by Amira Rain
“Look to the actions and search their eyes, they’ll speak truth that’s where their intent lies,” she whispered.
Rather than observing with dread at the wolf’s trim, but muscled body, or its exposed fangs and claws, she looked instead into its eyes. Those deep amber orbs didn’t threaten attack but betrayed vulnerability, fear, bizarrely even tenderness. Feeling emboldened, Annabel slowly inched to her left to find the wolf bore a large gash on his thigh. She held her hand out, at first tentatively, then, confidently, she moved towards the animal. In response, the wolf withdrew his bare fangs, then, carefully sniffed Annabel’s inviting palm, then licking it. Annabel stayed there, gradually moving closer for the wolf to inspect its wound.
“This needs to be mended,” she began in a slow voice. To her surprise, the wolf paused then nodded in response to her suggestion. And so, Annabel pulled leaves from her basket and applied a makeshift poultice to the majestic creature’s limb. As minutes went by, her fear dissipated and she began to casually converse with the beast. For some reason, she felt she could open up to it…to him.
“Can you return to your mannish form? Don‘t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won‘t tell anyone what you look like.”
After a pause, the wolf shook his head in a defeated manner.
“I imagine you must be pretty old, being so lanky and graying.”
A loud snort exited the wolf’s nose in an annoyed manner.
“So you’re younger then?”
The wolf nodded then shifted his gaze to look out at the open sky in a stoic manner.
“Well, I’m Annabel. I suppose since you can’t change back, there’s no point in me asking your name, is there? But that‘s okay.”
Annabel continued to dress the wound while feeling the wolf’s course textured hair, enjoying the sound of its deep, even breathe. She could feel the ripples of sinew and muscle along its taut frame. It was not a sensual experience but a spiritual one, for lack of a better term.
“Here you go,” said Annabel, while finishing up and pressing the last of the herbal mixture into the wolf’s injury, still trying to make conversation with the beast. When it was finished, the two sat there again, staring, waiting, and uneasy, neither comrade nor opponent.
As the bells chimed, Annabel found herself again in a field of grass, trying desperately to remember the ecstasy of feeling no care or worry with a hint of libidinous. She rubbed her eyes looking for the lupine stranger, but the wolf was gone. She rushed home, trying to keep pace with the falling sun, knowing Beatrice would be at home, ready to scold and condescend her. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Only the connection she felt with the wolf. She had looked past the flesh, past the appearance of what most would’ve thought to be a mindless beast ready to tear her to crimson tatters. Instead of perceiving her as a threat, the beast decided to remain copacetic and cooperative, allowing for something to pass between them that were more than just healing but understanding.
“Again? Where have you been? There are so many…” Beatrice began nagging Annabel as soon as she approached the farmyard. Beatrice began to go through her typical tirade off insults and threats, adding to the list of chores to be finished before sundown. Annabel finished them all without complaint or even the slightest response. The only thing she thought of, was the Lycan visitor in the field, free to come and go, free to choose, to cooperate or leave of its own accord. A being, no, an ideal she craved to pursue.
When the sun finally set, Annabel went through the barn once more to check everything had been put away but stopped when she noticed a strange protuberance in one of the hay stalls. Closer observation revealed it was flesh colored and ended in tiny projections. Toes. Feet. Bare legs. Annabel rushed to see the body, which was attached to it and found a boy, or a man? A man! It was a young man about her age, asleep and naked, laying covered haphazardly in straw. Exposed was most of his torso, extremities, neck and head revealing he had jet black hair on the top of his head with only a little strip of the same on his abdomen. It was somewhat curly and wild, reminding Annabel of the unpredictable waves of the Great Sea. His face was handsome, yet intense, reminding Annabel of the wild dogs she occasionally saw in the village, only far more feral. Even his ears retained a slight lupine appearance. His skin wasn’t fair like hers but slightly ruddy and a bit tawny.
Annabel began to look closer upon the striking, unconscious youth finding that he had a curious scar with flecks of green leaf on his right thigh. Could it be? Annabel slowly turned the lad more on his side to find at the top of his buttocks was a small furry tail. …he is the Lycan! Annabel widely grinned both in happiness that her new companion was safe and flushed by the thrill of finding such a gorgeous body in her barn. Her eyes drifted down to lads crouch, still covered in far too concealing hay. With baited breath she reached her hand down to see, to discover what had been hidden from her imagination. What secrets about the male body she had heard of but never seen for herself. What anatomical treasures lay hid under just a handful of straw? And just as her arm had crept low enough a sharp exhale broke the stillness. The lads’ eyes had opened.
II “Elevation”
Where came the Mist, the source of man and skin changers races many may debate. From the High-lords in their heavens or from the furnaces of the deep most scholars exclaim. Perhaps from the Great Sea or eastern mountains range, others say. But what is known is the resting place of the founding Mist is now the lost South. Both being kind, avoid venturing towards such a place save the bold and deranged. For once one enters the vast fields of the Mist one sees what most fear; reflections of their true self as if they were looking into a mystic mirror.
-excerpt from the Darenkh Chronicles, by Vedakh Carn
Bright, amber eyes peered back into Annabel’s with a sense of wonder and bewilderment. The wolf-man was now erect, sitting up in the pile of hay and straw, his body and hair covered haphazardly in the thresh. His eyes scanned Annabel as if trying to decipher whether she was full of goodwill or woe. Annabel thought to open her mouth and start talking, but she then decided not to those the light resin-colored eyes from staring at her. She breathed deeply as a warm flush filled her chest. Right now, a gorgeous young man was sitting across from her, inside her barn, just the two of them. Biting her lip Annabel prayed that he might be the savage she had heard all skin changers were and take her right there. While unable to ask such a thing aloud, in her mind she began to picture him pinning her down, tearing the clothes from milky flesh. If he did, she hoped he’d start by taking her like a bitch in heat, then flip her every which way, and finally finishing on top staring at her with those big, possessing amber eyes.
“Where am I?” the Lycan asked, shattering the still silence.
“Y- You’re, uh, this is my barn. Well, Beatrice’s anyway.” Annabel responded struggling through her heated thoughts. Her gaze was now shifting from the lad’s eyes to his trim but defined, bronzed chest. From there, to his similarly muscled legs and then, to the hay covered space between them.
“Are you the girl from the field?” he continued. “My memories are a little clouded.”
“Uh, yes,” Annabel stammered trying to concentrate on the conversation rather than the growing sensation of carnality, which had gripped her mind. “I’m Annabel.”
“Annabel,” he said, with a nervous grin, still clearly unsure whether or not to trust her. His head then darted about the barn, taking in his surroundings.
“How did you come to be here?” she asked.
“I think…” the lad’s eyes shifted downward, moving in the way one does when they think with great effort. His voice rose and trailed off unevenly, indicating a lack of confidence in his recollection. “I think I left after you patched my wound. I tried to avoid the hunters, those bastards…I think I lost them as I ran, but…”
“You don’t remember?” Annabel inquired, keenly interested. She had always been told that skin changers were either completely in control of themselves after they turned o
r lost their minds to the bestial form they’d taken. Was he the latter type?
“I can’t…it’s difficult for me to recall what happens when I change. I’m still trying to control how I do it.” The youth’s eyes shifted down in embarrassment. Annabel thought it curious that his sense of shame came from opening up about his actions, not being stark naked in front of a total stranger.
“What’s your name?” Annabel asked, now squatting to appear less domineering.
“Eh, Dirk,” he replied coyly, still unsure of Annabel’s intentions, “Listen I’m sorry to have stayed in your barn, I’ll leave right- ah!” Dirk recoiled, shrieking and grabbing at the gash on his thigh, his leg continued to lightly shake in spasms of pain.
“You should stay here to heal,” Annabel insisted with a notable mix of true, genuine compassion as well as a mounting feeling of lust in her voice. “I’ll grab some bandages and clothes for you.”
With a motivated vigor, Annabel rushed from the barn to sneak away some wrapping cloth and an old tunic from the cottage. Beatrice was pacing through the cottage muttering to herself, fortunately, paying no mind to Annabel’s absence. Taking advantage of her neglect, Annabel stole from the kitchen a handful of dried venison and potatoes, also. Returning to the barn, she found Dirk where she had left him, still sitting semi-concealed in a stall of hay. After giving him the food she had acquired, she reluctantly gave him the tunic, stifling her desire to see him uncovered. Interestingly, he, like her, seemed to be embarrassed over his nudity despite his slender frame; Dirk had sat holding his arms around his chest in much the same way Annabel had done when feeling self-conscious about her own appearance.
She again examined his amber eyes. They were bright as day and possessed a shine, as if to suggest the vibrancy and honesty with which he lived life. Looking into these big pretty eyes, Annabel felt as if she could open up to Dirk about anything or anyway. It wasn’t just the urge to pursue the means to satisfy the physical cravings she had. Yes, she did want a man to find her attractive and lovely. But she wanted to be able to leave her emotional guards riven and allow her suitor to be interested by her inner beauty as well.
“Are you cold, Dirk?” Annabel asked as she began to wrap the Lycan’s wound.
“No I’m fine,” he replied.
“It’s just that… I was wondering if you uncomfortable with…oh, never mind.”
“With what?”
“You just seemed a little uneasy with being so exposed. I can find some more clothes for you if you want. I may be able go into town tomorrow and pick up some more.”
“Exposed? You mean naked? No, of course not. You Homin are the ones that get embarrassed by nakedness.”
“Well, some of us more than others,” Annabel responded sheepishly, her attention now focused on the wrap.
“Why? Are you afraid of the cold? I’ve seen the fires your people make. Surely those would keep you warm instead.”
“It’s not just that. It just isn’t done,” Annabel was beginning to struggle to explain human customs of modesty without revealing her own insecurities. “It isn’t considered correct to be so open with your body. It’s something Beatrice taught me, ‘a man only wants to see you unadorned on your wedding night’.”
“Who’s that?”
“My, uh…my mother. Anyway we simply don‘t let people see us without the proper coverings.”
“Not us. It’s a thing of pride for Lycan’s to be exposed to the open elements. To run through the wild Wood with nothing inhibiting the wind on your skin,” Dirk exclaimed jubilantly but then his voice dropped too. “Just so long as you have the great bulk and sinew to show off.” This change in attitude piqued up Annabel’s interest again.
“Really? Why is that?” Annabel asked, now noticing that he did put on the tunic.
“Well, if you’re in a Lycan pack, your body’s everything. It’s a demonstration, a boast of what your capable of, for the rest of the members of the group. Being bulky and hulking demands respect, while being lanky and…” Dirk’s voice trailed off again and the excitement in his auburn-shaded eyes faded. Annabel was being to understand where he was coming from.
“You know, I don’t really share the same values of the rest of the people, uh Homin, around me. Why look at these loose fitting dresses I wear. They aren‘t exactly the concealing garments Beatrice wants me wearing,” she laughed gaily.
“But you still wear them.”
“Well, I have too. That and I do feel a little…uncomfortable.”
“With what? I haven‘t met many Homin but the ones I have aren‘t nearly as open as you are.”
“My people believe that as women, we’re supposed to be thin and slender. Not rotund and so unshapely.” Annabel bit down on her lip, cursing herself for blubbering out her own insecurities. Dirk looked confused then tilted his head and smiled.
“So it would seem I want your body, and you want my type of body. It seems we were born into the wrong families.”
“I guess we were,” Annabel chuckled quietly. Her mood rose with the phrase ‘I want your body’. She had never heard such words of praise from another man, not since her father died. Even if he didn’t mean it in the prurient manner Annabel desired it was still nice to hear.
She looked again into Dirks eyes to see the intent behind his words. Their steadiness and clarity indicated honesty in his statement. The two of them were kindred spirits, not just for being considered physically unfit for their respective societies, but also for desiring affection. Annabel moved in closer to Dirk and placed her hand on his.
“Do you think you can move this leg well enough to leave?” she asked softly. He accepted her hand and then guided his other hand up her arm. While lightly brushing her soft skin, he answered, “No I don’t think so. It’ll take a while to heal yet.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied.
“How can I repay you for such kindness,” he asked.
“Like this,” she responded by grabbing both of his hands and guided him to both her copious breasts, which Dirk began to rub, slowly at first, but with increased vigor Both of them were now breathing audibly through their noses and about to perspire, responding to the heat between them. Annabel leaned into Dirks face, but rather than responding in kind, Dirk began to snarl. To Annabel’s shock, his face began to contort in agony and he shoved her from him with tremendous strength and pulled back. He lied curled and writhing, covering his face, trying to muffle tortured screams and huffing air. After a spell of staying still, Dirk’s breath returned to an even pace. He had stopped twisting in pain or crying out in agony. She rose to carefully approach him, curious of what had happened.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m alright. It’s just that I can’t control when I change,” he replied, his breathing still somewhat heavy.
“Why not? What did I do? Did I make you upset or something?” She continued, this time waiting warily at the edge of the stall.
“We skin changers, long ago we tied ourselves to the natural world using the Mist. And in the case of the Lycan, we took on the strength and ferocity of the wolf and bound ourselves to the moon. So whenever we get excited or passionate, it triggers the change. Most of us learn to control it when we are young by focusing on something that gives us greater emotional satisfaction than the feeling of the moment.”
“And what about you? What do you focus on?”
“I haven’t learned how. I haven’t had anyone to teach me,” he said, his face turning to the ground with a feeling of anguish written on his face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn‘t know.”
“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I‘m especially prone to the turn since I‘m wounded.”
“No, I meant for asking. It wasn‘t any of my business and I shouldn‘t have pried,” she hurriedly gathered herself to leave.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like until you heal.” And with that, she
whisked off to the cottage.
The next day, Annabel continued with her routine as she always had but with a new twist. She performed her chores, gathered her herbs, but would now, in secret, steal away to the barn to aid Dirk. The two of them would converse; Annabel would talk about her day and in return, Dirk would give her stories about his life growing up in the Wood and about the mysteries of the Mist. The Mist intrigued Annabel, she had heard numerous stories about them, but most of them were contradictory or vague. However, Dirk‘s tales were far more consistent and detailed.
The Mist, he explained, was the source for all thinking beings, both men and the skin changers. It was an almost living field of great magic, which contained all of the creativity and wildness of minds’ emotions, but lacks the body to put it into form. Instead, the haze is a collection of light, sound and color, which reacts to those with bodies in spectacular and fantastic ways.
“That place sounds amazing. Where is it?”
“In the lost South,” Dirk explained. “Far away where most do not dare to find.”
“Why, it sounds wonderful. Why hasn’t anyone attempted to enter into it?”
“Fear,” Dirk replied flatly. “Some have tried, but most have been consumed.”
“Consumed? What do you mean by that”
“They were consumed by the reflections of their mind inside the Mist. Keep in mind, it reflects the intents, feelings, and desires of the people, which enter into it. Most of the people who have tried to enter the Mist have done so out of a desire to achieve power. At least that’s what they say.”
“And so they saw the ugliness of their own wants and that’s what drove them to madness?”
“Exactly.”
Annabel paused briefly to absorb what Dirk had said. She had always thought that the mystic things outside the village were either entirely evil and frightening or good and benevolent, not potentially both, at the same time, both unpredictable.