Chapter Text
If there was ever a time for Kieran to feel every bit like the kind of sniveling mouse that folk seemed to think he was, it was now. Sat firm on a large rock near the scout campfire, saddle hung over his thighs with a buffing brush slack in his hand, unable to look away from the whorl of teeth and fur tearing up the ground not ten feet from him.
Past the horse hitches, Arthur and John are wrapped around one another, coal black against sandy brown, snapping at each other's throats and snarling like demons from Hell. And Kieran is terrified.
The beasts are at it like they're out for blood, for death. Growling and kicking up dust, occasionally punching yelps out of each other that echo hard off of the trees that surround their camp. Kieran looks around, careful over his shoulder, expecting to see Dutch or Hosea or even Miss Grimshaw march over and tear them apart, but no such thing happens. Everyone mills around the camp like they can't hear the wolves fighting tooth and nail just shy of where they sleep, pushing each other into the dirt, ropes of spit flying from their wicked looking teeth. He feels like any second now, one of them will lose interest in the fight and attack whoever else is closest, that currently being Kieran himself. He should move, hide maybe, but he can't. Feels paralyzed.
"Hi Kieran," a voice speaks suddenly from over his shoulder, makes Kieran nearly jump out of his skin, brush tumbling out of his hand and to the ground. Nearly drops the saddle too, scrambles to grasp it proper and it straighten it atop his lap once more.
He looks up at whoever had spoken to him, face flushing hot. "Oh uh-, hi Mary-Beth." He stammers, shifts in his seat, glances back over to the wolves.
John has squirmed out from a pin that Arthur had trapped him in, stands to bat hard at Arthur's haunches, makes to bite at his shoulders. Arthur swings his head around, whirls in place and chomps hard at John's narrow snout, teeth clicking loudly.
Mary-Beth follows Kieran's line of sight, tilts her head. "Fascinatin', isn't it?" She says, and Kieran does a double take. Looks from Mary-Beth's contemplative face to the wolves exhaustive fighting. "Uh, miss?" He asks, not quite sure what she's referring to.
"Them," She clarifies, dips her head toward John and Arthur. "Wolves, with the hearts 'n souls of men. It sure is somethin' else."
"I, I suppose.." Kieran says in reply, picks up his brush again and focuses on a scuff that mars the fine leather of the saddle. "Is that okay? Them fightin' like that?" He asks, feeling a little more at ease with Mary-Beth standing near him. The wolves surely wouldn't attack him with one of their own so close.
He's earned a laugh, Mary-Beth playfully taps at his shoulder. "They ain't fightin'!" She exclaims, "they're just havin' a bit of fun."
"Fun?!"
The look on her freckled face softens down to a gentle smile. "Sure, like puppies. Gets the energy out."
Kieran blinks dumbly, looks over to the wolves again. Arthur is now laid out on his belly, legs sprawled in front of him, tongue lolling out from his mouth as he pants like a hard rode horse, breath streaming out into the air. John side steps around him, grumbles like he wants his opponent to get back up. He only paces for a few moments before sitting down, his back to Arthur, lifts a hind leg to scratch hard at his ear.
Mary-Beth is then leaning into his sight, crisp ringlets of her hair catching the sunlight. "Kieran," she says, "you afraid of them?"
"Course I'm afraid of 'em!" Kieran exclaims, forces his voice to a quieter volume, "just look at 'em.." He trails off as Mary-Beth's expression sours a bit, just a tilted quirk between her eyebrows, corners of her mouth creasing. "That what ridin' with the O'Driscolls taught you?" She asks, it's less of a question and more of a statement, just a slight edge to her voice.
It throws Kieran for a loop, and he's sitting there with his mouth agape, suddenly feeling like a fool. "Well.." He starts, but isn't able to properly find the words.
She definitely isn't wrong. Kieran didn't know much about werewolves growing up, heard talk of them. Regular folk spoke of them like they were pests mostly, something less than human and certainly deserving of a bullet, no different than a wild wolf. But he'd never really given much thought to them, until he'd saddled up with the O'Driscoll gang.
A relatively simple group of thieves and criminals, well armed with a decent hold on the land they moved through, with a notable hobby of hunting werewolves for sport. For fun. Killed them to sell their wolf skins, killed them to earn money, killed them for the hell of it. Kieran had never gone out with those boys whenever they decided to go 'hunting', laughing and stinking of alcohol, shining their knives and grinning ever so wickedly, but he was there for their often 'triumphant' returns. Talking about the wolves they'd hunted and cornered, used wolfsbane to force them to change into their human skins, poisoning and weakening them with silver and listening to their ragged screams as they tortured them, gutted and killed them. Occasionally they'd bring back pelts, bloody and looking hastily skinned, larger than any wolf Kieran had ever seen in his life.
"They look human but they ain't", he'd been told."It's just a trick they pull, to make you lower your guard. And the second you turn your back, you'll get teeth in your neck. They'll kill anything that moves, don't matter if it's a woman nor a child; that's why we gotta kill 'em all."
He'd believed them, not knowing much better. Always one to listen and follow. Truly thought that once Arthur had wrangled him down, dragged him back to their hideout through that snowstorm that he'd be killed. Ripped apart, eaten. Now he just felt... stupid. Unable to keep the heat from his face, he looks up at Mary-Beth. "I- I guess that is what they taught me." He tells her honestly, feels undeniably guilty at the look that slowly washes over her face, angry pinch between her brows turning somber.
She gestures over to where John and Arthur are, now both lazily laying in the sun. Jack has wandered over to the two of them, is sat atop John's back, fingers curled in the thick fur on his shoulders. John pays him no mind, massive head laid over his paws, eyes drooping. A beast of his size could end Jack's life with a quick snap of the teeth, it would take no effort at all. But he lays placid and gentle as his son plays some little game, yips and rocks like he's riding a horse.
"Them? They're good men," she says, stern. "Good as they can be, anyhow." She steps around to sit next to Kieran; he's careful to move over a bit, makes sure that there's a few inches between them.
"The O'Driscolls.." Mary-Beth sighs once she's sat down, hands smoothing out the wrinkles that rumple up her pretty skirt. "They're just thoughtless killers." She looks over to the wolves again. Jack's now sitting between the two of them, drawing loose shapes in the dirt with a stick. Arthur lifts his head and pushes his snout against Jack's neck, pulls a happy little giggle out from him, sniffs at his ear and blasts hot breath through his soft hair. "Killin' their kind without a thought, don't matter if they've never hurt a soul. All because of what they are." She returns her gaze to Kieran, green eyes hard and firm on him, she leans in close again. "Don't you think that's wrong?"
Kieran is struck for a moment, feeling very put on the spot. He clears his throat and pushes the old saddle from his thighs to the ground, drops the brush beside it with a light thud, folds his fingers together. "You're right, Mary-Beth," he says, sheepish. Tucks his chin close to his chest, "I just don't really know, about all of this. But.. I am runnin' with you now, so.."
"So expect better?" She says, smiles a bit, soft as usual and far more kind than Kieran deserves. "I don't blame you for being a little.. nervous about what we have here but, I ain't a wolf and they've never eaten me. So I think you'll be just as fine."
"Right," Kieran replies, presses his lips together and shakes out his shoulders, mind racing a bit, heart like a rabbit in his chest.
"I should be fine."
Mary-Beth pats his hand; gentle and warm, then stands up, smooths out her skirt again. "Course you'll be fine." She tells him, grinning as she saunters off to begin her daily chores, "you are one of us now, after all."