DYER - The Durban Wolves [discontinued - pending V2, someday, maybe]

.:8:. Fugitives

The familiar sound of hospital equipment peeped its quiet greeting as Divan emerged from the equally familiar darkness of unconsciousness.

As soon as he relocated the muscles that controlled his voice, he said what was on his mind, not caring if he was alone in the room or not.

"This is really not my year for staying out of hospital."

"Well if you're dumb enough to walk around alone at night in Africa, I can understand why."

Divan got enough of a fright to send his heartrate monitors into emergency mode. His eyes snapped open to find a Dyer Wolf he didn't recognise sitting next to the bed.

Wait... a Dyer Wolf?

His pelt was a rich, ruddy brown - lighter than Bryn's - with white lining his muzzle, throat and the interior of his black-tipped ears. He sported a silver mane with black tips, and black lines ran from his similarly black nose to his eyes, past which they curved over his cheeks with black wedges under each eye. The underside of the tail hanging through the open back of his chair was white, split form the brown upper side by a broad black stripe. His hands up to his wrists were grey, the silver stretching up the rear of his arms to his elbows, and his fingers from the knuckles down were white. Serious eyes also gleamed at him with a subdued form of amusement, his irises a complex but bewitching combination of crimson, amber and plum that gave an overall appearance of a deep red shade.

"I see you're confused." The Dyer grimaced, his words carefully selected. "Quion."

It took too long for the hospitalized canine to realize that was his name. "...Divan."

"I know."

Divan gulped.

"Now that you're awake let's get out of here." Quion said, standing. "We have to be fast if we're going to get you to the safehouse before we're found."

"What?" Divan said sluggishly, confused.

"Just come on!"

Not waiting for Divan to understand the situation or even get out of his sheets, Quion grabbed the drip needles and ripped them out of his arm before taking him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of the hospital room behind him.

"Wait a second...!" Divan pleaded as he was hauled along backwards. He briefly noticed that his arms were bandaged and he only appeared to be able to open his right eye.

"Just shut up and stay close." Quion snapped.

Hauling the squirming wolf out of the hospital building, Quion threw Divan into the waiting back seat of an idling white minibus.

"Hit it, Jex!" Quion ordered as he leapt inside and shut the sliding door. It had not even closed yet when the vehicle lurched suddenly into motion and drove off.

With aching arms and no idea what was going on, Divan rearranged how he lay sprawled over the seats to sit like a civilised being and tried to figure out what was going on.

Behind the driver's seat of the bus was another Dyer Wolf - also with a ruddy fur colour and foxlike markings, he had a midnight black mane that suited his long coat. He drove with authority and care, and, like Quion, sported the athletic build of someone trained to take anything in his stride.

Behind him in the rear seats of the bus, sat Glade and the other Smits. Divan paled.

"Who are you people...?" Divan stammered.

"Jex and I are fugitives, and, as of last night, so are you." Quion said bluntly, poking Divan in the chest.

"What!?"