Work Text:
In a little town on a not so little farm, there is a farmer with quite a pesky, costly problem.
Various animals have disappeared from his farm overnight. If they were all smaller creatures, he would assume it was a typical, run of the mill predator. A hawk, fox, even the rogue opossum, all would be viable suspects, but unfortunately for the farmer, animals of all sizes have gone missing. This includes one particularly valuable bull, his pride and joy until it comes time to sell.
Considering the size of the bull, as well as that of two sheep, an outside dog, and several goats to name a few, the farmer concludes there is only one possibility.
A wolf.
It must be a wolf leaping over the fence and swiping the nearest delicious looking being. The farmer put out cameras, motion activated and designed to snap photos on even the darkest nights, but somehow the beast eludes them. On one night, the barest tip of a fluffy tail is visible in a single photo.
It's all the proof the farmer needs, though. He uses this evidence to damn the supposed wolf and condemn it to death. Now, all he needs is one night, where he can draw the wolf out and riddle it with shotgun blasts.
The trick is getting the wolf out into the open. It's proven to be clever, sly as its catlike cousin. The farmer will have to give it a good reason to show itself. He needs bait.
A quick search around the farm, and he finds nothing he's willing to sacrifice. All his animals have some form of value, either in their purchasing price or in what they produce.
So the next evening, he finds himself in town. He travels the paths, passes the market stalls, and ignores the merchants' calls. Until, at the edge of town, the farmer finds the livestock merchants.
They show him chickens, goats, an assortment of perfect prey, but he never mentions his intentions. He fears that if they know, they will refuse to sell to him. In the end, it does not matter because every animal has a price more than the farmer is willing to spend on something that will not survive the night.
Disappointed, he decides to try again the next day, thinking perhaps another idea will come to him. As he reaches the last of the merchants, he passes a raggedy, old man. The man wears tattered clothes and has a filthy beard, a wild look to his eyes. The farmer pays him little mind but finds curiosity in that the man has a single animal for sale.
Leashed by a short length of rope, a black sheep stands beside the old man. Its shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, the sheep stares solemnly at the dirt beneath its filthy, bare feet. Lips sealed shut in a firm line, its expression is grim. The most golden eyes the farmer can remember seeing on an animal dull in its melancholy.
The rags it wears are sad excuses of clothing, matching that of its owner's. The two make for a sorrowful show of poor hygiene and poverty, and the man holds firmly to the sheep with a strong grip on its rope. The farmer can only guess the old man fears the sheep will run if he gives it even the slightest slack and cannot afford to lose his one good.
The farmer slows his pace. A sheep would be excellent bait for a wolf, and black sheep are basically useless. The old man being obviously poor would likely accept a low offer. A devious grin curls over the farmer's face, and he turns on his heel.
"That's quite a lovely sheep you have there, what unique eyes," the farmer says. The old man raises an eyebrow and grumbles, "Name your price. I just want to be rid of the damn thing."
The words seem to sting the sheep. A visible cringe crosses its face before it carefully schools it back to a calm, numb void. The farmer doesn't care to ask the reason the man hates it so. He has no plans to grow any attachment to the sheep, and if it is some sort of burden, it doesn't matter. It will be dead by morning, anyways.
"Well, if you're sure, I'll offer you whatever handful of coins I have in my pocket." The farmer smirks, haughtily and proud of his thriftiness, and the man shrugs. Even without knowing the amount, he agrees. They shake on it, and the farmer laughs when he pulls his pockets out. Nothing but a sprinkling of lint falls free.
The old man glares at the boastful farmer, angrily throwing the end of the rope towards the man. He shakes his head, words soaked in venom. "A crooked coward of a man like you…I'm glad the curse is yours to bear."
The farmer rolls his eyes, unconvinced of the danger in the man's words. He grabs the rope and begins dragging the baffled sheep away. Face open in surprise and a glimmer of something hopeful lighting its eyes, the sheep obediently follows its new owner.
For the first time, it speaks to him. "I am grateful you want to take me, but I feel I should warn you. They say black sheep are bad luck, and in the past, my owners have had tremendous downfalls. Loss of family, loss of home and money, I worry I'll only bring you strife."
Low, surprisingly deep for a sheep and smooth as hometown honey, its voice causes the farmer to nearly trip as he did not think the thing knew how to speak.
"I don't give a shit about superstitions, and maybe your past owners were just fools. That last man sure was." Chuckling, the farmer plays the memory of the betrayed man's face in his mind again and feels a wave of self-satisfaction.
The sheep frowns, brows furrowed. It looks as though it has something more to say, but the farmer has had enough of its concerns. He waves his hand in front of his face and reassures the sheep.
"You needn't worry," he says, voice light with hidden deceit. "I'm much too clever to let any such misfortunes find me. You'll see. You'll love it at your new home, and before you know it, you won't even remember those past fools."
He grins, eyes sparkling with a knowing that would make any decent person's stomach churn. The farmer pulls the sheep further along, eager to return home.
"Yes, you needn't worry about anything at all anymore."
The sheep's shoulders relax at the words. Its eyes gaze upward, taking in the fading light of the sun. The pinks, oranges, and reds of the sunset are beautiful this evening. More so than the sheep has ever seen because nothing is more lovely than finally having a real home. It only hopes the farmer is not wrong.
The rest of the walk is quiet, peaceful. The sheep doesn't speak again, only looks around at the greenery of the fields, the tall plants and heavily burdened fruit trees. The farmer owns quite a lot of land and seems to dip his fingers into many pies. Livestock, fruits and vegetables, milk and cheese, he has the room and means to be successful in all his endeavors.
It's a relief. The sheep feels the man is true to his word. He clearly is an intelligent, hard working man, who will not fall.
By time they reach the sheep barn, the sun has nearly disappeared completely. The farmer knows he needs to hurry or he might miss the wolf, so he leads the sheep out into the middle of the field instead of bringing it into the barn.
The sheep looks confused, eyes nervously watching the treeline outside the fence. It's brought to a stop, standing before a wooden post stuck in the ground. The sheep swallows thickly, curly fur wishing to stand on end with an ominous dread.
"What are—" it starts to ask, but the farmer cuts it off with a sharp tug on its rope. He pulls it up, bringing the tall sheep's eyes to his level. The farmer smirks and says, "This is where you'll be staying the night."
"I don't understand," the sheep stutters, "Why—I thought—"
The farmer laughs in the scared sheep's face. He drops the rope around its throat and forces it to the cold, hard ground with a kick and shove. Unable to react, the sheep falls, shock rendering it frozen.
It flinches in pain at the harsh treatment, pretty eyes watering in hurt of many kinds. Its back slams into the wooden post, little tail throbbing from where the sheep lands heavily on it. The pain is nothing compared to the breaking of where its heart had began to mend.
"I'm a man of my word," the farmer tells the poor sheep. He squats down in front of it and leans forward. "You don't have to worry about anything anymore. No one's gotta worry when they're dead."
He undoes the rope around the sheep's neck. As it falls away, purple-black bruises from the painful rope appear, barely visible in the quickly darkening light. The sheep instinctively reaches up to rub at the sore spots, but the farmer roughly grabs its hands.
It makes a pitiful sound as the man brings its hands close and uses the rope to tie them together. He then pulls them up and loops the rope around the wooden post and through a metal hoop. He tightens the rope until the tension has the sheep's arms stretched up behind it.
Flexing its fingers, the animal begins to panic. It jerks itself forward, legs kicking out. The fear of a trapped animal fills its wide eyes; the more it struggles, the more real its fate becomes. The ropes don't budge. They don't even allow it to bend its elbows, much less come loose.
The farmer grunts, catching a flailing leg and pushing it back. He overpowers the sheep, pressing it harder against the post.
"Now, now," he scolds the sheep, "don't be like that. Look at it this way." Reaching behind the post, the farmer brings out another rope, longer and thicker than the other. "You won't ever have to worry about being unlucky ever again, and if all goes well, that wolf'll be full of holes and out of my hair."
The sheep freezes, chest heaving and body shaking. The farmer snorts at the poor creature's distress. He never mentioned the wolf anytime before, so the sheep is only now beginning to understand.
"That's right." The farmer talks casually as if discussing the weather. He wraps the rope around the sheep's torso, twice, three times, until he's near the end of the rope.
"After tonight, hopefully, my animals'll quit disappearing on me, which means, you," he says, tugging the rope until the sheep is flush against the post, "are dying a hero. Think of all the lives that'll be saved once that damn wolf is gone."
Tying the rope with a secure knot, the farmer straightens back up. He stands over the frightened animal, grinning. Some sick sort of amusement brightens his eyes, and tears form in the corners of the sheep's.
"I don't—" it pleas, "I don't want to die a hero. I don't want to die." It raises its head high, gold eyes searching the man's face for even an ounce of mercy. When it finds none, it sobs, whole chest moving with the strength of it. "Please, there ha-has to be another wa-y."
The cries are unheard as the farmer turns to look up at the night sky. His grin has dropped into a contemplative frown, and he momentarily glances back at the sheep. His eyes trace the bound hands, the knots of the ropes, double checking that the sheep is unable to escape. For a final measure, he removes a handkerchief from his overalls' pocket and swiftly ties it around the sheep's head, gag now muffling its sorrowful sounds.
"It's late. The wolf could be here any second. I need to get hidden." The man tells the sheep. His voice shows no emotion, no trace of compassion or regret. "I'll be in the barn. If you happen to make it through the night, well, we'll just try again tomorrow."
With that, the farmer turns to the barn. He walks off, each step a nail in the sheep's coffin.
The sheep calls out, but its words are unintelligible, just muted screams of desperation. It tries to twist itself backwards, tries to get the man's attention, but the ropes are unforgiving. Once the man is out of sight, the sheep's head slowly turns to face front again. Staring off into the distance, its eyes drill into the treeline, and it anticipates its end.
The night is uneventful, quiet save for the noise of the woods— frogs croaking, a distant owl, cicadas singing. It gives the sheep nothing to concentrate on, so its mind turns dark.
It thinks about its life, everything that led it to this point. It lost its family and home at a young age. Then, it bounced from owner to owner, no one ever wanting to keep it. Not one ever treated it with real kindness. Perhaps at first, but as soon as tragedy struck, the sheep took the blame. It was deemed bad luck, a curse, and passed on to the next unfortunate person.
The realization that it has nothing but its life to lose leaves the sheep feeling hollow, empty like its existence. It starts thinking it would be no loss. No one would mourn it, and it would leave nothing behind.
Maybe it can make peace with its fate, after all. Maybe it can take some solace in knowing its death will save lives.
The tears rolling down its cheeks, dripping into its dark fur, suggest otherwise.
The sheep gasps, suddenly. After what feels like hours, it hears a rustling of leaves at the edge of the woods. Its eyes dart to the left and watch where the noise originated, and sure enough, outside the fence, branches can be seen moving as if being pushed back. The snapping of twigs under heavy feet crackles through the night air like those in a blazing campfire.
Lips quivering, the sheep tries to hide its cries behind the handkerchief. Hoping, stupidly, that if it's quiet enough, maybe it won't be noticed in the dark.
The branches still, and a dark shadow emerges from the trees, backlit by the dim moonlight. The outline of it is intimidating and the shape distinctly wolf. The shine of a predator's eyes gleams from beyond the fence, and the sheep's heart drops. They are locked in on it, staring intently at the vulnerable sheep.
The wolf breaks eye contact to climb over the fence. Its claws gash into the old wood, leaving deep marks. Before it can touch down on the other side, the sheep does the only thing it can think to do.
In order to try and save its own life, it has to save the wolf, too.
Using its tongue, the sheep maneuvers the cloth in its mouth to a sharp tooth. It makes quick work of ripping through the flimsy fabric and spits the thing out onto the ground below.
"Wait!" The shout rings out, and the wolf jolts to a stop. It sits atop the fence, feet braced on the lower rails.
It glances up at the sheep before flicking its eyes towards the opening in the barn. A dark ear twitches, and the wolf frowns, faint in the shadows.
"You know he's there, right?" The sheep calls out, "The farmer is waiting in the barn. He means to kill you." It watches the wolf with desperate eyes, heart racing as it begs for both of their lives. "Turn around! Just leave! He'll have us both dead! Me by your hands and you by his gun!"
But its cries are ignored. The wolf turns its attention back to the sheep, expression unreadable in the dim light. Without hesitation, it leaps off the fence, landing softly on green grass.
It crosses the field with an air of confidence that terrifies the sheep all the more. The wolf doesn't show a bit of fear, despite knowing its own life is in danger. Its eyes stay steady on the sheep as it strides surely towards it, steps made near inaudible by the worn sandals on its feet; somehow still, each step roars in the sheep's ears.
"Please," the sheep's voice shakes with its violent trembling, "just leave, and we can both live." It stifles a sob when the wolf stands before it, a mimicry of the farmer's previous stance. The beast stares, dark eyes studying the terrified creature.
Slowly, it crouches down, resting on its haunches. Face to face, the sheep can make out more details in the moonlight. The wolf's stature is shorter yet bulky; it wears only its sandals, old shorts, and what appears to be a straw hat on its back hanging by a string. An "x" shaped scar on its chest, a smaller scar under one eye, full lips and a button nose— the wolf looks young.
Swallowing, the sheep can no longer find its voice, not that its pleas matter. The wolf is too close, and its mind apparently cannot be changed.
All the sheep can do is watch in horror as the wolf extends its claws. The beast braces itself, appearing as though it means to lunge at its prey, and the sheep cries. It cries for the life it led, the loss of what it could have been. It cries for itself.
It cries for the wolf.
How cruel it seems to kill a creature for simply following instincts. There must have been other solutions. The farmer could have secured his livestock better, improved the fence, something. Squeezing its eyes shut, the sheep's tears fall faster. Neither of them deserve such bitter ends, surely.
Sobbing hard, the sheep whimpers from the ropes burning into its skin. The strength of the restraints and pressure of its panicked breathing pain it terribly, and it's long lost the feeling in its feet and legs. The blood has rushed from its arms, leaving them tingling, numb. Not even the grass beneath it offers comfort. As the sheep counts its final breaths, not one thing softens its death.
Distantly, it notices the night quieting. The noise of the nocturnal wildlife is silenced by the presence of a predator, and the sheep thinks they must have an audience. While it struggles with every breath, the other creatures around them hold their own.
There's tension thick in the air, but the sheep doesn't dare open its eyes to see what the wolf is doing. It simply clenches its fists, knuckles whitening, and waits.
"Hold still."
The sheep's head jerks at the sudden voice, mouth ajar with a soundless gasp. Startled, its panic temporarily subsides, but it freezes. Head against the wooden post, stomach sucked in, it obeys the wolf's order, based solely on hoping to make its death quicker and less painful.
In the next instant, a rush of wind breezes against the sheep's damaged skin, a cool sensation that feels akin to relief. It inhales deeply, and nothing holds it back or creates new marks under its fur. It feels a loss of pressure and the slide of rough twine falling away.
The sheep struggles to believe the truth of it; the sound of ripping wasn't of its flesh but of something else entirely. Eyes snapping open, the sheep stares in awe. Instead of blood and gore, it's greeted by the sight of the wolf, still crouched before it, and in its hand, there lies shreds of rope. The threads unravel and break between the wolf's claws.
The sheep watches as the wolf tosses the ruined rope to the side. Its face is pure disgust as it sticks its tongue out at the thing, but when those dark eyes return to the sheep, they hold no sign of ill will or disdain. The animalistic eye shine is replaced by an understanding more human than any human the sheep has ever met.
Reaching up, the wolf carefully slices through the rope binding the sheep's wrists to the post. Its touch is gentle as it avoids pushing down too hard and potentially hurting the sheep.
"Don't you think it's unfair?" The wolf asks. It leans back and allows the sheep to drop its arms. The poor creature groans at the awful feeling of blood returning to the abused appendages, but it shakes its head.
Confusion is clear in the sheep's face. It doesn't understand that it's alive. Not just alive, it seems the wolf never intended to hurt it and is now asking bizarre questions. It's too much for the sheep's bewildered mind.
"I don't—" the sheep starts to say, but the wolf huffs. It flicks its eyes to the barn again, and shit, the sheep almost forgot about the farmer. "You—you got to go. He's gonna—"
"Shoot me. I know," says the wolf, nonchalant, flat even. It blinks and tilts its head. Eyes focusing back on the sheep, it continues, "They kill us so easily." A fluffy tail brushes the side of the sheep's leg. The subconscious twitching gives way to the wolf's apprehension.
Rising from its haunches, the wolf cautiously stands, and this time its figure doesn't loom over the sheep, doesn't send shivers down its spine. Bending slightly at the waist, the wolf holds out a hand. The sheep stares at it, takes in the carefully tucked away claws, soft tan skin, the warmth radiating, tempting it to grab hold and steal some for itself.
Blinking up, the sheep meets the wolf's eyes, and a dazzling smile breaks over the other's face, beaming wide and brilliant in the night. The sparkle in its dark eyes outshines the stars in the sky above it, glittery with mirth.
"If they're going to treat us like animals, then shouldn't we run free like them?" The wolf asks, stretching its fingers to widen their span, a clear coaxing for the sheep to grab on and run with it.
And the sheep reaches out. A sense of longing thrums in its chest. For reasons it can't name, the wolf's offer excites it. It dares to feel safe in the other's presence.
Too many times in life has the sheep mistakenly trusted others, the most recent being the farmer, yet the wolf, the thing it should fear the most, hasn't a bit of dishonesty in its words. Sincerity softens its eyes, genuine kindness in the curve of its lips. Where there should be threat, there is only promise.
A shaky hand hovers over the wolf's steady palm. The sheep's heart pounds as it finds the courage to take hold, but before it can, there's a distinct rustling sound from the barn behind them. The wolf's ears straighten up, tall in its black hair. Alarm wipes the grin from its face.
In a split second, the sheep gasps loudly at the echoing sound of a click. The wolf's body tenses and braces for pain, but instead, it gawks at the dark barn as no crack of a shot follows.
"God, fucking damn it!" The farmer hidden in the shadows swears loudly, unholy anger frightening in his furious yelling. "You gotta be fucking kidding me—"
There's another clicking sound and another, and the wolf laughs, almost hysterical with relief and a dark sense of humor. The sheep, however, is pale, eyes large and unbelieving as it listens to the farmer wrestle with his gun.
"It…jammed," the sheep mutters, still in shock.
"Yeah!" The wolf shouts joyously. It flashes its smile at the stunned sheep. Unable to wait any longer, it snatches the other's hand, jerking the sheep's attention back to it. Deftly intertwining their fingers, the wolf laughs again and says without any doubt, "How funny is that! You must be good luck!"
The sheep is roughly lifted to its feet. It allows itself to be pulled up, unable to argue even if it wanted to, as it plays the words on repeat in its head. Never once has it been associated with good luck. The wolf's words make its stomach flutter and legs turn to jelly.
Or perhaps the jelly legs are from being tied to a wooden post for so long. It stumbles into the wolf, and the other wraps an arm around the sheep's waist. It supports the sheep while it finds its footing, but as soon as it's steady, the wolf snickers.
Its amusement would seem unfit for the situation normally, but curiously enough, the sheep finds itself hiding a smile into the wolf's shoulder. The dark fur there tickles its nose.
"You ready?" The wolf asks, adjusting its hold on the sheep to fit it into the crook of its arm more comfortably, and the other nods. "Good! Let's go before he gets that thing unjammed."
The first step is wobbly, uncoordinated as the two learn to match each other's pace, but by time they've nearly crossed the field, they're dashing over the grass. The wind breezes through the sheep's curls, and the wolf's hands never once let it go. They make it to the fence, and even then, the wolf doesn't release the sheep. Instead, it helps the other climb the rickety old fence, watching dutifully that its feet do not get stuck or its fur caught.
As the sheep clears the top of the fence, the wolf keeps a hand on its back, providing it with a strong support. The wolf puts a foot on the bottom rail and starts to climb up after the other. It's right behind it when the sheep reaches the far side, feet landing softly on the grass there, and the wolf smiles wider at the way the sheep looks back at it and waits.
Just as the wolf crosses over the top rail, there's a thunderous crack that splits the night. Splinters fly, and the wolf jumps to the side. It loses its balance and clumsily falls over the side of the fence. The sheep looks horrified, unable to see whether or not the wolf was hit. It shouts, "Wolf!" and rushes to kneel beside the other.
There's a breathless laugh, and the wolf takes the sheep's hands, reassuring it with a small smile. "I'm okay! It just hit the fence."
Sighing deeply, the sheep helps the wolf scramble back to its feet. There's grass stuck in the wolf's fur, but it otherwise seems unharmed.
The two share a look, meaningful in mutual concern for the other, but then, another loud blast disturbs the night air. This time the bullet comes much closer. It grazes the top of the wolf's shoulder, clipping off bits of fur, but finds its resting place in the trunk of a tree.
"Shit," the wolf swears, "pretty good aim for shooting in the dark."
The sheep's face scrunches in disbelief. "Sure, let's just stand here and admire the asshole's skills and not fucking run for our lives."
The wolf belts a hearty laugh and comfortably settles its hand in the sheep's own. The fingers of its other hand thread through black fur as they return to their home wrapped around the sheep's waist. The extra support isn't really necessary anymore, but the sheep isn't about to complain about it. The wolf's hands are warm.
Another shot, and the sheep loses a few strands of hair off the top of its head. It instinctively ducks down, height a disadvantage by making it an obvious target. Abruptly, the wolf's laughter cuts off. A flurry of emotions cross its face before it ends with a frown, dark eyes narrowed in badly hidden fury.
It turns its head back towards the barn, and for a terrifying moment, the sheep thinks the other is about to go back after the farmer. Squeezing the hand in its, the sheep demands all of the wolf's attention back to it. Dark eyes cut sideways, searching the sheep's face, and whatever it finds there must calm it.
The wolf untenses its shoulders and hurriedly leads the sheep to the treeline, careful to keep the other's body in front of its own. The noble act of shielding the sheep is almost humorous with how much shorter the wolf is than it, but still, the attempt sends the sheep's stomach swooping with an unknown emotion. It leans back into the wolf's hold as they pass under the first leafy branch and into the woods.
Not quite yet safe with just a short distance into the forest, the wolf's ears twitch backwards, and the sheep hears it, too. The farmer's enraged voice is coming closer. His heavy boots are loud on the hard dirt ground, grass unable to mute the sounds, and not but moments after, there's a thud that can only be the farmer climbing over and landing outside the fence.
"Not good," the wolf mutters, and the sheep silently agrees. The farmer is actually following them into the woods. "I didn't think he'd go this far." The wolf frowns deeper, looking back and then ahead again as if judging distances. It tightens its grip on the sheep and flashes a grin at it. "How far do you think he'll chase us?"
"I don't know," the sheep answers honestly, words hushed and fearful. The wolf doesn't ask anything more. The ominous click of a gun can be heard not far behind them, so instead, it draws the sheep further into the woods.
The wolf's steps are quick, swiftly picking up to a rapid pace. Urgency compels it to run with the sheep in tow, and it leaps over fallen logs, slowing only to help the sheep climb them, and dodges sharp branches and briars, taking hits so the sheep doesn't if they cannot be missed. The two pick their way through the woods, and it doesn't take long for the sheep to notice.
The wolf moves with practiced ease. While there is no obvious path, the wolf clearly has followed this route many times. It reminds the sheep of the farmer's words, and it wonders the exact number of times the wolf has guided other animals down this same path, leading to the farmer's misinterpretation of their disappearances.
Time passes, and they've gotten far into the heart of the woods. The farmer's pursuit has long quieted, and the songs of the night life have picked back up, the chirping, croaking music deafening, unrestrained. The creatures unseen in the dark sing as the danger has passed.
"We should be okay now," the wolf suddenly says, startling the sheep from its thoughts. "But just in case, we still better hurry."
Its words are accented with small grunts, annoyed at having to climb another fallen tree, yet the wolf seems not a bit out of breath.
It has to let go of the sheep in order to climb over the large trunk, but as soon as the wolf's feet land on the forest floor, it turns and readily holds its hands out. The sheep wastes no time grabbing them and using the wolf's strength to heave itself up onto the tree.
Its legs dangle over the side, and it gracelessly slides over the rough bark to fall into the wolf's waiting arms.
Fistfuls of fur, tufts peeking from between the sheep's fingers, it clings to the wolf's upper arms. Blinking down and away in embarrassment, it pulls back, reluctantly freeing the wolf's tussled fur. Ignoring the ridiculous grin, wide and curved, showing off dangerous fangs, that breaks over the wolf's face like the morning sun over the horizon, the sheep steps away to create space between them.
But the wolf slips a hand down and clutches onto the sheep's. Their hands fit together well, given the size of the wolf's and slenderness of the sheep's, and now that they can relax a little, the sheep lets itself enjoy the feel of their clasped hands.
True to its word, the wolf is taking off again. It surprises the sheep, so the first couple steps are rough. But it quickly catches up to the wolf and takes its place beside the other. Looking over, the sheep analyzes the wolf's features. Not the shape of its face or finer details but the determination and confidence in its eyes, the shimmer of playfulness at the edges of its smile, contrasting the seriousness of the situation and the free nature of the wolf.
The sheep can't help but ask, curiosity getting the better of it, "Why are we still running? I don't think he's going to catch up." It huffs between words, winded from exertion unlike the unbothered wolf.
"Can't risk it." The other gently squeezes the sheep's hand, thumb absentmindedly brushing its knuckles. To the sheep, the wolf doesn't seem to register the soft actions, so it won't comment or reciprocate. Instead, it focuses on how the answer leaves it more lost than before.
The wolf must sense the other's confusion because it clarifies, "We try to stay hidden from humans, so I don't want any chance of him finding where we're going."
Brows furrow over tired golden eyes, and the sheep still doesn't understand. "But just where are we going?"
The wolf doesn't frown at the question, but it does twist its lips into a sort of pout. Now, it is the one appearing confused, and the sheep is a tad insulted. It's a simple, relevant question, so it doesn't understand why the wolf looks as though it asked something stupid.
Leading the sheep around some wild blackberry bushes, the wolf places itself between the other and their thorns; each repressed flinch aches the sheep's heart. Clearing the patch, hand in hand, they head deeper into the woods, and the wolf answers.
"Isn't it obvious? We're going home."