Archive of Our Own

The forest is quiet, and you are all dappled sunlight and furtive stretches.  A creature of the evening, unused to the harsh, slanted rays of the sun filtering through your lashes.  You crouch low to the ground, as if making yourself smaller will change the angle of the light, like you could curl yourself into darkness in the middle of the day.

Even through the thick brush, I can still see you, the muscles of your back shifting beneath silver fur; piercing, mismatched eyes peering at me from between the leaves.  Without your usual shadows to camouflage your body, you are as easy to spot as a cardinal in a pine tree.

I know I should be concerned; that being hunted by a wild creature ought to induce that familiar prickling of fear, an icy gust across my nape spurring me forward.

I should want to run.

But if you wanted me for your meal, you would already have eaten your fill.  And as I wander between the trees, I sense you slinking in my blind spot, still low to the ground as we traverse the uneven ground in tandem.

Watching me.  Tracking me.

I don’t turn to look at you.  I don’t throw rocks or make a torch with a dry branch and sticky pitch to scare you away.

If my fate is to end up in the belly of a wolf, then so be it.  Whatever shared future we are creeping toward is already decided.  No use fighting when I would rather enjoy a lovely stroll on a brisk autumn afternoon.

It is not until that lovely afternoon cascades into a chilly evening that I consider the dire truth of our situation.

Because you are still following me when I settle my back against a tree trunk to rest for the night.  I can almost smell you when the wind picks up, though you have been careful—as all predators must be—to remain downwind throughout our journey together.

And as my bonfire crackles, shooting sparks over my head with every sharp pop and sizzle, I meet your eyes between the dancing flames, mismatched spheres reflecting in the underbrush across the small clearing, as if they have captured the burning fire of the sun and held fast to it despite the encroaching darkness.

I can just see the outline of your head, the tufts of longer fur around your ears.  Occasionally, I see a shadow move behind you, and I realize it is your tail, flicking gracefully back and forth.

The next swallow of my rations is thicker than the last, laced not only with hunger, but trepidation.

I am a visitor in these woods.  No matter how many times I have traversed this same road, that remains true with each incursion.  I do not belong here, and I am allowed safe passage only by the mercy of the wild creatures who call this place their home.

When I hear a deep growl simmer in your throat, I wonder if perhaps this time I will not be so lucky.

The breath stills in my lungs as you launch yourself from the brush, tail trailing behind you like a comet as you arc gracefully over the greedily licking flames of the fire.

I smell the acrid burning as it singes the fur of your belly.

I duck, hiding my face behind my hands and tucking myself against the tree trunk at my back as if it will save me from your snarling teeth and claws like razors.

But you never come for me.  Instead, when I unshield my eyes, it is to find you behind me, already tangled with another creature in the brush—something dark and large, lumbering.

More shadow than animal.

Even with the high flames bracing their light against the evening, I cannot see its full form.  It melds into the darkness around it as though it is part of the very night itself.  I can see you, though, eyes shining, wet teeth glimmering, foam at the corners of your mouth as your jaws snap ferociously.

Your silver fur, like molten metal, undulates over the rippling muscles of your shoulders with each pacing movement.  You are crouched low to the ground, prepared to attack.

You are protecting me from something; something I never saw, never heard as it approached.

Something you noticed long before I did.  ad it tracked me all this way, same as you?  Watched me from my blind spot while I was distracted by your presence?

The two of you move so quickly my eyes can hardly discern what’s happening, but it is clear from the snarls and whines I hear that you are not immune to the creature’s attacks.

I crawl desperately toward the fire and reach for one of the logs.  The heated wood burns my palm, seers the skin until I know I will find it puckered and shiny when this is all over.  There is no time to concern myself with repercussions, however, and I stumble to my feet, crash into the underbrush beyond the warm circle of the firelight toward the sound of your sharp breathing and the deep rumble of the creature.

Even with my torch, I can hardly discern its shape.  Is it another wolf, much larger than you are?  A bear?  Some wretched combination of the two created with dark magic?  There is something wholly other about it, something that makes my teeth grind together.

My scream cleaves the darkness as if it is a wet sheet of paper.  I swing the flaming branch in the beast’s direction, fighting back its inky shadow.

It roars and I feel the sound in the hollow of my bones, like poison in my marrow.

But one glimpse at you, at the glimmer of sticky red on one of your hind legs, and I know I cannot back down.  Know if I do, it will be the end of not only my life, but yours.

My fearless, unknown protector.

In a bid to heave the beast off balance once and for all, I tap my torch to the dry brush near where its feet should be.  In a breath, flames leap to life in the foliage, the sharp tendrils of heat inching ever closer.

The creature makes a noise like a wounded deer and leaps back into the safety of the darkness.

For the first time, over the encroaching flames, I see its eyes; mismatched as yours but in a different way—one red and one a deep shimmering purple like it contains a galaxy all its own.

the creature roars, but the sound is impotent as the flames increase, and it retreats into the void beyond, crashing through the trees until the thunderous sound of its body is drowned by the roaring of the flames.

It is not until you nip at my legs, sharp teeth scraping over leather trousers, that I pull my gaze away from the endless empty into which the creature disappeared.

You whine, eyes wide and panicked as they reflect the growing blaze behind me.

The forest is on fire, and we are in peril.

I sprint back to the campsite and gather my pack, sling it over my shoulders, and take off at a run in the opposite direction of the spreading flames.  I can hear the panicked chitters of wildlife and birds, and my heart aches for the lives I have destroyed in order to save ours.

A quick glance to my right assures me you are still with me.  I keep pace with you easily as you limp on your injured leg, though the heat of the air scorches my lungs, my throat.

I only hope we will be fast enough to outrun the greedy pyre I have set.

By the time we’ve made it far enough I feel safe to stop, my legs ache and my chest burns.  I’ve stumbled and twisted my ankles so many times in the dark, I am surprised neither of them snapped off against a tree root.  I clutch at a stiff stitch in my side, the result of running hard without enough water, and I collapse to the soft ground, pack spilling gracelessly off my shoulders.

I can no longer hear the rush of the fire, no longer smell the sweet evergreen scent as the old cedar trees are engulfed.

I can no longer hear the dying cries of animals caught in the inferno.

I’m sweat-slick and bone weary; even if the fire were still licking at my heels, I doubt I could take another step.

One look at you, and I imagine you feel the same.  You’ve never seemed so scrawny, so unlike a predator, as you do now.  You’re curled around yourself, silver fur matted to your head as you lick at your wound.  The blood glistens against the intruding light of dawn and I grimace.

When I come close to you, you growl, but I hold out my hands, open palms facing you in a placating gesture I hope will make you understand I mean no harm.

“Let me help you,” I say, not wholly knowing why I am speaking to a wild creature in a plain tongue it could never understand.  “You saved me,” I continue, and gesture at my pack, “I have bandages and disinfectant.  Let me return the favor.”

You stare at me, those dissimilar eyes mystifying in their appraisal.  There seems to be something intelligent and knowing in your gaze, and I continue to hold my palms up in surrender, hoping I have not misplaced my trust in you.

You are, after all, still a wolf.  And though you seemed to defend me against the dark creature before, there is no telling whether you were simply staking your claim to a future meal.

When you huff, lips flapping to reveal your teeth as you let out a beleaguered-seeming sigh, I take it as permission.

The wound is long, traversing almost the entire length of your left hind leg; likely made by the other animal’s claws.  You growl low when I touch it, but make no move to bite me.

“I imagine I’d growl too if my leg looked like this.”

Your ears twitch, but that is your only answer.

I take care to clean the cut. I see no bone, and hope the supplies I have will be enough to ward off infection and help you heal.  We are lucky the limb is not broken, for I have no knowledge of how to set a wolf’s leg.

As I turn to reach for the cotton bandages I keep in my pack, I feel something wet trail along my right palm and recoil.

I turn back around to discover you watching me and when I hold my hand out again, you lick the tender flesh of my burned hand.  It stings, but I don’t pull away this time, recognizing the gesture for what it is.

“Thank you.”

Once your leg is bandaged and I flush my blistered palm with water and disinfectant, I collapse against a tree as the sun breaks through the canopy.  The morning is cheerful with birdsong untouched by my selfish inferno.  It should be too bright for me to sleep, but my exhaustion is heavy and lays over me like a blanket.

As I linger in the space before sleep, I feel your warmth as you settle beside me, your head in my lap.  When my left hand drifts into the fur of your neck, I feel you relax, and then I slip into a dreamless slumber.

I half expect you will be gone when I wake, creeping back through the foliage in search of food or back to your den, wherever that may be.  But when my eyes flutter open, you are still curled against me, your head is still in my lap.

It is a curious thing, to be so close to a dangerous creature while it is vulnerable.  Your back rises and falls slowly with each breath; I can feel the way your ribcage expands against my thigh.  like this, you instill no fear.  though much larger than a house dog, you still remind me of the canines I grew up with in my village, scurrying through the streets and playing with local children while they beg for scraps at kitchen doors as if they’re not already fed plenty at home.

It is instinct to pet you, to let my fingers smooth their way through the thick fur at the back of your head, down your neck to your shoulders.  It’s bristly; not as soft as I thought it would be, and reminds me of the first time I touched a snake’s belly, felt all the scales instead of the smoothness I expected.

I briefly consider rousing you, but think better of it.  there is no telling what a predator might do when their rest is interrupted too abruptly.

And that is what you are still, isn’t it?  A predator.

Though a strange one; not at all like any best I’ve met before.  One who protected me for reasons I cannot discern from a monster I can still hardly sift from the shadows when I replay my memories of the previous evening.

It gives me a headache trying.

By the angle of the sunlight slanting through the trees, I gauge it’s a little after midday, which means I’ve lost several long hours of travel time, in addition to being pushed off course the previous evening after I set the fire.

My stomach curdles when I think of it, but that only serves to punctuate how hungry I am.

With a cursory glance at you, I carefully pull my pack over with my other hand and reach inside to dig out a packet of salted fish, trying to move as little as possible, so as not to rouse you.

It’s a futile endeavor, though, because as soon as I unwrap my rations, I feel your breathing shift and I know the smell of food has woken you, anyway.

Your stare pierces me like an arrow when you glance up at me; the mismatched eyes as dazzling and intimidating in the daylight as they are when they glow in the dimness of evening.  I wonder how a wolf comes to have two eyes so starkly different—not the usual gold or green or grey, but dark on one side and blood red on the other.

The desire to reach out and trace the scar over your left eye is strong, but I stuff it down in lieu of offering you some of the rations in my open palm.  You take it, then lick over my palm in gratitude and I chuckle.

“You’re welcome.”

You remain my strange companion for several days to come.  We traverse wide tracts of land together; you are always in my blind spot, always downwind.  But it’s as if you take care to snap a twig occasionally so I know where you are, and I appreciate that.

On the third day after our encounter with the shadowy creature, we cross through an area of forest touched by the fire I set.  It is charred black, still warm to the touch everywhere, and smells like ash and blood; the decimated bodies of birds and small animals scattered in the cinders.

I kneel, plums of dust rising in my wake, and ask the forest to forgive me for my brash actions.  I don’t know if it will.

You whine, push at the back of my knee with your cool nose, and so we press on, leaving the destruction I have wrought behind.

It’s another day and a half before we reach the edge of the forest.  Before I can see the destination I have been working toward this entire time.  The trees thin, giving way to clear sky, painted tangerine and rose in the wake of the setting sun.

I’m late, I know; after the setback with the shadow creature and the ensuing fire, as much was inevitable.  I still breathe a sigh of relief when the village comes into view, nestled below at the end of a hike down the side of the mountain that makes my knees scream just looking at it.

I decide another night in the woods before I descend—one more night with you curled at my side as we sleep—will not hurt.  I make this trek every six weeks, to fetch necessary medicines and treatments from a healer here.  For the terribly small village I come from high in the mountains has no doctor of its own.

Tsunade will be irritated when I arrive, but she will only grumble at my tardiness and no more.

I sink to the ground, back pressed against a tree at the edge of the forest so I can watch the bowl of the valley as it’s bathed in warm golden light, the lingering day drizzled over it like honey.

I only rest a few minutes before your cold nose presses against my shoulder, nudging me as you drop a bundle of small sticks from your mouth.

You’re right, of course; I should start the fire before the sun is fully gone.  It’s a new moon tonight and will be too dark to see once the last rays disappear.

You and I have become a fair team in the short time we’ve spent together.  While I gather larger logs, you fetch kindling and nose leaves out of the way, leaving a patch of clear dirt for me to build our fire upon.  It crackles to life just before the sun disappears beyond the farthest mountains, dipping the whole world in a pot of deep blue ink flecked by stars and the few lamps from the village below.

A sharp, sky-splitting crack has me on my feet in an instant.  For a brief, terrified moment, I think the shadow creature has found us.

But when I hear you whine, followed by another snap, I realize the sounds are coming from you.

You are breaking, your shoulders horribly contorted as you sink to the ground, the leg I bandaged suddenly at an angle not at all natural for a wolf.

My eyes widen as you snarl in pain and frustration.  When I reach out to comfort you, you bare your teeth viciously and I reel back, falling gracelessly to the ground and peddling away on my hands to put distance between us.

You howl and it is the emptiest sound I’ve ever heard; like the corpse of an elk pillaged by scavengers, only a ribcage and antlers.  No meat.

You rear up, suddenly much taller than I think you ought to be, and I watch in horror as your silver fur splits away from your face.  You cascade back to the forest floor and paw at your muzzle, peeling the skin away like a hunter claiming a pelt from their kill.

The snapping of your bones never ceases, and I turn to the side to empty my stomach of its dinner because the sound is too wretched to bear with a full belly.  I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, and it is then I realize my ears are drowning in eerie silence.

I turn back to look at you, afraid of what I will find.

And despite all the snapping, all the awful screaming noises you made, I am still surprised when I see you.

“You’re a man,” I say.

A handsome one, I don’t mention.

You watch me carefully from across the fire, eyes still the same unmatched grey and red.

“I am.”

Your voice is hoarse from disuse, rough and ragged like a tree snapped from its base—splintering in every direction.

“I thought you were a wolf.”

Your skin is slick with blood and mucus, the pelt that once covered the whole of you wrapped around your waist while your upper body remains bare, the scars of your other life evident across every centimeter exposed to the night.

You clear your throat and sputter a cough before you respond, “I was.”

I don’t know what to say to that.  This is magic far beyond my comprehension.

A breeze trickles its way up the side of the mountain, and you shiver.  Without thinking, I remove my traveling cloak and offer it to you.  You take it wordlessly and wrap it around your shoulders, still glistening with bile and cruor from your transformation.

I stifle a grimace at the prospect of having to launder my cloak before my return journey.

“It’s a family curse,” you offer in the silence.

A terrible inheritance, likely prompted by something even more horrific.  Curses do not manifest for no reason.

“And it’s broken, now?” I ask, confused.

You shake your head, silver hair so much like your pelt falling into your eyes.  I wonder if it’s as bristly as your fur.

“I’m allowed to walk as I was born only on nights without a moon.”

I glance out at the valley, swaddled in darkness, the distant points of the stars too dim to offer sufficient illumination.

“Every new moon,” I say quietly.

“Every new moon.”

I want to stand; I think better when I am pacing.  But my head swims with all this new information and I’m afraid if I tried, I’d only sway on my feet and end up back in the dirt, likely with a new bruise on my backside for the effort.

Suddenly, a question that has burned in my throat bursts from between my teeth.

“What was that creature you fought?”

I never expected to gain an answer.  Not from a wolf, at least.

But now...

“A friend,” you say, “lost on a path of darkness.”

I want to ask more, but the look on your face nearly tears my heart in half, so instead, I only bow my head and offer my thanks.

You shy away from this, though.  “It’s nothing.”

We both know that isn’t true, but I don’t bother with a correction.

Silence drifts between us on the embers of the fire.  Rather than awkward, it is comfortable; far more familiar than conversation.

Finally, I crawl closer, lean forward, and offer you my hand.  You take it, though tentatively, and shake it once.

Your nails are long, I assume a result of your prolonged transformation.  You must notice the same moment I do because when I pull my hand away, you bring your fingers to your mouth and begin biting them down to a more suitable length.

I lean back against the tree and look up, counting the constellations I can see between the branches of the cedars.  I wonder if our path is already carved there, unreadable in the heavens.

I used to think my fate was to be your meal.  And then, I thought perhaps you were sent as my protector.

But as I watch you now, furtive and unsure in your human form, I consider whether it is me who is meant to help you.

“What now?” I ask, tilting my face back to meet your gaze across the fire.

You smile, and it is wolfish even in your human form.

“I have no idea.”