Chapter Text
Howling winds, old-growth forest where pines stretch up into the sky. Snowfall that could bury whole families in the winter. Narrow paths winding down the mountain range to the closest settlement and rivers that never froze up. Two-meter-tall bears, lynxes, and packs of wolves all competed for the scarcities of the region. But despite it all, the tundra thrives. It blossoms in the springtime with green pastures, fresh pine cones and new vegetation ready to be picked. There was so much life even in a place where survival of the fittest was not only law but an everyday experience. And this is where Tommy had built his home.
He wasn’t much of a carpenter, mason, or anything really. In fact, he struggled for most of his first weeks alone in the wilderness. The young bowyer refused to go crawling back to his former mentor, even though he desperately wanted to. Some nights he spent huddled under a tent made with a stick roof, mud and leaves, but winter was steadily approaching.
Tommy met some traveling merchants one afternoon, who gave him a ride to a nearby village. There, he’d barter his own skills for instructions on how to make a house for himself. It still didn’t make it any easier, especially since he was fighting tears almost every day.
The lodge was short, on ground level. Elevated on a wooden foundation supported by stones and moss. The roof was triangular and reached the ground on both sides. The front had a small porch and stairs with a railing, while the back was reserved for keeping a large fireplace. Inside the house, Tommy made his bed on the right of the fireplace. It was mostly furs and leather bundled on the ground. Cut and tied into a warm nest. He filled linen pillowcases with feathers and more fur, mostly courtesy of the village. To line the wooden floors of his interior, Tommy laid out some fluffy pelts. He used the remaining wood for a pair of shoddy stools and a table where he could eat. He kept most of his belongings, which weren’t much, spread out. The one cupboard he managed to put together was filled already.
The outhouse was a few paces away from his little lodge, but right next to it, he built a workshed, another small house space with wide doors. There was everything he needed to continue his craft as a bowyer and the only way he could make money to live at all.
But Tommy hasn’t felt alive in months. He went through the motions of survival, letting the strenuous work of building a home consume his thoughts until he was too exhausted to lift a finger and went to sleep quickly. When he was finally settled in the middle of nowhere in the woods, that’s when the passage of time hit him full force.
Tommy spent most of his days working hard and trading in the village. He goes to collect water from the river or pick edible plants, but he never hunts. He’s not a hunter and that was made abundantly clear to him. The bowyer only consumed meat from the village butcher.
This mountain belonged to the bears… and the wolves.
He doesn’t need to see them to know they come around once in a while. Their howls are so close to his lodge that even when Tommy covers his ears with his pillows, he still hears them. Maybe even the sound of their paws hitting the snow. But whether the wolves were close or not didn’t change how most of his nights went.
Tommy lies awake in self-pity and mourning or he wakes up shouting. The loneliness and guilt he felt were crippling. He didn’t do anything else but work. The rest of the time was spent fighting with his emotions. Sometimes he’d just start sobbing and break down next to his anvil. He doesn’t go back to Philza because if his master really wanted to see him, he’d have come by now. And he doesn’t go to the castle because Dream’s corpse lies somewhere in between.
He ran away that day, as far as his legs could carry him, but he remembered the way back. The intense longing in his gut for the beast that chased him ruined everything in Tommy’s life. He both feared and craved Dream’s presence. Sometimes he still felt it, visceral in his trembling hands, the passing of fur on his fingertips. With all of his memories intact, it was even harder to forget than ever. He was happy once and so was Dream. They had a good life together.
Tommy wonders restlessly, was it his final arrow that finished him off, or was Dream’s on death’s door already? He’d come back to the castle covered in blood and injuries and on his last legs ran Tommy through the woods. But Dream never hurt him. He was a hungry, hungry wolf.
Now that hunger for closeness had passed onto Tommy. Even though he is human, he reckons this is close to how his mate must have felt while looking for him, believing he was dead. His neck feels hot whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night, searching for his lover.
Dream stands on top of him, pinning Tommy to the bed, but he is gentle. He says incomprehensible words to his mate, but when his claw drags lovingly down his cheek, it leaves a bloody scratch.
No amount of fur, linen and wool keeps Tommy warm during the winter. It’s Dream’s body that he wants to hold close to. The same one he left rotting on the ground, impaled on his arrow.
It’s another fucked up day in Tommy’s meaningless life. He unearths himself from the layers of bedding to have a mediocre bowl of forest fruits and yogurt. Then it’s time to get dressed. Tommy made most of these clothes, except for the boots which needed a specialist to create for this frigid environment. He’s wearing a long fur cloak since he has to walk a little further than the immediate area of his living space today. He’s out of fresh water.
This would be a lot easier if he could afford to buy a horse, but he’s working on it…
Tommy drags a small cart with four buckets through the snow. The locals mentioned that most store their water in the form of ice since temperatures are consistently freezing during this season, but the river runs all year round. Tommy has ice blocks stacked outside his workshed, under its extending shade, but he prefers liquid water readily available. The trek isn’t far and the exertion keeps him busy. The sooner the hours pass, the better. But it’s not like there’s anything good coming. He goes through life on autopilot until he can’t take it anymore.
As he crouches by the rushing water, Tommy takes a deep breath of fresh air. It’s sunny out today and the light is a welcome sight. It caresses his back gently while he leans down to scoop water into his buckets with a ladle. It’s a pleasant enough day that there are birds and squirrels chittering around. If Tommy’s vigilant enough, he could spot a bunny coming out of the snow-covered roots somewhere. When he hears the grackle call of crows, his head shoots up to the branches. Tommy stands and waves the ladle with a rare smile on his face.
“Phil!!” He calls fruitlessly, “Phil!”
The birds pay him to mind. They fly over his head in a small flock, minding their own business. The smile drops from Tommy’s face achingly and so does his head. But now, there is a figure in front of him.
Right across the river, he sees the bloodied husk of his dead mate’s wolfish body. Standing on the edge and staring right at him. The crows scream louder and Dream extends his hand, his paw, towards Tommy. The world narrows in on them, loud and surreal. The wolf’s lips move to form his name and show an unnatural number of teeth.
Tommy caves in, he recoils and falls back into the snow with a shout. His feet kick up in the snow as he tries to shove himself away from the river bank. But just as the adrenaline hit, Dream’s figure was gone. Nothing but an illusion manifested from Tommy’s own sick mind.
He lay panting in the snow, searching the other side of the river for any signs of movement, but it was only him and the evergreens now. Tommy brushes a hand over his hair as he slowly gets back up. His nightmares have begun to haunt his waking hours, too, it seems. He collects his water quickly and rushes back. Only when he’s locked the door behind him does he relax.
Tommy slides down with his back to the door, sighing shakily as he shuts his eyes and plants his face in his hands. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, letting his head rest on top. There’s hot tears soon coming down his cheeks as he wallows in sorrow and an ice cold existence. There is no winter more desolate than the one in his broken heart.
Hours pass in nothingness. Tommy eventually drags himself to the workshed, his stare blank and lidded, hardly looking while he shaves off the wood for the bow hands. He doesn’t think about anything, but the vision of his lover flashes by a few times. He almost wishes it was real, but he doesn’t know what to do if Dream was really there. Tommy’s pretty certain he died, yet thinking about seeing the wolfman again filled him with both dread and relief. He really wishes he’s not a killer, but he doesn’t know what Dream would do to him if he came back. Tommy’s too scared to actually live with the Dream he shot down, but the man he fell in love with, the one he knows was somewhere in there, is missed every second of every day.
Sometimes he entertains the what ifs. If he accepted Dream’s ambitions for eternal life, would they still be living happily? If he had fought harder to change his mind on the topic, would he have died peacefully in Dream’s arms and never existed again? Would his mate go insane either way? It all gives him a harsh headache.
Sometime later in the afternoon, Tommy’s silent melancholy is cut off by a stomping noise outside. Something is walking on the cleared-out snow in front of his house. That’s fucking strange.
Warily, he gets up from where he was pouring liquid hot iron into his molds. Tommy grabs a sword hanging off the wall of the workshed and approaches the tall doors. He tries to peek through the gap, but when he sees four white legs, dirtied with mud, he recoils all over again. Gasping and clutching the sword to his chest, Tommy begins to tremble glued to his spot. He can do little else but stare. But this animal is too tall to be a wolf, even as big as the ones around here were. He hears a gruff noise, the long face exhaling air through wide nostrils.
Familiarity surges through his brain but not the kind he was expecting. Tommy pushes one door open, holding the sword pointed directly down. He looks at the majestic creature, a powerful white stallion. Or… He used to be.
“Spirit?”
Tommy calls and the horse turns to him. It trots over happily neighing. He pets down the animal’s snout, releasing the breath he was holding in.
“How did you find me… Fuck…” He’s relieved, yet disappointed.
Tommy doesn’t have room for a horse yet, especially an old one like Spirit. He’s at least half certain that Dream had magicked him to live longer somehow, but he isn’t sure how. Probably just as amorally as the rest of his work. But now with the wolfman gone, perhaps Spirit’s time was nearing its end, too.
Tommy led the horse to the overhang stretching from his workshed. It was dry there, but he’d have to bring some bedding for the horse and of course some food and water. Poor thing was emaciated. Pretty incredible feat to survive on his own for a few months. Tommy reckons he must have escaped from the castle grounds at some point, which likely suggests they’re… abandoned completely.
Huh. He’s tearing up again. Did some part of him hope that Dream was alive and living peacefully at the castle?
The whole evening is spent fretting over their horse. Spirit looks more than glad to have found him, whether by accident or some miracle senses. Tommy grabs a bowl and collects all the thawed produce he can find around his place. He holds it up for the horse to eat and idly pets his side.
“Rough day huh?” He speaks while Spirit devours his vegetables. Stomping his hoof on the ground as life returns to his icy blue eyes. “Yeah, me too.”
Tommy chews on his bottom lip, his expression contemplating.
“So… Did you come here all by yourself?” He asks and the horse completely ignores him, as he cannot understand those words.
Tommy’s mood sours and he breathes in deeply, staving off the bottled-up emotions. He looks back to Spirit apologetically. Tommy tried his damnest to get as far away from the castle as possible, ignorantly forgetting that it was home to more than just him and Dream. He’s lucky that Spirit is mysteriously sturdy.
Once the horse is done eating, he settles down on the offered furs and Tommy gets an idea. With the sun setting, he’s ready to put this weird and bothersome day behind him. He can’t really survive nights outside like how animals can, so he measures Spirit against the interior of his lodge. His shoulders sag with disappointment, he won’t be able to fit inside in Tommy’s bed. It’s going to be another lonely night without a warm body for him to hug. Another restless sleep.
Then comes another fucking day. They just keep coming, don’t they?
Taking care of Spirit provides Tommy with another convenient distraction from his misery. Building a stable to actually keep him is a necessity.
Tommy bangs a fist against his temple, seeing that he forgot to put a lead on Spirit. Somehow the horse hasn’t run away or gotten dragged out into the woods by a predator. Two prey animals like them need to look out for each other and stay safe.
After tying down Spirit, Tommy turns right into his workshed. He takes out a few pencils and his planning paper to start sketching out a proper living space for his horse. It’s around noon when he steps outside again to stretch his legs. He thinks he’s got a pretty good idea going.
There’s steps in the snow again, distinctly animal. Tommy’s dropped his guard but he still looks, despite his best judgment.
He’s having another fucked up vision. This time, Dream is a full wolf.
He’s got pure white fur, matted with debris, wet and muddy up to his belly, and caked with dried blood and scabbed-over injuries. His stare is as intense as ever, bright yellow. He walks towards Tommy, but Tommy adamantly does his best not to look. The wolf is huge and coming ever closer in his peripheral vision. The bowyer’s fists are clenched and shaking at his sides, he closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Willing the illusion to leave him be. He doesn’t think he can handle much more of this torture.
The pathetic creature coughs and heaves as it approaches, a parody of Dream’s voice. Tommy’s eyes sting from remembering it, and he thinks he can hear his name being called.
Suddenly, Spirit becomes rowdy. He stomps on the ground and stands on his hind legs, making a lot of unusual noise. Tommy looks at him with trepidation, his heart sinking but stomach lurching. His head whips around back to the wolf, it’s almost reached him. Deadly realistic in all of its features. Tongue lolling out, muffled whines falling from his throat. Ears pinned back and limp tail swaying side by side. Watery eyes on a strained and too-human expression plead for Tommy’s attention.
It’s really him.
As soon as the thought catches up to the rest of his body, Tommy bristles and screams. This startles the wolf, taller than him, clearly not an illusion or even just a regular animal.
Tommy breaks into a run back inside his lodge, he hears the wolf’s cry carry after him. Inside, he immediately reaches for his personal weapon. A new kind of bow, one that was spring loaded. He called it a crossbow.
Tommy remembered his crude aim and shaky hands the first time he’d pointed his arrows at Dream. Crossbows always shot at full force, no matter any hesitation. He put the strength of his arms into the stretchy, reliable string.
He gasps, lifting the weapon up and pointing it at Dream. The wolf stops and tucks his tail between his hind legs, lowering his head.
“Go away!!” Tommy shouts, disturbed. His body still shakes with fear, but the loaded arrow is ready. “Leave me alone!!” His voice cracks sadly. “Just–Fucking—” How is he even alive? Is this a sick joke? Or is it a blessing?
These conflicted feelings kept Tommy pinned to the spot but not pulling the trigger either.
“Tommy,” Whining, the wolf speaks his name.
Tommy startles, nearly jumping in place. He’s not sure if he wants to run or fight or scream some more. Dream is right there, he’s alive and Tommy couldn’t be happier to know that. He’s not a murderer and his mate is alive.
But he stalks towards Tommy, endlessly driven to hunt him, until both of them are dust in the wind. Even then, his particles would still chase after his lover’s. Dream is after him again and Tommy’s peaceful days are over.
Before Dream can set one paw on the steps of his lodge, Tommy pulls the trigger and curses him.
“Get out of here!! You fucking monster, I don’t want you!!”
The arrow lands between Dream’s front paws and he jumps to the side, fast but sluggish. Clearly at the end of his superhuman stamina. He continues to plead with his lover regardless, but Tommy knocks in a second arrow.
“I said LEAVE!!”
This one hits Dream’s thigh. He yelps loudly and straggles for a moment before collapsing at the bottom of the stairs. The wolf cries from pain as fresh blood streaks from the wound. Tommy watches in shock, dropping the crossbow. He’s not sure what he meant to do, he just wanted this to be over. All of it. His days out here were never peaceful.
Dream moves his limbs helplessly, whining and looking at Tommy, asking him for help. The bowyer stares for a long moment at the writhing creature, before his legs start to descend the few steps towards his hulking body. He frowns and takes out a small knife from his back pocket, unsheathing it as he stands over the wolf.
Is he meant to finish off the monster before it could hurt anyone else? Or hurt him again?
“You should have stayed gone,” Tommy’s voice breaks from a deep sob and he sniffles. Crouching down next to Dream, he notes the way the wolf lays openly to him, unafraid despite being continuously shot at.
Tommy reaches out to him carefully, touching the strands of white fur on his neck. It’s very real. Dream is soft and warm despite it all and his eye is trained on Tommy the whole time. Panting shallowly from his large maw, ears pinned to his skull. Submissive to his lover’s will.
The petting cuts off as Tommy grabs a handful of fur and pulls mercilessly. He turns Dream’s head away to expose his neck and lifts the dagger up in the air. The wolf shuts his eyes closed as if anticipating but accepting his fate.
Tommy’s air rushes out of his lungs until he feels that he can’t take any more in. His arm is shaking so much he can hardly hold the blade. Dream’s fur is hot like fire in his palm, his shot leg suspended in the air and trembling, waiting for the pain to be taken away forever. Tommy’s vision becomes foggy with tears, and the dagger slides out of his hand. It sinks down in the snow, reflecting the breakdown of his fragile heart in the unforgiving steel. He heaves in breath through his grit teeth while Dream watches him in surprise when he’s released.
“You’re alive,” Tommy wheezes. “Are you really?”
The wolf offers another intelligent expression of understanding. He paws at Tommy’s knees, where they were splayed on the ground. But Dream closes his eyes again and stops moving. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest still indicates he’s there.
Tommy gasps audibly and springs into action. He never was capable of killing Dream, he couldn’t. He loved him. They once had a happy life together. But whether or not he survived this, their relationship could never go back to that time. Tommy knew this, even while dragging the giant wolf body inside his lodge. While pushing him onto some pelts next to the fire and rushing for clean cloth, heating up water and gathering all of his medical supplies.
He knew, but he couldn’t just let him die. He had a soft spot for suffering animals, after all.