by Roxanne Lee
When dusk fell once more I was a swaying drunk. My eyes glazed and my sight misted. I fell to my knees, the lack of food and water adding to my weakness. I gave up on standing and proceeded to crawl. I liked crawling, it served to move me forward when my legs could no longer hold me up. I didn't notice at first, so caught up in moving forward that my most valuable sense was overridden by will.
The quiet shook me first. That lack of sound that creeps under your skin and raises the hair on the back of your neck. I couldn't see well enough in front, I reversed to have the nearest tree at my back and sat, waiting for what was to come.
I heard rustling, the movement of bodies too large to be wildlife through the broken branches. A snuffling through the leaves as if my scent was calling them. A whistle on the wind and a rough bark in answer. I saw the shapes moving in shadow, large and clumsy yet fluid in motion. A low growl proceeded the snapping of twigs as they came into view. Approaching slowly, stalking and rounding me up like sheep.
Another whistle and they sat before me in tandem. Muscles bulging and jaws hanging.
They were a beautiful example of their breed. Proportioned perfectly, one black, one tan.
The Boerboel: a heavily muscled, intimidating mastiff.
I sat still, my eyes drunkenly taking in the sight before me. I still had my knife but my arm refused to move now that I had stopped. It was locked in place, limp and useless. Their master came crashing through the bushes a second later and they acknowledged him with short little grunts of pleasure.
My eyes closed before I could burn his image into my brain. I made a soft sound of protest when he took an arm and hefted me off the floor.
"Well...you a tiny little thing ain't you? Now dun ya worry nuthin' girlie, ya come on home with ol' Sam."
I registered his words but I lost consciousness well before I could think to struggle.
****************
The next time my eyes opened it was to a hiss of displeasure. The bright light burning into my sleep filled eyes. The cot I lay on was hard and stiff though definitely not the worst place I'd ever slept.
To my great relief I was still fully clothed, the blood dried and brittle on the jumper but comforting in its presence. I sat up too quickly and had to remain still while blood pounded around my skull. I took the time to look at my surroundings. The wooden floor, walls and door. An old four paned glass window in front of the cot.
I heard barking outside and forced my legs to stand and hold my weight. Slipping to the door I opened it quietly and blew out a breath at the vacant living room and kitchen it revealed. With the front door in sight I moved quieter than I thought possible and eased the latch off soundlessly.
I stood on a porch, wooden like the rest of the little cabin. Squeaky floorboards that moaned beneath my feet. I winced at every sound and hoped the dogs boisterous barking would cover my escape enough. I was almost to the steps and could see the forest covering at my right.
"Ya goin' somewhere, girlie?"
I startled so hard I nearly fell down the remaining steps. That voice, an odd concoction of American and British, an accent of broad English with a touch of deep South.
"Shit."
He chuckled at my exclamation and I turned around to face him. Tall, nigh on six and half feet. Weathered skin with deep lines on a soft, black face. Liver spots on his forehead and an aged nose that spoke of a whisky habit. He was fit enough for his age, sixty or so and still flat in the stomach with broad shoulders and large hands that showed a working man.
"Ya done checking me out, girlie? I look suspect ta you?"
The smile on his face softened his words and I couldn't help but quirk a lip in return.
"I have to go," I answered, my feet moving forward before my words finished.
"Hm, well I guess tha' stew on the stove'll keep sum. Probly end up feedin' them damn dogs tho'."
My feet locked in place, willing them with everything in me and yet they refused to move one more step.
"Yeeep, smell good too. Been stewin' all night an' mornin'."
I heard him step right up behind me. As quiet as his footsteps were, I felt his presence like a balm at my back.
He reached out a hand and touched my shoulder lightly.
The fire burned and raged inside, a blaze that ignited in seconds and tore through perspective and sanity.
I whipped my body around with a snarl, my face screwed in distaste and anger. My eyes flashing a promise of death and my lips curled up to reveal my teeth.
He stood a few steps away from me, his hands in the air raised in surrender, a smirk on his dry lips.
Oddly, it was enough to pause my instinct. A reaction the fire did not expect.
"Uhuh. You goin' ta need ta cage tha' beast, girlie. She angry." He stared into my confused eyes and rumbled. "Yeah. I see you. You ain't comin' out yet ya hear? It ain't your time."
My anger dissipated to a puff of smoke. He grinned and walked back to the porch.
"Come now, girlie. You look like ya need sum feedin'."
I was lost in a sea of confusion and found my legs taking me back into the cabin. The smell of cooked meat and gravy drifting towards me, leading me on.
The man was insane...and yet I followed his dementia to the cabin, curious and slightly awed.
He sat me down with a gentle nudge to the table and resumed stirring the pot on the stove before placing a dish piled high in front of me. Steaming hot goodness that forced saliva to form in appreciation. The window arching over the wooden table showed the sun setting over distant trees. I'd been asleep far longer than I thought.
He sat his own plate down opposite me and gave me a silent gesture to eat. I picked up my spoon and shovelled a mouthful, it seemed I'd found a new love for stew.
After a few minutes of settling the gnawing hunger I looked at the strange man in my company.
"You're Sam, right?"
He wiped a hand on his faded jeans and held it out in front of him. "Sure am. Pleased ta meet ya."
I took his warm hand curiously and narrowed my eyes at his."So, what are you?"
He chuckled, a deep gruff sound that reminded me fondly of my father.
"Werewolf, obviously."
I raised an eyebrow, the man was at least sixty years old, did he think I was stupid?
"Now dun go lookin' at me like tha'. I been around a long time, seen many things." He swallowed another mouthful before continuing. "Then you get ta be around too long. My babies grown, their babies grown. Lost my Amelia in tha war of '98. Dun want nobody else. Ya stop shiftin' fo' long enough ya start agein'."
I looked at his long face, I didn't realise that was an option.
"Eat up girlie, we talk on tha porch afta', got me some whisky go real good wit' stew."
I rolled my eyes at his obvious habit and managed a few more spoonfuls before my stomach protested.
I stepped on the porch, the setting sun low in the sky. A burnt orange on the horizon. Two rickety old chairs sat in the corner and I claimed one before Sam joined me with tumblers of gold.
He had an old pipe in one hand and tapped it against the rail before refilling the tobacco. The monotonous sound of lighting and sucking at the pipe lulled me to relaxation, the whisky doing the rest. He started talking as a cloud of smoke billowed around his head. I was glad I was upwind.
"Met my girl in my two hundredth year. Had nigh on two hundred an' fifty years wit' her." He chuckled at the memory shaking his head. "Woman was crazy. Gave me a heart attack more often en' not. Came over here in tha seventies." He screwed up his face a little at the thought. "Worst decade eva'. Them damn peaceables wit' their drugs an' free love. Amelia got so high on acid one day, thought she could fly, damn near hurled herself off a cliff."
My jaw was hanging down and he gave that chuckle again at my reaction.
"Oh I saved her tha' time." His forlorn expression came so suddenly my stomach sank. "Lost her head in tha' war. Packs became greedy, tryin' ta take what wasn't theirs. A boy
, no olda' then you, not shiftin' long, came at her. She didn' even raise her hand at him, dun think she coulda. He took her head easily enough. I knew tha moment she went."
He puffed a little on his pipe as we sat in silence, I had nothing to say to that; loss is a given. He gave a bellowing laugh and I frowned at the tears streaming down his face.
"She was tha ugliest thing ya eva did see as a werewolf."
I stared at him in shock.
"It's true, I swear down. Snaggle toothed if ya can believe it. Drooled so much I bought her a bib one year. Took a picture ta show tha kids. She dun speak ta me for a week!"
His tears were falling freely now, not sadness but joy, a sparkle in his eye when he remembered. I wondered if I'd ever have that feeling.
"Dun you worry nun, she got hers. Shaved my damn ass when we was sleepin' in tha forest. Only werewolf in tha whole country had a pink ass when he bent ova'."
I spat my whisky out in a cough and a snort. Spluttering over the jeans I still wore.
"I loved tha' woman." He sighed into his glass. "I been waitin' ta see why I'm still here. Seems I been waitin' on you."
I peered at him, his cheeks still wet with laughter. I could tell him but I don't think he'd except what I had to say. He'll be waiting a long time for me. I'm buried deep, under a mound of sifting soil. He can cage the beast, he can tell me all the stories he likes but I'm on my own path now and it's paved in scarlet before me.
Chapter 8.
I woke to a heavy weight on my stomach, a large paw slung over my chest. The whisky had been quick to put me to sleep and Sam soon pushed an old shirt at me and sent me to bed. The weight grumbled when I tried to dislodge it. I looked down to see a large black head snoring softly, jowls puffing out with each breath. He'd taken over most of the cot, my body pushed to the edge by his bulk. Sam called him Remy, an adage to his native home. I prodded his head with one finger and received a slow eyed blink in return before he resumed snoring.
I don't know why he chose to sleep with me. Surely Sam was a better option. Did he not sense the obscurity inside me? Not smell that slow burning storm? Maybe he did yet, like his owner, he chose to ignore his instincts. They were both fools.
I heard Sam move around in the kitchen and Remy's head lifted, his ears perked and head cocked. He stood tall and leapt off the bed, no doubt realising breakfast was up. I snorted, at least I haven't replaced food.
Sam called out a, "girlie", and I assumed that meant he knew I was awake. I threw the jeans back on and stuck with the shirt, I think I was done with Clara's jumper. I shuffled my way to the kitchen, it was warm from the stove's heat and my toes curled up in gratitude.
"Arya."
Sam looked up from stacking pancakes and bacon on two plates; the man may have stopped shifting but he still ate like a wolf.
"Watcha say?"
"My name, It's Arya."
"Fair 'nough. Grab tha' coffee will ya, girlie."
I sighed. I could deal with it, I'd been called worse. The coffee was black tar in a mug, I winced at the smell. God it even smelt like poison.
"Cream n' sugar on the side if ya wan'."
I looked at him, his expression completely serious.
"Yes.....Yes I'd like that."
I sat down to a plateful yet again. I could see me gaining the weight I'd lost quick enough with a few more meals like this.
"We goin' on a walk afta', boys need exercisin'. You too for tha' matter."
"I was going to try making it to the town today."
"What for? Ya got money? Plannin' on replacin' tha jumper? Maybe one withou' blood?"
I squinted at him, did he think he was funny? "Well no. I was thinking of getting a job maybe for a bit, just until I moved on."
Sam put his fork down and took a sip of that coffee. Black. I waited for the reaction.
The man had a steel stomach, I got nothing. "You goin' ta work all day on those sticks ya call legs? Goin' ta serve folks coffee and breakfast while beastie in there tugs on them chains?"
I looked down at my coffee swimming in cream.
"Yeah, didn' think so. Eat up girlie, we got a long ol' day ahead. There's a box in tha livin' room, my babies clothes when she a teenager. They goin' fit well 'nough. Was wonderin' why tha' damn woman dun throw nuthin' away."
I took a cautious sip of my coffee and declared it drinkable, resigning myself to staying for now.
The box was fruitful, I found several pairs of jeans that were a better fit than the ones I had. Shirts and jumpers, clean and bloodless. I even found a pair of boots, worn but wearable, a size too big but with Sam's big socks they were comfortable. I took a moment to relish the feeling. My clothes. Not Clara's, not his, but mine. Sam's daughter wouldn't need them any more. Something all of my own. As a winters first frost wrapped the landscape in a lethal embrace, I grabbed hard onto that feeling and found I couldn't let go.
We walked for miles, or so it felt, Remy bounding along in front. He was an odd animal. He had an air of carelessness, a carefree nature I didn't understand. He was loyal and watchful yet, where Luce spent his walk on edge, ever the protective detail, Remy was a puppy in adult form. Sam had proclaimed the tan canine as a 'demon possessed dog', hence the name Lucifer or Luce for short.
"Ya know, them two ain't so different."
I quirked a brow at his obvious disillusion.
"Yeah, yeah. They seem opposite, I give ya tha' but, them boys grown up together. Think maybe Remy wha' Luce wanna be. Oh he like watchin' my back, but ya see him lookin' at Remy a little wistful like. Maybe he think he need ta watch, maybe he can' override them instincts, maybe he need ta take a leaf outta Remy's book eva' so often."
He thought he was so clever I suppose, I pursed my lips at him. I wasn't going to take an analogy of the dog to heart. He released one of those chuckles my way and raised his hand to wave it off.
We came to a field, so abruptly, the trees melted away to nothing and the grass, a citrine floor, lay dying at my feet. Sam sat at the edge, an evil smirk on his face.
"Well, let's see watcha made of."
I sighed and waited for his infinite wisdom.
"Tha' there's a beast in front of ya."
I looked and saw Luce glaring at me, drool running down his jaw. I furrowed my brow at Sam.
"Wha'? I tol' you, that dog got demon in him. How ya goin' ta control your beastie if ya can' control tha' one?"
I had a bad feeling. It only grew when Sam threw a dog lead at me.
"He dun like bein' leashed. You do tha' we can go home, got sum chicken waitin' ta roast."
I scowled at the man. The animal in front was not pleasant and I think he knew what was coming.
"Watcha fingers girlie, dogs go' sum daggers for teeth."
His little chuckle only served to wind me up further. I moved towards the animal carefully, slowly, without sudden movements. Luce's growl deepened with every step and my fingers had tiny tremors, belying my nerves. I pushed another step forward and saw those intelligent eyes flick to my hands holding the lead. I was close, close enough to reach out and touch. A slight hand movement caught his attention and he snapped at me, missing by inches.
"God damn it!"
My shout was loud but it still didn't cover Sam's laughter. I turned fuming at the man.
"Try again girlie, we have all day."
It took me an hour to touch that dog. Countless tries and near misses of fingers. Sam was right - that dog had issues. It came to me suddenly, the thought that maybe the man wasn't so crazy. Luce didn't trust me; that was pretty clear. I didn't trust my wolf.
I gave that dog something I hadn't given many people, that little bit of faith that I wouldn't get hurt. My hands stopped shaking, the lead stopped rattling in my grip. I stepped forward with a confidence I didn't think I was capable of. That small action produced such different results that I was left confounded by the beast firmly attached to the leash in my hand.
"Finally! Much as I enjoyed tha', were gettin' a touc
h borin'."
I rolled my eyes at his lack of enthusiasm.
"I ain't sayin' it'll be tha' easy but it a start ain't it?"
I grudgingly accepted his truth. There was a warmth in my chest, an unnameable feeling. That mix of excitement and accomplishment that heats a cold, hollow space left years ago. A slight smile on my face I looked down at the animal I'd leashed.
I saw the muscles on his back clench. The fur between his shoulder blades stand up like a short haired Mohawk. I dropped the leash. His back legs tensed and sprung. A snarl burning through the light atmosphere. I ran to Sam, my hand in my pocket where my knife was snugly tucked.
Sam had stood by the time I reached him, he towered over my frame and stepped a little in front of me. Remy had joined Luce at the tree line, low rumbles shaking their chests.
I saw the first one before he even broke through the boundary. Topping seven and a half feet, wiry hair parted by wolf ears. Shoulders breaking branches foolhardy enough to be in his path. I sucked in a breath. The slow, even gait of his walk was peaceful but the hands with claws on view proved that could quickly change.
Two more appeared behind him, flanking his position. The dogs growled and snapped when they didn't appear to be stopping.
"Ya migh' wanna wait righ' there boys. Them dogs ain't real friendly. You a couple of big-uns I give ya tha' but they ain't much fo' fair fightin'."
The one in front heeded the warning and stepped to the side to shift behind a tree. One, that had been at his back, threw him a pair of shorts and he was back out in front within minutes.
He lost maybe a foot to his human form; an inch over Sam's height. He was still well muscled, not anywhere near the obscenity of his wolf but large for a human. His blonde hair hit his shoulders and I caught him running a hand through it a few times to get it out of his face. He'd stepped right up to the dogs, not seemingly worried about the teeth snapping at his feet.
"Alex," Sam acknowledged curiously. "You changed boy, dun recognise ya wolf no more. Ya know normal folk, well, they call a person 'fore they come callin'."