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You cannot fault a wolf for hunting. It is in their nature to chase that which runs. Faulting a wolf for hunting is like saying the fish is lazy for swimming instead of walking; unreasonable. The wolf hunts for food, for survival. Yes, we can lock up our chickens at night to be safe, but we can't say that the wolf is evil for wanting to eat them.
That is what's going through Martyn’s head as he runs. It's not the wolf's fault, it's just the way they were made. Which is all fine and dandy until you're the one being hunted. Because now, frankly the thought that his death won't be pinned on the beast chasing him and rather accepted as a force of nature is bullshit.
‘Can't fault the wolf my ass’ he thinks to himself, he would say it outloud but he's currently conserving his breath for running as fast as he can go. Instead any words that could've been said are replaced by gasps and sharp breaths in, the cold air stabbing at his lungs. He wants to cough, but there isn't enough time or energy to spare for that.
Snow crunches beneath his feet and seeps into his socks; his shoes still in the safety and warmth of the house. He's lost feeling in his toes, but it doesn't matter so long as he can still run. His arms sting from the contrasting cold winds against the warmth of his blood dripping from the various scrapes that litter his arms.
He doesn't know whether he's grateful or not for the forest. On one hand, the trees are clustered together, some paths being big enough for Martyn, but too small for the wolf. On the other, it's dark and the snow hasn't had any chances to melt, making it that much harder to move through. It'll be a miracle if he gets out of this without frostbite and hypothermia, (it'll be a miracle if he gets out of this ).
Martyn wishes he had a coat, if only to put some barrier between his skin and the branches that claw at him. He also wishes that he had his shoes, but the coat is a more prominent thing. He thinks the scent of his blood is only egging the wolf on.
What Martyn really wishes is that he'd been smarter. He'd thought that this was going to be easy, a simple in-and-out grab the magical artifact, slip out the window, get on his horse and ride away into the night kind of situation. Nothing eventful. But nothing is that easy. And this time what got him was that he didn't account for the full moon. Now he regrets hoping for something more exciting. He could really, really do without a werewolf hunting him down.
This would be better if he was on his horse, but she got spooked and ran off when she heard the howling. Fair, Martyn is also currently spooked and running. Unfortunately he cannot run as fast as his horse, the wolf however can . Which serves to make Martyn all the more aware of the fact that he's being toyed with. The werewolf could easily catch up. It's choosing not to.
The only evidence Martyn has that it's even still following is the feeling of eyes on his back and the occasional growl that makes his adrenaline spike. Other than that, it's like he's running from nothing. Sometimes, it feels like there's a warm breath on the back of his neck, which always leads to a responding burst of speed from Martyn to get away .
Martyn remembers hearing that humans are persistent predators, they follow after their prey, but not too closely. Hunts could go on for hours, just dutifully following as the animal would tire itself out more and more. Every hour, every desperate run, every chance to eat that was used fleeing, it added up. Until the human could walk up to a form crumpled from exhaustion and take the easy kill. Truly, a chase.
Wolves are persistent too. It's why they were so useful in hunts. Why they were easily domesticated. Why werewolves roam with ease.
He hates knowing what it feels like to be a deer; running and running and running. Run until the wolf grows bored, and decides to pounce. Or run until his legs collapse, and the running ends up for naught. He wants the wolf to jump, close its jaws around him, because then it's not his fault, he tried to escape. It's better than the alternative, it's better than the reason for his demise being his own faulty body and its petty exhaustion. Then it's really not the wolf's fault.
It…
It's not the werewolf’s fault, he knows this. On any other night it would be, but not on the full moon. The full moon forces them to transform and steals their minds. Right now, the person chasing him doesn't understand what's happening. They don't know that they're trying to kill him –that they are going to kill him. It's not their fault.
But it needs to be their fault. Martyn refuses to be mauled to death and say “ah well, I should've known better.” That can't be the way he goes. Only idiots are the cause of their own deaths. And Martyn prides himself on his intelligence.
Then again, it's also only idiots who trip on rocks while running for their lives. At least, he assumes it's a rock; feels like a rock. Add broken toes to the frostbite, hypothermia and bloody arms.
Martyn goes sprawling on the ground, snow so cold it burns seeping into his bones. Close, so so terribly close , he hears a howl, deafeningly loud. It sounds victorious.
He kind of wants to cry. It wasn't the wolf that took him down. It wasn't even exhaustion. It was a rock . Actually, considering the wetness on his cheeks he is crying. Lame. He's not even in that much pain, just cold and numb. And his tears don't even have the benefit of being warm, they're just there, slipping from his eyes. What a waste.
The crunch of snow behind him is as damning as a death sentence. Step by step, the wolf gets closer. He can't see it, he's on his stomach, he is only privy to that which is in front of him; trees and snow. At least, until it takes another step forward, putting one of its front paws right by Martyn’s head, which is around the same size as Martyn’s head. Not surprising, werewolves are big. But no less terrifying.
He can feel it lower its head, nudging at the back of his neck, nose snuffling and tickling him. Not that he's about to laugh. The terror has glued his mouth shut. Unlike Martyn, the wolf makes many sounds, specifically these strange little grumbles as it noses at him. Breath fanning over his back and head. It smells bad, but it's warm. Beautiful glorious warmth.
And then the nose moves towards his right arm, followed swiftly by teeth biting into his shoulder. Not deep, not yet, it doesn't get that chance. Because Martyn screams, loud and pained, his own blood practically boiling against his skin. The wolf jolts back, probably surprised by the sudden noise.
And Martyn is nothing if not an opportunist, so in that brief moment of respite, shoulder still burning in pain, soaked from snow and covered in blood, Martyn lunges to his feet. He stumbles on the first, second and third step, manages to angle his fall to be behind a tree on the fourth, so that when the wolf lunges at him all that it meets is wood, gets up off his knees and then he's back on the run.
He thinks he understands prey animals now. The deer and her stubbornness to survive, for in what world could she just give up? Running is better than dying. And so, like the deer, Martyn runs. Bloodied and tired and cold. He runs.
Run. Run. Run. Large feet and furious growling follows him. It doesn't matter that he's going to get caught. Run. Run. Run.
Ahead of him the trees are breaking up, leading to a large open field. Bad? Good? It doesn't matter. Run. Run. Run. Good, he decides, he can run better with less snow.
Thump . Thump . Thump . Go the paws of the werewolf, gaining on him. It's done playing. Now it's hunting. It growls, he ignores it. Run. Run. Run.
Keep running, keep going, the trees are thinning out– gone, the trees are gone, he's in the field. The wolf–
The wolf is whining. Far away. In the distance it is whining, howling, it sounds sad. It sounds far. Martyn stops running. Stands still. There is no thump thump thump of it getting closer. He can still hear it, further away.
He turns, and there, still at the treeline some fifty feet away is the wolf. It's pacing back and forth, howling and whimpering and pawing at the ground. Lifting its head up and down like a dog begging for a treat.
Why isn't it…
Ah. There. It has a collar, probably enchanted to not let the werewolf leave the forest. Meaning it's trapped, and Martyn is alive.
He just stands in the snow, breath coming out in huffs, visible in the winter air. His legs ache from running, his lungs tired. He feels like a deer fawn, wobbly legs barely supporting him, but he lived, he lived he lived . Now would be the moment the mother would come back, find her baby. There is no one looking for Martyn. And so he stands trembling in the snow, facing the werewolf.
It's less menacing like this. Frantically pacing back and forth, a never ending whine making it seem kind of pathetic. Like if it looks sad enough then he'll come back over, change his mind about living.
“You're not going to get me,” he tells it. Himself. A reassurance; he made it, the wolf won't get him. The cold might though.
It's not snowing; the moon hangs high and big. But winds are still slicing at him, and he stands ankle deep in snow wearing only socks, pants, and a sleeveless undershirt. His coat and shoes are still on the windowsill where he left them (he left them there to be quieter, how that's backfired), and now that the adrenaline is dying down, Martyn is starting to register the cold.
His breath fogs in front of him, and he lifts his hands up to try and rub some warmth back into his arms, smearing half frozen blood over his body. He can't even feel his feet. And if the cold won't get him, then it might be the exhaustion and pain, werewolf bites aren't exactly the most pleasant injury and he can barely move his arm without it flaring up.
He needs shelter. The closest shelter he has is the house he just robbed, which he triggered the magical barrier on when he shouted at the werewolf. The second nearest shelter is one hour on horseback, Martyn is walking and will be dead before he even sees the town. So, some great options.
The wolf doesn't look concerned about the cold. It just paws at the ground, a howl that dies out early as it dips into something close to a bow before bouncing back up. It really is just like a dog. Even looks like one a bit with its fur painted in browns and russet colours, big copper eyes pouting at him. A facade, he reminds himself. At least it is for tonight. When the sun rises the wolf will find its wits and mind, and go back about their usual day-to-day life. Which is probably not that great, looking at the collar.
It's fully possible that the werewolf had the collar custom made so that they couldn't leave their homebounds. Martyn has met werewolves who do that; use magic to be trapped for the full moon. Others use the classic bolt and chain. But Martyn suspects this guy isn't one of those people.
For one; they're alone. Werewolves tend to spend full moons alongside other werewolves, or if none are available, then someone they trust. Martyn has heard a lonely full moon described as a night in a snowstorm; even if you're safe inside, there's still that anxiousness. Werewolves are not solitary creatures, the fact that there wasn't a pack of them chasing after Martyn isn't a good sign.
Secondly, Martyn was not informed of any werewolves living here. Just the witch that he was robbing. If the house was being shared he would've known , would've been told when he was given the down-low on the job. Evidently, he had not been told about this.
And finally, it is not uncommon for people to use werewolves as guard dogs, whether they signed up for the job or not. Very likely, this guy has been kidnapped and can't leave, forced to protect a house of magic from intruders.
Martyn stands in the snow, eyes locked on the hulking form of the beast that tried to kill him. The wolf has sat down by now, watching him with those piercing copper eyes. Looking like some tragic lost puppy. And Martyn has a horrible idea. A really, truly terrible idea.
He walks towards the wolf. Goes until he could reach a hand out and touch it. Now that he is close again it has stilled, like it's trying to convince him to get closer. It's huge. Head an inch or two above Martyn. Still not massive for werewolves though, they tend to be big, Martyn has met bigger.
“Here's what's going to happen” he tells it, and its ears prick up at the sound of his voice. “ You are not going to maul me, and I'm going to take this collar off you. Deal?”
It just blinks at him, still pretending to be a statue. It knows it can't get him right now, the moment it can he has no doubts that it'll attack.
“Here” he digs around in his satchel. He never takes it off, it's for emergency situations, like getting separated from his horse. Meaning it has rations; salted meats and nuts mostly, but that'll do just fine. “Eat this, not me”
He tosses a chunk to the wolf and watches as massive jaws snap it out of the air. Immediately it gives up on staying still in favor of standing up and locking its eyes on jerky Martyn holds, whining at him. He keeps feeding it. One piece at a time, slowly inching past the barrier until he can reach out and get a feel for the collar with one hand, the other still reaching into his bag and holding food up for the wolf (his shoulder hurts, but he ignores it. It can be dealt with later).
The collar is certainly enchanted, strong binding spells keeping the wolf in one place, magic to stop the fabric from being destroyed, but most peculiarly is an altered stasis spell. Martyn isn't a witch, but he finds knowing spells and runes to be useful. He doesn't know why a stasis enchantment would be here, usually those are to keep things from changing, stop water from freezing, keep the house warm while you're gone, or… or stop a werewolf from switching forms he supposes.
He's run out of food, but Martyn knows how to trick dogs. He raises his hand, fist closed as if he's reached in for more meat, the wolf licks at it all the same, trying to reach between his fingers, still smelling the treats on his skin.
Martyn continues his search on the collar. It's tied together in a complicated knot, something that would take a minute to undo. Something that would be impossible to do without hands.
“I'm taking my hand back to undo this,” he tells the wolf, it can't understand him, but being polite can't hurt.
It chases after his hand, bending its head awkwardly, but the knot is on the back of its neck so he doesn't mind. It's hard unraveling it with numb fingers that tremble and a shoulder that screams with pain, but he makes do.
While he works on the collar the werewolf turns its attention to his bloody arms, sniffing at them, before starting to lick them clean. “Don't bite me” he says, but he's not too worried. Besides, it's working warmth back into his bones.
Finally, his finger catches on a piece of cloth, and when he pulls the collar it unravels and drops off the wolf. He shoves it into his satchel. The wolf just freezes, ears pricked up and tail raised. Surely feeling that lack of magic pressing against it.
“Come on” Martyn says, tugging the wolf towards the field. It walks with him, one step after the other till they're well out of the trees. It swivels its head around like it's amazed it got this far.
Now they just need to keep going. Just far enough till it can hear other wolves. Martyn can make it that far.
Step by step, arms practically thrown around the wolf, they walk towards the nearest town. It's slow, but at least the werewolf is taking the brute force of the wind. Not that it even seems to notice, it just keeps looking around, curious. And so they walk.
The cold seeps into him with every passing minute till he doesn't even shiver. That's a bad sign. But he keeps walking. Time passes, he doesn't know how long. Long enough for the moon to have moved, although not noticeably. During that time Marryn ends up leaning more and more of his weight on the wolf until it's the only thing holding him up.
An hour, it has to have been over an hour. The wind picks up, clouds cluster over the sky, snow falls against his cold skin; it doesn't melt. His blood is frozen against his skin, little beads of ice that break off when he moves. The town seems so far, he sees smaller goals. Make it to the end of this field. Okay, great, now make it to that patch of trees. Now get away from the pond. Simple goals that slowly become as grand as the town.
Goals start being keep walking at a normal pace. Keep your fingers tight around the wolf's fur. Keep your eyes open. Take another step. And another. And another.
They're walking through another thicket of trees when he collapses. Not that he really realizes it. One moment he's leant against fur, the next he's in cushioned snow. It's not too bad. He can't even feel the cold at this point, and so the snow is like a cushion. The wolf whines at him, nudging him. He can't do anything to reassure it, just watch as his blinks get longer and longer in between as darkness blurs around his vision.
The wolf keeps making noise, it's faint though. When it howls, it's faint. And when there's a response, it's even more faint. He doesn't register how low the moon has gotten in the sky. Nor how the snow covers him.
However, he does process when the wolf lies down and curls around him. And he thinks that if he's dying, at least he did a good deed beforehand.
“Help!” Someone is yelling. “Help, please, we need help!”
He's shifted and he feels light across his face. He tries to close his eyes even more. He can feel arms around him, strong and warm. His face is pressed against a chest. It's nice, he thinks.
“Someone get…” the voice fades out. That's okay. The person holding him hasn't left.
He drifts out of consciousness.
There's something pressing down on him. It's warm. He appreciates that. He's so, so cold. His body trembles with the shivers that wrack him. He thinks there's a warm washcloth on his forehead, he appreciates that too.
“Can you sit up?” Someone says, they sound familiar.
Hands find his shoulders and he feels himself being lifted so that he's sitting. Something warm touches his lips, he identifies as a cup with a drink in it.
He swallows. It's sickeningly sweet and leaves the static feeling of magic on his tongue. Why is someone giving him a health potion?
Whatever, he's being lowered again and he's so tired.
There's a wolf in front of him. Well… not too in front of him. He's curled up on the ground. White fur bright against the brown floorboards.
“Etho” he identifies out loud. The wolf raises his head. He's still wearing that stupid muzzle, why he doesn't take it off Martyn has no idea.
Etho blinks at him, ear flicking, before resting his head back on his paws. He doesn't need to speak for Martyn to know what he's saying.
He takes his advice and goes back to sleep.
The werewolf that attacked and also subsequently saved his life is named Ren. And he's the most talkative asshole Martyn has ever met. He sits at Martyn’s bedside and rambles on about who knows what. Only pausing to make Martyn drink more of those dreaded potions.
That's another problem of his. He's fussy. Always asking if Martyn’s comfortable, if he needs his bandages changed, if he needs any food, does his washcloth need replacing? Blah blah blah.
“Shut up” Martyn mumbles. The fever is strong, but his determination to get some peace and quiet is stronger.
Ren immediately turns attention to him. “What's up my dude? Do you need something?”
“Shut up” he repeats, he's trying to be menacing, but the congested nose and mountain of blankets on top of him draws away from the fear factor.
“Okay” Ren smiles. And he does stop. For a few minutes.
Martyn still finds himself drifting to sleep as Ren talks about cinnamon rolls of all things.
The fever has cleared and Martyn is ready to get out of here. Two weeks worth of sickness has kept him cooped up for too long. Unfortunately he's been trapped with a goddamn babysitter who panics whenever Martyn tries to stand.
“Stop!” Ren says, practically bolting across the room and abandoning the bookshelf he was going through as another one of Martyn’s escape attempts is foiled. “Dude, you can't walk” he says, manhandling Martyn back into bed.
Martyn just frowns at him. “I'm fine”
“Etho says you have to wait another few days” Ren says pointedly, even though he's not the best at the whole stern thing Martyn’s learned.
Frostbite is dumb. It takes stupidly long to heal, even with potions. And he's going to have to repay Etho for all of this. They aren't the type of friends that freely lend things to each other. Martyn and Etho's relationship is more akin to that of coworkers. On friendly terms, but not going out of their way to be friendly. The sooner Martyn is out of here, the less he has to pay.
“I'm bored, ” he pouts. And watches as Ren immediately softens. Played like a fiddle.
“Here, why don't we read more?” Ren offers, holding up a random book. “And then you can go back to sleep while I go to work”
Ren has been doing various jobs and tasks for Etho, doing his best to help pay off Martyn's debts. Why he is doing this, Martyn doesn't know. Why Ren is even still around is a mystery to Martyn. He assumes it's a debt thing, he bit Martyn and was freed from being a guard dog and so he thinks he owes Martyn. But he saved Martyn’s life, so it's already been repaid. It makes no sense.
“Fine” he huffs, moving over so that Ren can sit on the bed beside him. This is a scene that has become familiar during the past weeks. Ren has been steadily picking through Etho's book supply as he reads outloud to Martyn to try and coax him to sleep. It's reminiscent of childhood bedtime stories, Ren even gives all of the characters distinct voices.
They just finished a short story called The Dog and The Doctor, a strange tale of a werewolf learning healing magic from a witch who was exiled for casting a spell so strong it destroyed a town. The book Ren has picked up today seems longer, multiple chapters, the cover reads: The Desert People.
Martyn honestly doesn't pay much attention to the books, he ends up sleeping through half of them anyways. But it's nice how committed Ren seems to finishing the shelf. When Martyn had commented on it Ren had called it an “admiral task”
He's honestly surprised Ren knows how to read. Not that he believes the bullshit about werewolves not being able to, it's just that reading and writing are generally things for scholars and witches. Martyn barely knows how to, the only reason he learned was to keep in contact with possible clients over long distances. It makes him curious as to what Ren was doing before he was caught.
They haven't really spoken about that night. The furthest they got was introduction with thank yous from both sides. And yet by his side Ren stays.
Etho told him that they were found at the beginning of dawn by some of the wolves, Ren had been apparently trudging through the snow, carrying him and calling for help. And then while he was sick he almost exclusively stayed by his bedside.
“You good?” Ren pauses his reading to give him an inquisitive look.
“Yeah. Just thinkin’” he offers as explanation. Ren just frowns at that before returning to reading. Martyn pulls himself out of his mind and instead focuses on being soothed to sleep by Ren's voice.
Etho has let him go outside.
Of course he's just accompanying Ren to pick up some food at the market. And because it's Ren he's bundled Martyn up in the thickest and warmest clothes and cloak Etho had to spare, but nonetheless he's been released to the outdoors.
It's sunny out, bright sun reflecting on the snow and making the world shimmer. Frankly, it's an assault on his eyes, but if that's the price for fresh air then so be it. Besides, Ren seems to be having a worse time, his eyes are practically closed with how much he's squinting, and he has a hand up to shield himself from the light. His other hand is holding tightly to Martyn’s. Like Martyn is a child who will run off the moment he's unsupervised (he is correct in this assumption).
Walking is awkward, and while his feet don't hurt anymore, it's certainly not pleasant. He grips Ren's hand and lets him bear some of his weight, not that the werewolf seems to care. He's too busy tugging Martyn through the streets. It's crowded today, everyone taking advantage of the good weather to do their shopping.
“Tell me if you see any of these” Ren says, reaching into his pocket and taking out the list Etho gave them. He reads out loud various foods, Martyn stopping him when he sees someone selling what they need. One by one they go around to various stalls, picking out the nicest looking fruits and cheapest high quality meats. They also get various plants that seem fairly useless, but Martyn knows that they'll be going towards potion making. Etho probably needs to restock after housing Martyn and shoving medicine down his throat.
It’s not common for werewolves to be involved in magic. They kind of repel it. Which is handy for not getting cursed. Not so handy if you want to work with potions. But Etho seems to make do. Has learnt how to source magic without creating it. It’s probably why Martyn works with him so frequently. A witch has no use for an enchantment they could make themselves. Whereas a werewolf would get much more out of Martyn’s services. And Martyn is certainly cheaper than some other thieves. People charge more for magic, Martyn doesn’t, all that he asks is that he’s given rapport, a place to stay if he needs it.
“I think that’s it?” Ren says, going over the list again. Martyn peeks over his shoulder to double check. It’s kind of annoying how massive Ren’s wolf form is, considering that he’s shorter than Martyn when human.
“Yep, seems like we got everything” he says, leading the way out of the market, basket of goods in one hand. Market reaches over and takes a book out of it and passes it over to Ren. “I nabbed this for you” He stole it, Etho isn’t a fan of his money being used on random things. And it’s not like Martyn has any of his own money on him at the moment.
“Ooh, we’ll have to read it after we finish our current one” Ren says, tail wagging a bit in excitement. Martyn falters a bit.
“Yeah, about that. Why are you sticking around?” He hopes it doesn’t sound rude.
“Do you not want me to?” Ren asks, tilting his head a bit.
“No! No, nothing like that. It’s just… you don’t have to. Y’know, you’re free to leave, why haven’t you?”
Ren seems to mull over what he said for a moment. “Well, you saved me. I owe it to you”
“Wha- but then you saved me ! You don’t owe me” Martyn sputters.
“Well, sure I do. You could’ve just left me there, but you didn’t, even after I attacked you” Ren continues, waving his hands in the air in emphasis.
“I well… I didn’t have much other choice” Martyn argues. “I would’ve died if I didn’t get you” he… Ren sees this as kindness? Martyn was selfish. Is selfish. He would’ve left Ren if it weren’t for the weather. “That wasn’t me being nice. It was just… mutual benefit. We’re even now”
“I don’t think so. Even if we’re even for saving each other. I still bit you. So I’m still in your debt” Ren says, he’s so… expressive and open. Martyn has learnt better than that. Martyn has learnt to hide himself away.
“That’s dumb” Martyn grumbles.
“Dumb or not. I’m making it up to you” Ren says.
“Well then I’m going to make it up to you . You saved my life, that’s worth more than what I did” Martyn decides. He doesn’t know what to do with someone owing him out of kindness. It’s better if they’re even.
Ren just blinks at him curiously. “Well guess we’ll have to stick together to repay these debts”
It’s the full moon.
Ren has gone out with most of the other wolves, trying to experience a proper moon. Meanwhile, Martyn has been confined to his room for the night. Etho always locks himself in the basement for full moons, he has trouble with his shifts, and while he probably wouldn’t attack Martyn, it’s better safe than sorry.
And so, Martyn spends the full moon like every other human: asleep. Or at least he tries to. The wolves aren’t exactly quiet. Especially with one howling two floors beneath him. So really, he is spending the full moon the real way most humans do; pacing the floor as the sound of howls echo over the world, waiting for morning.
They say the moon calls to her wolves, urging them to run in her light. The moon must also call to humans, call them to survival. Call them awake as they lock their doors and draw the blinds over the windows, knowing that should they go outside, it probably wouldn’t end well.
Witches also enjoy full moons. Going outside still isn’t on the table, but with magic so potent on these nights, Martyn knows that many people spend dusk till dawn working on spells.
Martyn thinks that vampires have it the worst. Going outside during the day already isn’t great for them, and now one day every month they are barred from the outdoors? Truly unfair.
Martyn isn’t the biggest fan of full moons. They mainly serve to keep him cooped up for a night. A night that could be used elsewhere. He supposes tonight is fine, it’s not like he was going to be spending it anywhere else. So he sits in bed and reads books that Ren has already read to him.
Wolves say moons go by too fast. Martyn disagrees, it takes far too long for the first rays of daylight to peek through the window. But when they do, something akin to relief washes over him. He did it, survived the onslaught. The onslaught of nothing, but humans are far too self-centered to not think that something is after them.
The day after the full moon starts with Martyn putting his book down, and going to the cellar, where he finds Etho curled up as a wolf, blinking lazily at him. He’s chained himself to the wall and while he has the key, Martyn figures it’s polite to check up on him.
“You have a good full moon?” He asks.
Etho just flicks an ear at him, before sitting up and shaking himself off, going from wolf to man. “It was fine”
Martyn watches as he fishes the key out of his pocket and unlocks the harness fitted around him; a collar would’ve strangled him. “Did you need something?”
“I was gonna go out and find Ren” Martyn offers, and Etho just nods at him before walking past him up the stairs. Martyn takes that as him not really caring what he does. Although, that is arguably how Etho feels about everything Martyn does.
In the end, it doesn’t matter, Martyn goes to find Ren.
Martyn leans against a brown wolf, hands held out to the fire as snow falls around him. It’s cold out, Martyn can tell because his ears and nose sting with it. But he wears a warm coat and thick pants. In front of him, the fire flickers, and behind him, warmth radiates off of Ren.
They’re camping tonight, Etho wanted to do renovations, and while they could’ve gone to stay at someone's house, Martyn missed the outdoors. There’s something comforting about the stab of cold air as he breathes in. And if it gets worse, they can always go find somewhere to stay.
Besides, Ren needs to get used to this.
“You going?” Etho asks, not even looking up from where he’s chopping up herbs to brew into a potion.
“Yup, I’ve got a job to hand in” Martyn says, he’s dressed in travel clothes, a bag slung over his back full of materials, Ren is in similar attire.
“Try not to get frostbite” Etho says, and Martyn figures that’s as much of a goodbye as they’ll get. “Ren you’re always welcome”
“Oh, wow, I see how it is,” Martyn jokes.
“Don’t come back without him” Etho jokes back, Martyn gets it. Ren is stupidly endearing.
“Etho, I would like to thank you for your hospitality” Ren says, a bit too formally, but when is he not?
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. Now get out of here, I want my guest rooms back” he waves his hand dismissively, but Martyn is well versed in Etho.
“See you in a bit” Martyn says, and with Ren at his side, they leave Etho’s home. It’s cold out; it always is. But there is no snow today, just clouds. Together, they walk to the edge of town, where Ren shifts into a wolf and Martyn gets on his back, for the sake of easy travel. And as Martyn digs his fingers into Ren’s fur, he ponders over the past two months.
They say that you cannot fault a wolf for hunting. And as Martyn has learned, they are right.
Life’s better with Ren anyways.