The clanging of metal bars and the screaming of a desperate soul woke the residents of Daggerhorn that night. Father Solomon's guards were crowded around a tall, painfully thin, young woman who appeared to be rattling the gate as though she were in a cage. She looked behind her, looked back and began shouting and crying again.
"I'm not the wolf! Please! Please! Please don't let it get me!" She sobbed, sinking to the ground. "Please." Valerie clutched her cloak tighter around herself. She grimaced, teetering between stepping forward and staying back. She was saved from her hesitation by Peter, who, cutting through the crowd as his axe cut through trees, stepped out and swung open one gate. the guards did not protest as they heard the menacing growls echoing behind her. She rushed in, skirts held in one hand, pendant around her throat in the other. She murmered prayers, to God or the devil, none knew. She wasted no time in closing and latching the gate expertly behind her, as though she'd done it often before. The guards stood, stock-still, as though unsure whether to run her through or offer her shelter. Peter reached out one hand to her and she drew back. Scared or wary, no one knew. He retreated back, closer to his positon in the crowd
She wore all white, with black gloves and a cloak the color of snow. Her long, ebony-black curls were pulled down, streaming from her hood like a waterfall. She glared defensively at them from under long lashes, and her fierce eyes were a glimmering green, like sunlight through leaves in summer. She panted, breath coming out in silver-sheer clouds.
"What is the meaning of this?" Spat Father Solomon, parting the crowd even more easily than Peter had. "Did I not instruct you to keep all from entering or leaving?" He reached out to grab the woman, but she drew back even farther and Peter stepped forward defensively.
"She isn't the wolf, if that's what you mean, Father." He said the last word as though he doubted it's accuracy. Like an axecutter deciding whether or not a tree was ready to be cut down.
"And? How do you know for sure?" Father Solomon sneered, his voice creaking like wind through a crevice. "The Wolf could be anyone."
"Yeah? Really? It was chasing her." Peter said as though Father Solomon was young child unable to define between a tree and a house.
"Maybe she just wants you to think that." And, unwaiting for Peter's response, which was sure to have another reason not to doubt the girl, Solomon stepped over to her. Unsheathing his sword, he raised it to the spot between her throat and her chin. He twisted it lightly, driving several drops of blood to the surface. "You, girl, tell me your name. I like to have a proper name for things. No she, or her." He pressed the tiniest bit harder, and the girl stepped back a bit. the blade followed.
"Elizabeth Kuchis." She said quietly, trembling. Solomon lowered his blade.
"Just in time, too." Whispered Henry into Valerie's ear. "Peter looked as though he wanted to murder Solomon." Valerie smiled, happy that the girl was in the clear for now. Just then, Peter stepped in, and to quell the crowd said, almost softly,
"She's lived here all her life." And turning to Solomon, "Besides, she works at the church, so it can't possibly be her." Solomon looked to Father August, who nodded.
"She's a good girl." he added, fidgeting. "And she has been there every full moon since she turned eight."
"Well how do you explain her absence over the last few days? Hm?" He shook his upturned sword at them, eyeing Peter angrily. "How did she get out?"
"Em, I walked out?" Tried Elizabeth annoyedly, "I left three days ago, and found you lot here when I came back. Do explain what you're doing here, stranger." She huffed, so different from the frightened girl a moment ago.
"Th-this is Father Solomon." Father August explained, "He has come to rid us of the Wolf." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
"Hmmm, brave or stupid? Which to choose?" She smiled sarcastically, hoisted her wicker basket higher on her arm, and stalked away through the snow drifts. Her hood had fallen back sometime during all this, and as she spun back around, her black curls drifted around her shoulders. "Oh, and er, thank you." She nodded to Peter. "On both accounts." He nodded back, half-smiling. Her mouth twisted up wryly, and she began to walk back to a wind-worn house on the end of the street.
~R~E~D~R~I~D~I~N~G~H~O~O~D~ Strictly speaking, not many people had ever known Elizabeth Kuchis' parent's that well. They had always been odd, and quiet, but very devout christians and good neighbors. Elizabeth however, was something else entirely. Sweet, sunny, and able to make friends with just about everyone, she had always been well-known. Then her parents had been taken. By the Wolf, a storm, a thief, none knew. All anyone knew was that the moment Elizabeth turned eight, she began working harder than ever at the church, stopped playing with most other children, and devoted much of her spare time to drawing and painting the world around her.
One day, Peter had found her painting a meadow by the creek, and somehow the two had formed an inseperable friendship. Later on, Valerie and Henry had met them, and the four became quite good friends. But after Valerie and Henry began to court, the pairs had been set forever. Valerie and Henry. Peter and Elizabeth.
A knock on her door signaled a return to some form of society for Elizabeth. No more sleeping up in trees. No more eating leaves to survive. No more running from wolves. She sighed and wiped her hands (which were covered in flour) on a rag before she answered the door. She swung it open, still holding the rag, expecting- well, anything but what she got.
What she got was Henry, Valerie, and half the village standing in front of her house.
"We figured you'd want some help, seeing as you're probably freezing an' all," Smiled Valerie. Elizabeth hugged her.
"D'you have a fire, by any chance?" Asked Roxanne, teeth chattering, "I wouldn't ask, it's just that we've been outside half the night is all." Elizabeth shooed them all in, started a fire, and soon had the women washing clothes and cooking food, the men going outside for more firewood, and several men attempting to flirt with her. She was getting to be unsure about whether she could budge any of them when a smooth, angry, voice saved her (grateful) arse, as she would say later.
"Liza." Peter smiled a VERY unfriendly smile at the other men crowded around her. She quickly took his hand and let him pull her away to dance to the music being improvised. "I was beginning to wonder if I would get you alone." He smirked into her ear.
"Me? Alone with you? Oh my. The indecency." She smirked back, and allowed him to dip her.
"Hm." Peter smirked wider and twirled her around. "Henry's grandmother doesn't seem to approve of your dancng partner." It was true. Madame Lazar kept wrinkling her face at Peter, as though willing him to be replaced by another suitor.
"Well, I don't care. She's not my mother." Elizabeth's eyes flashed with anger. "I make my own choices."
"Then make your choice. Run away with me when this is over. Run away with me now." Whispered Peter temptingly, pleadingly, almost kissing her. He pushed a small bundle into her hand before darting away into the crowd. Elizabeth's other suitors ganged up and asked her to dance in turn, but she refused them all, still staring at the door Peter disappeared through.
She unfolded the small, carefully wrapped knot of fabric and strings later. After everyone had left. Unraveling it layer-by-layer, she unfolded the last handkerchief to find a small metal pendant on a silvery chain. It was silver, well-made, and had a glittering, deep-red stone in it's center.
"Oh, Peter." She whispered. "If only I could."