It hadn't been much, just a shack with a leaking roof, but it had been her home before they burned it down. The acrid smell of it still stifles her nose, days after the event. She had only been able to escape with the clothes on her back and some money but the cloying smell still chokes her. That's why she has come to the tavern, the concoction of scents and the hubbub of people over stimulating her keen senses and helping her to ignore her present predicament.
The ale isn't doing too shabbily either, she thinks and sets her tanker down. She sits back with a sigh, one ear on the fiddle playing in the corner and a group of men talking with the other. When the music stops and the drink stops flowing they'll all have a place to go home to, a warm bed and maybe someone to greet them. She has none of those things and the alcohol does little to sooth the sting of bitterness. She had been living on her own, isolated and undisturbed for months until during the last full moon she had been spotted raiding a chicken coop and forced from her home by an angry, frightened mob. Since then she has been bouncing from one inn to another.
Only until I find a place to work, she thinks. Her grandmother would welcome her of course but Red does not want to bring any more misfortune on the woman. She had almost been forced from her own home but through her resolve and gumption she had made the mob turn back in shame, something that Red couldn't do if she tried. Snow would take her in but it would not be fair to disrupt her life. She needs sanctuary but one devoid of people.
They have every right to shun me, she thinks and tries not to focus on Peter or how he met his awful end. She had wanted to forget all of it, from her true nature to the carnage she had unwittingly route but backed away before making a deal. The families of the people she killed did not have the luxury of forgetting so nor did she. It is understandable, wanting to forget but for all her misdeeds she had never been a coward. As she drains the last of the ale the costumers begin to drift out, shouting out goodnight to the inn keeper. Red bites her lip, eyes on the men and fists the dress over her thigh.
If I was a woman during the full moon and a wolf for the rest of the time I wouldn't have to worry about where to sleep or finding employment. I could sleep under the stars with a pack. Finding a mate would be easier, especially at this time…
As winter grew colder and the snow fell more heavily with it came a new feeling. It had steadily overcome her, obliterating her sadness and anger at her homelessness and forcing her to dull the need with spirits. She was not green in knowledge of the things that happen between men and women and even though she had never shared more then a kiss she was not puzzled by the desire that the mid winter had kindled in her. It is a primal need, a push that she can not ignore. She had hoped, with the moon now waning, she would be free of these urges but they only seem to increase, driving her into these places with a mixture of shame, frustration and ravenous purpose. The part of her that is wolf wants a mate, full moon or no full moon. It is this need that has brought her here. She had heard talk, quiet and grim, of a man who shunned people and preferred the company of wolves. Red had no choice but to come, her curiosity almost outweighing her desires.
The fiddler, young and somewhat attractive, packs his instrument away and rises. Red stands automatically. Not as unsteady on her feet as she could be she follows him but something makes her come to a total standstill. The scent is distant but it is unmistakable, a mixture of wolf and man and fast approaching. Red moves back to her seat, her heart racing and her eyes fixed on the door. As the scent intensifies her mind races with possibilities and half formed hopes. She has never met someone like her, certainly never a man, and as his heartbeat engulfs her scenes she jerks up in her seat when the door creaks open with a flurry of snow.
A white wolf walks slowly up towards the bar followed by a hooded man who latches the door behind him. The remaining drinkers stiffen at the sight of the animal but Red gazes at both of them wonderingly. The man pushes down his hood when he reaches the bar and simply nods at the barman who nervously offers him a mug of beer. Red tilts her head, eyes roving over the man's handsome features and then quickly lowers her gaze when he sweeps a look past her. She can not discern if he is truly like her or not, the scents are too mixed. But there is a sense of wildness about him.
The wolf loops forward and then stops, his ears pricking up as he sniffs the air. The man, who from his attire must be a huntsman, approaches but sits at another table. But the wolf does not follow him; instead he lies down at her feet and will not comply with the huntsman's whistles to come to him. Red stiffens; aware that people are now looking at her. As much as the man and wolf intrigue her she can not draw unwanted attention to herself. She pulls her red hood over her head and walks to the door, ignoring the wolf that follows and sniffs at her skirts and the huntsman who watches her leave with a fixed stare. Snow flutters down but thankfully there is no wind and her tracks are covered within seconds. She had wanted to sleep at the inn but her instincts tell her to flee. She had seen people stare at her with bemusement but those looks can quickly turn into fear.
On her way here she had seen a dilapidated barn a few fields over. It wouldn't be as warm as the inn but she would have a roof over her head. She would move on in the morning. However when she steps inside the barn she realises she has had a wasted journey. Someone has already made small camp under the eaves and by the smell of the blankets it is obvious who. She hesitates, wanting to go but unable to move. He could be like her.
"I don't usually share."
Red inhales sharply and spins around. The huntsman and wolf are framed in the doorway and the man stares at her flatly, at odds with his rye tone. Red stares open mouthed at him. He had snuck up on her; she hadn't even sensed him following. Not many people could do that. She inhales again, his odd — wonderful! — scent everywhere.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here," she lies and ducks her head down as she passes him. As she reaches the door he brushes his hand against her arm and she stops.
"The snow is becoming a blizzard."
"I can find my way back," she says curtly, hand on the handle but she doesn't move, eyes pinned to his. She originally thought they were brown at first but sees they are a very dark blue. Unable to stop herself she leans closer, mouth a breath away from his and her nostrils flare. He does not back away and or even look confused. Oddly enough he looks sad.
"I'm not what you're looking for," he offers quietly.
"What?" Red jerks back, all at once hit with the truth. He is human, one more beast than man but still human. A deep ache sears inside. Disappointment.
"I know this is the season for your kind, I've seen it."
The kinship she felt is suddenly tainted and she feels on edge. He could be tricking her, leading her into a trap. "I don't know what you're taking about," she says, showing too much teeth. The huntsman nods slowly.
"I was raised by wolves, like you. I'm not a threat to you."
Red gazes at him, hardly breathing. She strains forward, wanting to believe him but she has been running from reveal for so long she fights the need to trust him. "If that is the truth then you know that wolves should be feared."
"And you know men are more terrible than wolves could ever dream of being. That's why you're here."
Red blinks, "What do you mean?"
"I hear things," he shrugs, "and I pay particular attention to tales of werewolves, especially ones in bright red cloaks. I can help you." He adds, not moving as he gazes at her intensely. Red feels herself tilting towards him again, drawn to him. She has been without hope for so long that to find it in such an unexpected place has unfettered her.
"How?"
"I know others like you, a pack. You could stay with them."
"I don't know you; I have no reason to trust you." But she already does.
He smiles gently, "I know but you can smell that I'm telling the truth."
Red nods and feels elation swelling through her, a happiness she hasn't felt in months. Swept away by relief and gratitude she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. It is a kiss of thankfulness, platonic but soon the needs that lead her to him rushes to the fore and she presses herself harder against him, mouth parting below his. He breaks away but does not push her off. He stares deeply into her eyes and there is no deception there, no fear or disgust but she is hit with shame.
"I'm sorry," she breathes, cheeks red, "I've never, I mean…"
"I understand, better than you know. What's your name?"
It is on the tip of her tongue: Red. But for some reason she tells him the truth. "Rose, my name is Rose Red."
He smiles and tugs at the red cloak covering her. "Rose…I'm Graham." His eyes gaze into hers and she feels taut as he brushes his lips against the corner of her mouth before pulling her towards the cold fire. Soon warmth spreads through the barn and shadows dance on the walls where two figures huddle and finally merge as the snow falls heavy and thick.