Sometimes, the wolf was not there.
Sometimes it was gone, leaving no trace, like a ghost in the forest.
Absent from its domain.
But it was always unnaturally alone.
Romulus would check, just in case.
As a mercenary, he'd been hired to eliminate the creature as it had been supposedly slaughtering sheep and cattle. That was how this unusual ritual had started.
The climb was utter Hell.
Situated at the summit of an impressive hill, it was a journey that the Roman despised making.
But the view was magnificent.
Once the ground leveled out at the top and one could stand to look about himself, it was breathtaking.
Dark green needles of mighty pine (he'd never seen such trees while in the empire!) not yet layered with a dusting of snow hovered motionless, weightlessly in the morning mist. The low dip of the valley rolled before the lofty haven, green hills stretching on until they met the glittering surface of the Rhine, snaking along the land in the distance lazily.
This view was not the one he came to see.
The wolf was here today.
Watching.
Per usual.
Romulus shifted his weight as the grass, still moist with morning dew, tickled his calve. He kneeled in the dirt, some fifty yards away from the beast, holding his breath as it emerged.
A pair of glowing green orbs regarded him unblinkingly from within the entrance of the cave, the rest of the carnivore concealed according to the shadows therein.
The animal shifted, and a large black nose broke free of the inky darkness, followed by a pure white muzzle. Next came a handsome head. Those green eyes reflected in the feeble morning light were now a light shade of azure. The rest of the beast emerged soon after, pausing at the mouth of the cave. One massive paw after the other and the wolf padded silently towards the Roman.
Romulus' heart leapt into his throat in excitement and fear.
He was sorely disappointed when the predator stopped at the edge of stone and sat back on its haunches, as it always did. It merely observed him, proud tail wrapped around its flank twitching every so often.
King of his domain. King? No, a God. This was its territory. This creature and this creature alone ruled here.
Too arrogant to eat the meat Romulus always left for it. The haughty, proud thing would let good flesh rot.
Romulus crept closer slowly.
He did not try to mask his presence; the wolf already knew he was there, as it had the first day.
The godlike being before him inhaled through its nose and raised its muzzle boldly, daring him to come closer, white clouds visible in the frigid air as it exhaled.
The brunette did not disappoint the strange creature as he soundlessly pushed through the foliage. Forty yards. Pause. Thirty yards. Pause. Twenty yards. A deep growl.
The Roman froze and looked up in surprise. It had never made a sound before.
The animal's lip had curled, displaying sharp ivory teeth that contrasted with the wolf's black gums. The brute's eyes had narrowed and its hackles had raised. White ears pressed against its skull tightly.
After a few minutes of muscle-locked stillness, Romulus whispered breathlessly, "What is it like to be a god trapped in the body of a beautiful beast?"
The creature's ears flickered and swiveled towards him, as if considering the question and try to decide whether or not to deign him with an answer.
He liked to think the animal understood him.
Sapient eyes blinked back at him in some mute language the Roman could not comprehend.
Romulus took another step forward.
The muscles in the wolf's back legs tensed before relaxing. It adjusted to the new distance slowly, begrudgingly.
He crept along, captivated.
Ten feet now.
Seven.
The wolf sat calmly, never taking its eyes off the foolish human.
And then it happened.
He stepped into the wolf's domain. The dauntless God.
Romulus crossed that line, that forbidden Rubicon.
He'd broken that silent agreement, the unspoken law:
The savage will not be tamed.
A flash of white and the wolf was on him, sharp black claws digging into his stomach and piercing holes through the fabric of his tunic.
A numbing pain in his left shoulder as he hit the ground.
Teeth lodged deep in his flesh quivered as the beast above him snarled. The needlelike pressure in his shoulder disappeared for a moment, only to reappear in a different place.
The teeth returned, this time sinking into his neck.
With shaking hands, the Roman groped blindly for the dagger at his waist, nearly cutting his own palm in his clumsy haste to wield the weapon.
Powerful jaws tightened on his throat and constricted his breathing. Black spots danced across his vision, blotting out snippets of white fur.
The wolf jerked its head to the side with another feral growl and Romulus choked in pain as his skin was torn with the movement.
His hand clenched the dagger until his knuckles turned white and he plunged the blade into the beast's chest, meeting some resistance once the steel shattered a rib.
The wolf let out a wretched, piteous cry and thrust its snout into the flesh it held unyieldingly between clenched teeth and shook its head violently. Romulus twisted the dagger within the savage, pushing the blade into the flesh until hilt met fur.
It was finally the wolf who broke away, retreating a safe distance from the Roman. The dagger fixed into its chest dripped with blood and stained its fine silky coat a deep crimson. Its flanks heaved in an exhausted, shuddering breath. The once pure white muzzle was now mottled in carmine liquid, tainted with the corrosive blood of the man.
It licked its lips.
Romulus could taste blood too, the very same as the creature before him perceived on the tip of its tongue.
The red flowed from his wounds uncurbed and he watched dumbly as his very essence soaked into the ground beneath him.
Blood.
His own. Now he was choking on it, gagging on the unpleasant flavor of salty iron. Drowning.
Air.
He needed air.
He coughed, spitting more scarlet spray against the rocks, red saliva dripping from parted lips as he inhaled desperately, drowning lungs screaming for air.
He did not have the strength to sit up. Romulus' head felt light; airy.
I'm dying.
The sudden realization filled him with dread that was soon replaced with acceptance and approbation, even.
If it was destined to be, set by the fates that he should die in this way, why fight it? It was inevitable in the end, anyway, wasn't it?
He'd rather die now than to become old and weak, to die of sickness.
Die while doing something noble; worth praise. He knew that no one would know of what he'd done, battled with the mighty white wolf, and no one would pass down stories of his feat. It was ludicrous that he should believe otherwise. However...
He would know.
The gods would know.
The wolf would know.
A movement a little to his left and weakly, he turned his head, awaiting the wolf to finish him.
But the wolf was loping away slowly, a sluggish gait hindering its speed. Its legs shook and it stopped mid-step before collapsing on its side. The only indication that the animal was still alive were the barely visible rise and fall of its chest and white cloud fogging around its nose as it breathed.
Romulus smiled, despite himself.
He'd freed this god, this beautiful creature from the form that had no doubt held it prisoner for a short millennium.
That was something worth dying for.
He faced the sky, valetudinarian rays of light creeping amongst the treetops.
The stars were still visible in the heavens, constellations staring back down at him.
His eyes closed and did not reopen.