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The mechanical wolf loped through the metal woodland, a prone human form wedged into its jaws. Blood and oil mixed and ran out the side of its snarling mouth and down onto its chest plates.

In the wolf's hands laid a small chameleon. It was grey and deathly looking. Even though there was a clatter rising from the sound of the lupine creature as it rushed through The Clockwork Forest, the finely scaled body did not stir.

The orange light of dusk was beginning to crack through in the darkest and densest part of the metal woodland. Up ahead there was a clearing, and dug into the earth was a great depression, circular in shape and a thousand meters in diameter. Tall gleaming spires and a few large domes rose from the depression, and catwalks spiderwebbed about in every direction.

Over head there were oval shapes hanging nearly motionless in the sky, some tethered to towers, and some moving freely about. They ranged in size and shape greatly; no two alike.

In contrast to the languid pace above, the ground was teeming with motion. Small creatures zipped about, some rolling on wheels, some taking flight, and the buildings themselves seemed to be made up of some kind of insane fractal geometry, that when inspected close up was revealed to be because the walls were made of thousands of interconnected but independent machines. Most were as still as the chameleon, but every once in a while, a large chunk of a building would suddenly shift and reshape itself, or simply begin to disperse and all would go off their own way.

Only the sounds of metal against metal or stone was noticeable over the constant chorus of quiet ticks.

The upright wolf emerged into the clearing and began down a long, wide staircase toward the center of the city.

As the wolf passed a magnetism busker entertaining a handful of individuals, the artist set the rare earth magnet instrument down and watched in dismay. The bystanders turned and followed solemnly after a moment.

Not a word was spoken in the typical sense, as the inhabitants of The Forest use their native language of nearly inaudible rings and whirs to communicate, but for the sake of the gentle reader, We shall transcribe the following as if it were spoken in a Romantic tongue.

A stoic figure waited at the base of the stairway on a large circular platform set with a colorful mosaic and covered with an ornate iron pergola festooned with a shifting silver ivy that twinkled in the creeping darkness with millions of tiny blue and white processor lights. If one were able to notice such things, the lights always pulsed toward the location of the lone figure no matter where it stood on the platform. The figure was a smooth sculpted form, much like an art nouveau chesspiece, but the head featured an inhumanly elongated mask-like face, and around the neck was a draping chain necklace with a shiny brass puzzle piece at the center.

As the wolf drew nearer to the looming copper figure below, the wolf growled in a distressed manner, "This foul skinbag has damaged my pet!"

The figure remained staring up at the wolf, motionless.

"These creatures are priceless and hard to look after! I will like to leave to have it repaired as soon as possible, but I thought Your Excellency would want to attend to the issue of this... thing!" and with that final syllable, the wolf spit out the body of Ednath Ventorin onto the mosaic platform.

The copper figure looked down at the mangled body and then up into the sky, "Any word...?"

The wolf lowered its head, "No, I am afraid we haven't found any trail or clue of the princess' disappearance. But perhaps that thing knows something?"

"This 'thing' looks... broken, Grishel." the copper figure muttered, bemused by the royal guardian's seeming lapse of logic.

"It is not, Your Excellency! I have called a full detachment to cover the area, as it could yet attempt to escape or attack at any moment."

The bleeding and tattered body groaned in pain and twitched, but already the torn skin was noticeably mending at a rate generally unseen. The copper figure narrowed its optics at the unliving man and a swarm of small machines descended from every direction to crowd in around him. Diagnostic devices probed with antennae and medics poked with needles and took tissue samples. Some began to disassemble his shredded clothes, and one was trying to pull the small leather pouch away from his belt.

With the sudden influx of strange stimulus, Ednath woke with a start and began kicking wildly and pushing the small machines away with his arms. The smaller ones darted this way and that, but his foot planted itself square into the middle of a raccoon sized one and sent it skittering across the mosaic. He reached down and snatched his leather pouch back from a spider-like contraption with a dozen spindly legs.

The copper figure remained motionless. The others crouched to fight, or converted to more defensive shapes. Ednath shot up on his feet and grabbed at his sword, but his palm slapped against his thigh.

Grishel switched to his human vocalizer and let out an audible chuckle as he pulled the glowing green sword out of the scabbard at his waist. The arcs sizzled off of his finely sculpted fur as thick lines of plasma energy grounded through him harmlessly, "Prepare to receive your own blade, monster!"

Ednath swiveled quickly to the copper figure and held up the pouch to it, "I've come to give you this!

Another of the smaller devices dropped down from some overhanging silver ivy onto Ednath's hand and then jumped with the pouch over to the copper figure's stick-like outstretched arm. The smaller device grabbed just the pouch and dropped down from the large metal upturned palm, leaving behind the only contents that the unliving man offered up.

The regal figure fell to what could be described as knees of a sort, the smooth robe-like plates spreading out beneath it like a melting copper candle onto the pulsating light mosaic floor. The clockwork royalty vocalized Romantically for the first time in many years, not for the benefit of the dangerous and mysterious man before him, but simply out of a state of shock.

"It is my daughter, Sirrini..."