem...

He turned back to the now rather pitiful-looking apex predator once again glancing around as if he was going to be pounced on at any moment. Now that he thought about it, their blood smelled really strong for how little was spilled. He was some kind of dog from what he'd gleaned thus far (which he was taking with astounding grace), so his sense of smell was probably stellar. Giving the air a good whiff, he smelled nothing but the musk of males and their metallic blood. “Pretty sure we're alone,” Hank stated matter-of-factly. He was the last person to be dealing with emotions, especially someone else's. But maybe that'd quell the cat's anxiety, since it seemed to be his primary fear. He didn't know how mentally stable this guy was, and he was going to avoid being at the end of those claws again if he could help it.

Staring at his leg again, he got the strange urge to lick it. Stranger still, he did. It stung at first, but the surge of pain was soon soothed by his smooth tongue. The frigid air cooled the saliva, making his damaged skin tingle like he had pins and needles. But it was preferable to the dull, pulsing pain from before. “Sounds like you've got a target on your back,” He continued suddenly. “I've been there. But, uh... You could say I'm new around here.” He was hesitant to go into detail for fear of sounding like a complete loon. “You know any medics? Is that a thing here?” Still might sound crazy but probably less so. He needed to ask.

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It was simultaneously reliving and curious that the man took his injuries in such stride. Really it shouldn't be that surprising, the man was obviously a skilled fighter, and gave as good as he got. The grey wolf had a refined physique, which really did make him look like an assassin or a hired fang.
The man was correct, it did seem like they where alone which was both reassuring and defeating, evidenced by the tiger's ears drooping to the side. Sorry wasn't going to cut it here.

The cat responded with a sigh, . "You could say that I'm a wanted man.", voice devoid of any of his usual playful tone, he sounded defeated.

Luckily, he had friends next door who could help. @Olive happened to be a medic. Though it would be humiliating admitting what he just did. "Can you walk? I have a friend at the base of that mountain... who can help. A medic..."

Looking out at the nearby mountain range, he was already dreading bringing their wounds in there, when this was all his fault. "Fuck... What a terrible welcome...", Muttering under his breath. "I'll have to find a way to make this up to you." , he said a bit louder. If he had to, he would carry the man there to make this right.
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The tiger said he was a wanted man. Hmm, now where had he heard that story before? (Himself. It was himself.) There wasn't anything he could say to make that reality less shitty for him. Especially when you were someone as nervous as this tiger, fearing that there could be an enemy hiding behind every corner and lurking in the shadows... well, it sucked, and that feeling never entirely went away. Ask him how he knew. Go on, ask!

"Can you walk? I have a friend at the base of that mountain... who can help. A medic..."

Well halle-fuckin'-luia, he was in luck. No dying to sepsis for him. The talk of medics reminded him of someone he knew... what was his name? He felt like he should really know this, they spent a lot of time together for pretty self-explanatory reasons. Oh well, there'd be time for picking his dog brain when he wasn't bleeding all over the place.

“Yeah,” He responded curtly before hauling himself up, mindful not to put much weight on the injured leg. He actually wasn't completely sure if he could walk all that way, but this is Hank we're talking about here. Of course he was gonna try until he collapsed. Mama ain't raise no bitch. He took a few careful steps forwards. Yeah, this was doable.

The stranger was muttering to himself, saying something about making it up to him. Day one and he already had a tiger indebted to him. See, nearly getting mauled wasn't so bad after all! Maybe they could even become allies, who knew? Hank was willing to let bygones be bygones if it meant having that kind of firepower on his side. And honestly, the guy seemed easy enough to get along with, aside from the crippling paranoia. “I'll hold you to that, then,” He said flatly.

It seemed they'd be spending a while together, so they should probably exchange names. “Name's Hank, by the way. You?”

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After giving the man his space, the cat was quick to get up to the man's side as he attempted to get to his feet. It didn't seem that the grey wolf didn't really need his help, so he took another step back.

It seems these days the tiger's debts where piling up. He had so much to pay back to all that had helped him, and now this debt would go on the heap.

"Kuhn...", He almost purred, starting to calm down. Eyeing back at his own thigh, he grit his teeth seeing the red matted patch of fur and the run of semi dried blood.

Walking ahead a few steps, he flicked his tail behind him. "Luckily it's not to far. Just across those flatlands, you will see once we leave the treeline." He felt like such an idiot.
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"Kuhn," Purred the panther, calming down now. Hank nodded and licked his drying nose (wow, was his tongue long now). Kuhn eyed his own wound with a displeased look on his face. He felt nothing upon seeing the wound he'd inflicted. Unlike him, Hank wouldn't be apologizing. He was just doing what he needed to in order to survive. It wasn't that serious, anyway.

“Lead the way.” He nodded in the direction of the mountains, implying he was fine to follow behind.

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