Headed by a Snake

⟬ Somewhere... far away... maybe? ⟭

A handsome grey wolf approached a sparkling pool of water for a drink.

He stretched his body in view of his reflection, admiring his handsome grey pelt-- which was very much like that of a real wolf.

Tres Leches was not *technically* a real wolf.

Real wolves had little to no metal in or outside their bodies.

If anything, Tres was originally reluctant to think of himself as a *fake* wolf. At that time, he wanted to embrace his dark iron heritage.

However, he realized how nice it was to have a luxurious pelt...

--also, how nice baths were.

Therefore, thoughts of 'real' and 'fake' wasn't so important.

The benefits of being fluffy and clean largely outshone any benefits of being... sharp and edgy?

--metal-y and polished?

Tres Leches whet his thirst in the pool. Real wolves drank water because they would die without it.

He drank water because it was delicious.

It was a treat-- and one well-deserved.

Some time ago, he had killed a Dire Warthog from the Dungeon, draped its carcass over the mounted pole, and let the blood drip out.

His partner, Lone, still had to cut off its tough skin and take out its guts-- the stuff that didn't taste very good.

Afterward, breakfast would be tasty.

It would be a treat.

Life was all about treats and headpats.

...The snake said to always bleed the corpses as much as they could before allowing Lone to cook the meat. He said it tasted better that way.

Of course, it wasn't that Tres Leches didn't trust his human.

That person tended to... forget things... sometimes.

"Oh... AwhhHhh."

Tres Leches' ears perked up, hearing the rousing yawns of his best friend and partner.

Lone emerged from his tent, at first farting loudly, then scratching at his testicles-- then breathing in the aroma of his testicle-scratching paw.

"Huh? You're already up?" He said.

"(I don't sleep,)" Tres replied happily. "(But it's nice to see you, partner.)"

"Good morning, Tres Leches," Lone grinned before making a biiiiig stretch... "AhHhh... You ready to attack another sun in Turrim Orientem?"

Tres thought for a moment before responding.

"(This is not the real Turrim Orientem, Lone. And it's not morning. Time does not exist here. When you tried to play with your Elf-sticks, the two of us were sealed in this place-- an illusionary Dungeon full of fake dirt, fake air, and fake monsters.)"

Lone raised his eyebrows-- as if he was trying to process everything Tres Leches said.

...But in the end--

"You're such a good boy, Tres Leches!!" Lone exclaimed.

He knelt down for a hug and some head pats.

"(Thank you.)"

It wasn't a bad feeling.

The snake had a word for Lone to describe how he acted.

That word was...

Incompetent.

Lone was incompetent.

It wasn't the *best* word to describe him, though. Human language had a lot of words, so it was sometimes hard to pick the *very best* one.

Lone was very competent! --at many things!

When it stormed during the rainy season, Lone was very brave. He needed only a little bit of reassurance-- and only when it was particularly bad.

Out of anyone, ever, Lone had the best head pats.

--err... out of any human.

...best of any male human, without a single doubt!

Oh, also: food tasted the best when they ate together.

Tres Leches didn't even need to eat-- that's how good meals together were.

"Y'know what, Tres Leches?" Lone sighed... "I'm not trying to be weird-- but... I really appreciate being able to hang out with you."

"(Me too, partner,)" Tres Leches replied. His tail was wagging. It was unstoppable.

No matter what anyone said, Lone was the best partner Tres Leches could ever have.

"Huh? What's this?"

It seemed that Lone had finally noticed the Dire Warthog, ready to be cut-up.

Tres Leches' tail-wagging had reached peak speed. Soon, they'd have fire-roasted--

"Eughh, gross," Lone frowned. "It's already dead. Should we throw it away?"

Tres Leches sat back on his haunches, lifted his front paw, and gently bapped his partner on the nose.

"(Don't throw it away. That's your breakfast.)"

"Ow, what was that for?" Lone frowned...

The human blinked a few times, looking back from the pig to the unlit firepit (with dried firewood already pre-arranged in a little circle)-- then back to the pig.

"Now that I think of it..." Lone hummed... "I can cut this thing up and cook it, huh?"

"(Yes,)" Tres nodded. "(Good human~ I'm so proud of you! You're so competent!)"

"I'll get started then..."

It didn't take Lone long. He had become an expert at preparing fake-dungeon-creatures to be fake-fire-roasted.

...They'd been trapped in the fake-dungeon for so long, that the two of them became skilled in very many things.

Besides cooking, Lone had learned how to identify, track, and beat up every baddie they met. He also learned how to use different kinds of weapons and how to cast all kinds of elemental magics.

Of course, Tres also became skilled with most of those things. He wasn't able to do two-legged, two-handed things like the Elf-Stick Dance, of course. However, he could more-or-less fight evenly with his partner using the sharp-stick-in-mouth combat style, supplemented by Augmenting Howls for faster or heavier stick-wielding.

Lone let out a heavy sigh as he used an Elementary fire Spell to ignite the campfire. Since he could cast three Second-Circle spells in a row even when he was hungry, his sigh was out of the ordinary.

"How long have we been here, Tres?" He asked in a quiet voice.

Tres Leches looked over to the nearby Dungeon wall. In the past, whenever he brought back a big monster for Lone to cook, he carved a line in the rock.

(His Dark Iron claws could cut into pretty much anything.)

There were so many lines, though... that it was impossible for any living being to count them.

--And even if either of them could...

"(With the way time flows in this place, it's hard to tell,)" Tres whined.

Lone furrowed his eyebrows, "It's been, like... three years, right?"

Tres Leches sneezed in disbelief-- "(If you're going to guess, it has to be at least... five as many of that! Five... times... three? That's... eeeeiiiight? Eight.)"

Lone shook his head and pouted his lips.

"Hey, Tres."

Tres' ears perked up, "Rrr?"

"...Is it okay for us to live like this?"