Chapter Text
There was a chill in the air, the sky, however, clear with no threat of snow. Purple was grateful for it, but he would be home soon anyway. He plodded along on his horse through the heavily wooded path that led to his father's cottage, bottle of expensive wine weighing down his satchel and riding hood pulled low over his face. He hadn't seen his dear old father since leaving for university, and the thought of reuniting made Purple smile. He had so much to tell him, and he knew his father would be so proud to see his diploma.
And there was the cottage now! It was a cozy little thing of stone and thatch, smoke lazily billowing through the chimney. It looked so peaceful. Purple's father must be enjoying his life of peace.
“Ouch!” Green cried. “He bit me!”
“Of course he bit you—he's a werewolf!” Orange said, jumping on Mango's back and wrapping him in a head lock. “Calm down, old man! Just tell us where—ah!” Mango threw him off, sending Orange crashing into the kitchen table
“Where's the boy?!” Green shouted, taking Orange's place.
The entire Color Pack was in old man Mango's cottage deep in the woods. Mango was a lone wolf himself, but they knew he had a son. No one was after the old man, but his son could be used and abused, and the Color Pack really didn't need the HollowHeads' numbers to grow. So they figured they'd kindly ask Mango if they could take in his son to keep the boy safe. Obviously it wasn't going well.
“Lass mein kind in ruhe!” Mango shouted in German, Leave my child alone. He kicked away the rest of them and ran into the bedroom. Yellow and Red raced after him.
“Put the gun down!”
The others followed them into the tiny room, seeing Red try to wrestle the rifle out of Mango's arms while Yellow had her arms around his neck this time. Blue helped Red get the gun away while Green and Orange grabbed Mango's arms to prevent him from hurting Yellow. This all culminated in a tussle of limbs, the old man pressed against the bedroom window. The latch of it snapped, frames creaking open to let in a breeze so gentle it must not have realized there was a fight going on. And then they heard someone.
“Papa, I'm home!”
Everyone froze.
“Purple!” Mango shouted frantically. Orange clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him, but the damage was done.
“Papa?” the man, Purple, said from the front room. “Are you alright?”
Green released Mango and ran to the bedroom door, slamming it shut and twisting the lock. “Out the window!” he hissed. The rest of the pack complied, dragging the old man, who was trying to shout around Orange's hand, through the small window, knocking around the dresser that stood nearby. As they did so, the doorknob jiggled.
“Are you hurt?” Purple said. And then in English, “Let me in!” Panicking, Green did the first thing that came to mind.
“Don't come in!” he said, making his voice sound scratchy and weathered. “I've caught a nasty cold!”
There was a long pause.
“A cold...?” Purple finally said, trying the handle again. “What was all that noise I heard?” Green looked back, seeing the last of the pack climbing through the window.
“I almost tripped,” Green said, “but I caught myself. I promise I'm fine.”
“Are you sure?” Purple said skeptically. “Let me take a look at you.”
“Oh, no,” Green said, “I don't want you catching this. It's terrible.” Purple sighed.
“I came all this way,” he said, disappointment coloring his voice, “and you won't even let me take care of you?”
“I'm sorry, son,” Green said as Blue hissed his name from the window. He looked back at her, anxiety growing.
“Keep him busy,” she whispered. “We're taking Mango to the den.” He nodded, and Blue turned and ran off.
“Well,” Purple said. Green could hear his retreating footsteps. “I'll make a nice soup for you, okay?”
“Oh, I've already eaten!”
Purple scoffed. “Sure you have, old man,” he said. “I'm making it anyway. Get back in bed and rest, and maybe I'll even let you have some of the wine I brought from the city.”
Green did not reply, listening for sounds on the other side of the door, cabinets opening and utensils clinking against pots. He crouched down, looking through the door's keyhole. As expected, Mango's son bustled about the kitchen. What Green did not expect however was the man's appearance.
Old man Mango's son was a fop. His hair was long, reaching past his waist, and pulled back with a jeweled pin. His clothes were just as neat and proper, waistcoat neatly pressed and trimmed with silver threading. They way he carried himself spoke of self-importance, the way he chopped onions for the soup exuded ego. Even the way he wiped the fumes away from his eyes was delicate. Was this really the crotchety old werewolf's son? Was this really the young wolf that the Color Pack was looking for? Purple glanced back toward the bedroom door and Green backed away.
Whoever was in his father's bedroom, it certainly wasn't Mango, Purple knew for sure. He knew his father's voice, knew what he sounded like when sick, and he knew that even if Mango was sick, he pretended he was not for the sake of his pride. And of course Mango refused to speak English. He could understand it just fine, but considered it a gauche language.
Purple was not sure who exactly was imitating his father, but he had his suspicions. Mango was once a highly respected werewolf long ago. He had cast it all aside after losing Gold in the accident, but every so often a wolf from his past showed up to cause trouble. The fact that the wolf hiding in the bedroom had not burst out to eat Purple yet meant that they were after something. He looked down at the knife in his hand and then up at the tea leaves hanging to dry above his head. He grabbed a sprig and added it to the pot on the stove.
“Papa,” Purple said once the soup was finished cooking, “I'm going to tend to the animals. You're too sick to do so, aren't you?”
“Oh, yes,” came that foreign voice. “That would be great, son.”
Purple shook his head. “The soup is warming on the stove,” he said. “Have some and then go straight back to bed.”
“Yes, I'll do just that.”
He certainly would. Valerian was good for sleep like that.
Purple left the house to “tend” to the animals, but he already knew that they had been fed and watered when he brought in his horse earlier. He pet the cow and spoke softly to her, giving the wolf plenty of time to eat. The sun fell, moon rising, and Purple went back inside.
The soup had been eaten, wooden bowl and spoon placed in the sink, just as Purple had hoped. He grabbed the knife off the cutting board and took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Then he crept toward the bedroom.
“Papa...?” he said tentatively, but the only response he got was heavy breathing.
Purple tried the doorknob, but it was still locked. No matter. Placing the flat end of the knife between his teeth and crouching down, he removed a small pin from his hair. Carefully placing the pin in the lock, he shimmied it around, tapping at the internal gears. A click. He stood upright, removing the knife from his mouth and shoving the pin back in his hair. Carefully, he turned the knob and opened the bedroom door.
Moonlight shone in on someone who was definitely not his father. The man passed out on the bed was too young, too roguish looking. Cute, though. Purple crept closer, tightening his hand around the knife, and looking down at him. He took another step forward, but a squeaky floorboard had the man's eyes fluttering open. He looked up.
Purple raised the knife, but before he could do anything with it, a hand was on his neck. He was flung against the bed, the man straddling him and pinning down the wrist that held the knife. Purple's other hand grabbed the arm of the hand around his neck, trying to pry it off but to no avail. He was stuck there, sucking in shaky breaths. The decorative clip in his hair dug into his scalp.
“Easy now,” the man said, voice smooth. “We don't want anyone to get hurt, do we?”
“Where is my father?” Purple spat, glaring up at him. “What have you done to him?” He tried to wriggle free but couldn't really go anywhere, pinned under the man as he was.
“He's safe,” the man said, “so I ask that you cooperate.” He shifted, placing his knee on the arm that held the knife, sliding his hand up to remove it from Purple's grasp. “I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite.”
“I don't care why you're here!” Purple said. He tried to slide his arm out from under the man's knee, but could not. He was beginning to lose feeling in his hand. “Let my father go!”
“Listen to me!” the man said. “There are people out there who want to hurt you, little wolf. My pack wants to keep you out of their hands.”
“I'm not a wolf!” Purple successfully removed his arm from under the man's knee and brought his hand to the one around his neck, joining its brother in an attempt to free himself, but the man was immovable. It was as if he didn't even notice the struggle.
“Then why do all the rumors speak of the old man's son?”
“The boy you're looking for,” Purple's voice was full of venom, “died years ago.”
“And what's he doing underneath me?” the man asked, leaning in.
“A man can have more than one son!”
“Another son who isn't a wolf as his family?”
Purple drew a ragged breath. “I'm adopted.”
The man stared at him. Then he leaned in all the way, drawing a deep inhale at the skin of Purple's neck. He pulled back, looking down at him in disappointment.
“You're human.”
“As I said,” Purple bit out. “Now get off of me!”
“How do I know you're not lying about the boy?” the man said, but he was already sitting up on his knees, relieving the pressure around Purple's middle. The hand around his neck remained however.
“I can take you to his burial spot if it'll get you to leave.”
They glared at each other. Then he removed his hand, sliding off of Purple entirely, and stood on the floor beside him. Purple stood up carefully, this man could do far more damage with a knife than he ever could, and nodded his head toward the door. Very slowly, the two men exited the room.
“The grave is in the forest,” Purple grumbled, taking his riding cloak off the hook by the door. It was a deep lavender and had been the first thing Mango ever gave him when he found him as a young teenager. He slung it around himself and led the wolf out of the house. They walked into the trees together.
“You're sure you know the way?” the man asked.
“Yes, I'm sure,” Purple said irritably. He and Mango always visited the plot on Gold's birthday and the day of his death, having a picnic together. Purple even came by the spot to think sometimes, talking to the boy about their father. It had been a while since he came this way, Purple had been busy at university, but he still knew the path.
“So, old man Mango adopted a son,” the man said.
“I would think a wolf like you would know such a thing,” Purple said with a frown. “You stalk him, do you not?”
“I don't like the word 'stalk',” he said. Purple rolled his eyes. “We don't really worry much for the old man, so we only knew he had a son. We didn't know he was dandy.”
“I will not allow my fashion sense to be judged by a mongrel,” Purple replied, turning down a fork in the road.
“I don't think I like the word 'mongrel' either. Besides, ” the man said, "I was only making an observation. I'm not judging you, Purple. I'm Green, by the way.”
“I don't care who you are!” Purple shouted, stopping to look at him fully. “You come into my home and demand things that do not belong to you!”
“I'm trying to help you!” Green shouted back. “You'd be dead if the HollowHead Pack got to you before I did!”
Purple whipped back around, long hair swishing, and resumed a quick pace down the path. Green followed after. “You filthy wolves.”
“Filthy?!” he exclaimed. “What about your father? He's a filthy wolf too, isn't he.”
“He is a kindly old man,” Purple sent a glare over his shoulder, “and I'll not allow any more of you to cause him trouble!”
“It wouldn't be trouble if he cooperated,” Green said. “All we wanted was to offer his son protection. He's getting too old to do it himself.”
“I already told you,” Purple stopped in his tracks, whirling around on him again, “the boy is dead.” He jabbed a finger toward a withered old tree. Green looked, eyes sharp enough to see the small gravestone in the dark that sat just before it.
Hier ruht Gold. Ein guter sohn und ein lieber freund.
'Here lies Gold. A good son and a dear friend,' it read.
Green stared.
“Well,” he huffed. “It seems we don't have to worry about him then.”
“It seems so,” Purple said through gritted teeth. “Now give me my father back.”
A sharp howl pierced the night and Green sighed.
“He's at my pack's den,” he said. “I'd send you home and deliver him later, but I don't think the HollowHead Pack will leave you alone. They'd probably kill you out of frustration if they discovered you're a human.” Purple scoffed.
“Did you all decide to come for me on the same night?” he demanded.
“Something like that,” Green said with a shrug. “There was a big meeting today, peace negotiations and the like.” He rolled his eyes. “Somebody brought up Mango's son and well, we didn't want any other packs to take him. We only got to you first because our den is closest. But they'll be after you now, too.” Purple clenched his jaw and his hands tightened into fists.
“Just great.”
“Come with me,” Green said. “You may not be the wolf we're looking for, but we can still offer you protection.”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Purple scoffed.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact.” Green frowned. “We're not all the mongrels you make us out to be.” Purple glared at him. Then he sighed, hanging his head.
“Fine,” he said tiredly. “Take me there.” His head snapped back up. “But you better not be lying!” Though he wasn't sure what he would do if Green was lying.
They walked in silence down the path for some time, moon arcing across the night sky, but, when Green led him further into the trees, the light disappeared entirely. Purple followed him closely behind, wishing he didn't have to. This wolf could be leading him to his demise.
“Your heart's beating very fast,” Green commented without turning around. Purple flushed.
“Oh, it couldn't be that a monster is leading me to his pack to eat me, could it?” he said sarcastically.
“I don't eat humans,” he replied easily. “But even if I did,” he glanced over his shoulder, looking Purple up and down, “there's not much meat on you.” Purple frowned.
“Should I take that as an insult?”
“Take it however you like, dandy.”
Purple rolled his eyes, lip curling in a sneer.
Before he could spit out a witty retort, Green stopped and said, “We're here.” Purple looked around, but only saw more trees. The only thing that stood out was a large bolder. “Down this way.” He walked up to the boulder and stepped into a hollow in the ground, disappearing under the earth. Purple shakily followed him down the uneven steps but slipped, letting out an involuntary gasp. Firm hands caught him around the waist, and he instinctively reached out to steady himself, grabbing onto Green's biceps. They were firmer than any biceps had the right to be. Purple drew in a shaky breath, swallowing. Green leaned in, Purple knew this because he felt the man's breath tickle his face, and whispered, “You're heart's beating fast again.” Purple shoved him away.
“I can't believe you live like this,” he said, face burning with embarrassment. Green chuckled, seeming a lot more confidant now that they were on his home turf. He grabbed Purple's arm, gently, and led him on. Purple ducked his head, unable to tell how low the ceiling was in the dark, but Green carried on just fine. After a minute of walking, the narrow passage opened into a room about as big as the old cottage, lit up all around with torches. A small group of people, the wolves, stood together talking, but Purple ignored them, spotting Mango on the ground. His head was between his knees and his arms around his legs.
“Papa!” he cried, rushing forward and falling by his side. Mango looked up in joyous relief.
“Purple!” he said, pulling his boy into a hug. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“I'm fine.” Purple hugged his father back. “Are you hurt?”
“Nein,” Mango said with a huff. “There were only a few bumps and bruises from the fight.”
Purple sighed with relief. “I'm glad.”
“So this is old man Mango's son?” said an incredulous voice. Purple looked around at the speaker, a man with bright orange hair, furious again.
“Not the one we're looking for,” Green said with a shake of the head. “The young wolf died years ago. The one you see here is a human. Adopted.”
“That's what I've been trying to tell you all along!” Mango shouted.
“How dare you?” Purple snarled, which was quite the feat given he was the only one among them who could not actually snarl. He stood up before them, glaring. “How dare you take a man from his home and threaten his family?!”
“We weren't threatening him!” the incredulous man said. “We wanted to keep you safe.”
“Safe?” It was Purple's turn to be incredulous. “Look at him!” He knelt down again, taking Mango's face in his hand. “Look at the bruises on him.” He looked back up at the pack of wolves. “We're leaving right now!”
“Oh, no you don't,” Green said, stepping forward. “We're not letting a wizened old wolf and a human out where the HollowHeads can get you.”
“Yes,” the other agreed. “It would be unwise for you to go out now. You must stay here.”
“Over my dead body!”
“Well, you're right about that,” another of the wolves said.
“Fine!” The incredulous man threw out his hands. “Leave and die if you like.”
Mango put a hand on Purple's arm, shaking his head. “They're right,” he said. “We have to stay here.” Purple gave him a look of anguish, but Mango quelled it with a small smile. “I will protect you.” Purple stared at him, at his bumps and bruises, then sighed.
“Alright,” he said, defeated. “We'll stay.”
The Color Pack offered to treat Mango's wounds, but Purple demanded to do it himself. They all sat in a large pit of plush pillows and blankets, the wolves did not believe in beds apparently, as Purple gently spread a soothing ointment on Mango's face.
“Danke,” he said softly. Purple could tell he was very tired.
“Don't even worry about it,” he replied just as softly. But Purple worried a fair bit. The Color Pack watched him with scrutinizing eyes, talking amongst themselves about the HollowHead Pack. One, Red was his name, sidled up to them. Purple would not normally find this distressing, but Red had a wolf crawling up with him, an actual wolf—not a werewolf that had human intelligence. Purple swallowed.
“So, you're Mango's son?” Red said, clearly amused, looking at his clothing. “You're not what I expected.”
“You were expecting a monster such as yourself?” Purple replied, keeping his tone light for the sake of the wolf who had his belly up, letting Red rub it.
“Well, yes,” he said with a grin. “I mean, you've seen old man Mango.” Purple scowled at him.
“Ignore them,” he said to his father.
“Nothing wrong with him,” Red assured. “You're just so...pretty.”
Purple paused, the fingers tending to Mango's face stopping for the briefest moment. He ground his teeth together and resumed treatment. “I already told your friend over there,” he nodded toward Green who was watching the exchange with keen eyes, “that I will not take criticism from a dog like you.”
“Ouch,” but Red did not seem offended. “Do you talk to your old man this way?”
“He does,” Mango said. Then he shrugged. “But I deserve it.” Red snickered.
Purple did not get much sleep that night. First off, it was strange sleeping in a pile on the floor, he was used to a mattress, and secondly, Purple did not trust these wolves around his father. It was early in the morning before he drifted off and well after noon that Mango woke him. He gave him a bit of cooked meat before ushering him out of the den. The Color Pack were glad to see them go, Orange being the only one who wished them well on their way, and Purple was glad to be going, intent to get his father to safety and never let him leave the cottage again.
“You worry too much,” Mango said.
Orange asked Green to check up on Mango and his son a few days later. This would not be easy as Mango would surely discover his scent, but, well, the man was old. What could he possible do to a young wolf in his prime like Green? Not to mention, the Color pack was in good standing with him. A few words could quell his anger. Hopefully.
Green crept along the tree line in his wolf form, watching the father and son take care of their afternoon chores, doing laundry and tending to the chickens and the cow. They even exercised the horse, Purple playing tug of war with a rope, laughing. He had a charming laugh.
When they moved inside, Green took the opportunity to look around the land, sniffing for any sign of the HollowHeads, but he found nothing. Not yet anyway. He almost turned around, away from the cottage to fetch Blue for her turn to watch over Mango, but paused. He heard a melody.
He looked back to see Purple sitting on the fence with his back to him, playing a violin. He was quite good, bowing out the gentle tune. Green sat, listening to the song. He wished he could see Purple's face, to know if he wore a smile or a look of contemplation or any other expression. But he was too transfixed to move. He didn't know how long he sat there listening to Purple play, but eventually Mango called his son in for supper. Green wanted to stay, to see if Purple would play again, but left before he could plant the seed of that thought.
“You're a paranoid old man,” Purple said, not looking up from his book. He sat on the chair by the hearth, reading a text of entomology, as his father looked out the window into the night. “But I guess that's for the best after what happened.”
“They were here,” Mango replied. “I think it was that Green fellow.” He closed the curtains, sighing. “He's not too bad though. Still, I'd like to keep you away from all that.”
“I can handle myself, Papa.”
Mango glanced at him sidelong with a dubious look. “Are you going to bore them to death with talk of insects?”
“Wow!” Purple said, looking up from his book, laughing. Mango let out a chuckle himself. The old man took a breath to say something, but thought better of it, letting out the breath. But then, because he's a father, he said it anyway.
“Are you suited for a life in these woods, Purple?”
Purple looked up at him, frowning. “Yes,” he said, tone not yet offended but prepared to be.
“You've lived in the city all this time,” Mango went on, sitting on the couch next to his chair. “I wonder if you would be more comfortable there.”
“You don't want me here?” Purple said, voice catching.
“I did not say that,” Mango said with a shake of his head. “But I won't mince words. You're too soft for this life.”
“Because I comb my hair and clean my fingernails?” Purple shot back, raising his hand to show off his clean nails.
“Yes.” Purple looked away, face falling with hurt. Mango sighed, reaching his hand out to take Purple's. “I'm not saying this to upset you,” Mango said. “I'm saying it because it's the truth. I don't want you getting injured. Or worse, killed.”
“Well,” Purple huffed, blinking back tears, “I am not going anywhere. If you think I am too soft then...I'll make myself less soft.”
“I don't want you to change yourself, my boy,” Mango said with a shake of his head. “But if you truly must stay with me-”
“I must.”
“-then I ask that you exercise more vigilance.”
“I will!” Purple declared. Mango knew this would not be the case, his son was flighty and empty-headed at times, but he smiled anyway.
“Good,” he said, resigned.
Purple set about making himself less soft the next day. He took on more of Mango's chores, chopping wood, repairing the house and barn, and doing other sorts of manly things. His father did not say anything about this, but offered to prepare his son a bath which he graciously accepted. Being manly did not mean giving up hygiene, did it? He almost cut his hair afterward, clasping the scissors tightly in his hands, however his father would not allow it.
“I learned my lesson the last time,” Mango said, taking the scissors away. “Never again will I let you cut your hair short.”
“I'm not going to cry this time, Papa!” Purple snapped.
“Sure.”
The next morning, Purple forgot about his vow to be less soft, just as Mango thought he would, and went back to playing his violin for the animals, laughing as they curiously gathered around him. Mango did not fail to notice another animal off in the trees who watched as well. That Green boy. He rolled his eyes and went back inside the house.
Green had lost all sense, the rest of the pack was certain. After all the business with Mango and his son, he had been acting strangely. He was out for days at a time, wandering around in wolf form, but never bringing back any meat, so he clearly wasn't hunting. They weren't exactly sure what he was doing. Until, that is, he went to the market in the nearby town, arriving back to the den with all sorts of human scents clinging to his clothes and skin. Green hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing at the market that day either. He didn't think he was hunting. But his actions spoke otherwise.
He followed Mango and Purple from a distance, watching them visit all the different stalls as they gathered food to store for the upcoming winter, listening in with his enhanced hearing. Purple was talking animatedly about his time at university, the fop went to university, and Mango listened happily, jumping in every now and again to ask questions.
“Have you met any pretty girls?” If Green had not been paying attention before, he was now. But Purple laughed.
“I was far too busy for girls,” he replied.
Green let out a relieved sigh. And then he frowned. Why should he care what this human got up to with women? It didn't concern him. He leaned in closer, peeking around the side of the building he hid behind.
“I want grandchildren!” Mango said with a grin, making Purple laugh again.
“Perhaps someday,” he said lightly. “I don't know if I'm the caring type though.” Green scoffed.
At the sound, Mango turned his head slowly, locking eyes with him. They stared at each other. And then Mango turned his head back, whispering something to Purple. The son's head snapped around, eyes scanning the market feverishly.
“Where?” he demanded. “Where is he?” Green retreated further behind the building and Mango laughed out loud, laying a hand on his son's shoulder to guide him out of the market. Green returned home shortly after.
And then his pack hounded him.
“Why were you in town?” Orange asked, tipping his head. But his tone suggested Green ought to choose his next words carefully.
“Just wanted to get out of the den,” he said with a shrug. He sat next to Yellow who was carving up a skinned deer with her knife. He took a bit of meat from her bowl, it was long and stringy, held together by ligament, and dropped it into his mouth, chewing the raw meat.
“Hmm,” Yellow said, not looking up from her task, “it seems you've been out a lot recently. I wonder what it is that you've been doing...”
“Hunting perhaps?” Red said, laying on his stomach beside his wolf, feet kicking in the air. His tone and the stupid smirk on his face suggested he did not believe such a thing. Green swallowed his bite, frowning at him.
“Hunting old man Mango?” Orange said innocently, sitting next to Red. “You have been circling his territory quite a bit.” Blue laughed, plopping down right beside Green, shouldering against him.
“I don't think it's Mango he's after,” she said, getting right up in his face. Green pulled away, frown deepening. “I think he's stalking his adorable little son.” Green's heart picked up a humiliating pace.
“Aha!” Red said, pointing a finger at him. “So it is his son!”
“I've been doing nothing of the sort!” he shot back. “I'm not intentionally wandering around Mango's cottage.”
“But you admit you've been down that way?” Yellow said, grinning obnoxiously.
“Well, what's he going to do about it? He's an old man.” Green picked up another piece of meat as casually as he could, pretending nothing was the matter as he ate it.
“You like his son, don't you?” Orange said, grin matching Yellow's. Green nearly choked.
“What?” he coughed, spitting the meat back out into his hand.
“You're blushing!” Blue said.
“I have no idea what you guys are talking about!” Green jumped to his feet, and put the soiled bite of meat back in his mouth. “I'm just wandering around,” he said around the food. “It's not my fault Purple is more interesting than you lot!”
“Awww,” Red said. “You do like him.”
“What I would like right now,” Green said with a scowl, “is a bit of peace and quiet.” He left the den, ignoring his friends' assurances that it was okay to have a crush. He did not return home that night.
He was not stalking Mango's son. He was just watching him. Big difference.
He sat in the brush behind the property, hiding his wolf body among the foliage. Lamplight from the bedroom shined out into the night, and he could see Purple though the window, dressed for bed in a nightshirt, combing his amethyst hair. It spilled over his shoulder in long, shining, inconvenient strands. Green could never have such a ridiculous length, even Blue and Yellow didn't have hair so long. It was just impractical for the life they had been forced to lead. It was too beautiful. Purple finished combing his hair and tied it out of the way to wash his face in a basin, closing his eyes as he splashed himself with water and scrubbed it with soap, taking care to rinse thoroughly. It was as he dried off, patting a cloth gently at his neck, that Green felt a presence behind him.
He didn't have to turn around to know who the other wolf was. Green instantly fell on his back, exposing his underbelly to Mango in a show of submission. The older wolf just looked down at him, and if Green could sweat in this form, he would. Then Mango left, plodding slowly back toward the house and shifting into his human body halfway across the lawn. Green thought it best to leave now. He cast one last glance back through the bedroom window, seeing Purple chatting idly with Mango as he twisted his long tresses into a braid.
Okay, maybe Green was stalking him.
For all his time at university, all his accolades and diplomas, Purple was clearly an idiot. He was completely oblivious to his hopeless shadow. He bounded out of the cottage after his morning chores, that lovely violet riding hood pulled over his head to block out the dusting of snow that fell from the sky. It was light enough and early enough in the season not to stick, but still, who would go out in such whether with such a smile on their face?
He carried a basket on his arm, walking out into the woods to find a few stray apple trees with their remaining fruit. The only one left was just beside Gold's grave.
“A present for us?” Purple asked his brother. “How kind of you.” He set about picking the apples and dropping each one in his basket. Once full, he sat down next to the grave, but he didn't say anything, only shined an apple on his shirt and bit into it, looking out at the forest. What a beautiful day, snow falling like powdered sugar. He decided just then that he would make sugar cookies for his father, what a nice treat, and then, since it was cold and they had plenty of time before the cows needed to be put away, he would press the apples into a nice, warm cider to go with the cookies. He smiled and stood up to leave. It was as he walked down the path that he heard a low growl.
He blanched upon seeing the first wolf. It had grey fur and a white snout that bore sharp teeth. Another wolf appeared to Purple's left, this one a fiery red, but likewise had a white face. A final growl came from behind him, and though he did not turn around to see the source of the growl, he could hazard a guess to say that one had a face as blank as the others. The HollowHeads. Purple took a shaky breath. They advanced on all sides leaving him nowhere to run.
Papa, he thought as loud as he could, but in vain. Where are you when I need you?
The first wolf, the grey one, pounced, and Purple let out a sharp scream, stumbling backward and falling to the ground, apples scattering everywhere as the basket broke open. But before the wolf could make contact, a forth shot out from the trees. He tackled the first wolf, the beasts snarling and snapping at each other, scratching with their claws. The other two of the HollowHeads jumped into the fray, but the forth bit at them as well. Purple ought to have run by now, but he was rooted to the spot, watching the fight in horror.
It was clear that the newcomer was not winning, blood seeping from tears and bite marks in his flesh. Purple pressed his hands to his eyes just as the wolf was about to lose, not wanting to see the poor creature die nor wanting to see his own demise. But neither came.
A rumbling growl, deeper than that of the other wolves, resonated before Purple, and he opened his eyes to see Mango. His papa did not often reveal his wolf form to his son, but Purple would know it anywhere. It had been the first he saw of him all those years ago. Mango stood between Purple and the other wolves, and the HollowHeads made a quick escape, tails between their legs as they ran into the trees. And then Mango was a human again. He turned to face his son, leaning down to pick him up off the ground.
“Go back home,” he said, and angry tremor in his voice. “I'll take care of Green.” Purple nodded and fled, Mango watching him go. With a sigh, he turned back the young wolf that lay injured before him. It took a bit of coaxing for Green to finally turn back into a man, but when he did, wounds remaining, Mango carefully helped him to the cottage.