"A Girl and Her Wolf"

Amaya Takeshi

January 2008

Two souls find each other by chance, and in each other the souls find everything they ever needed.

Standard disclaimers apply. Rating may change in the future.


Chapter 1. A Meeting in the Woods

The wagon rumbled down the frosted path, rocking side to side every time the wheels rolled over one of the many dips and bumps in the uneven road. Aside from the creaking of the axles and the groaning of the planks, the only other sounds that surrounded the travelers were the occasional snort of hot air from the horse that pulled them and the slightly muffled but steady clip-clop of its shoes on the densely packed snow path.

Still, the silence of the forest today was oppressive.

It was bitterly cold. Rolling, waist-high drifts blanketed the dreary landscape, and the skeletons of the trees bowed under their crowns of snow. The snow was exceptionally fluffy and deceptively inviting, unmarred by footprint or shovel. No one ventured out when the winter became like this… when the day was dying, the sky was the color of snow, and the snow was the color of ash.

The figure driving the horse was swaddled in coarse, woolen blankets, but still he stooped over from the cold. The lantern beside him was to provide light, not heat. His eyes were bright and gleaming, though, in the shadows under his hood. They darted left and right, left and right, as if waiting for certain danger to strike. He was a poor, uneducated, simple man, but his sixty years had taught him well to trust his instincts. There was something wrong, his old bones were sure of it. Something was about to happen.

"Father," a small, soft voice came from behind him, interrupting his frantic searching and causing him to jump a little. "Maybe we should turn around after all. That tavern we passed is not far behind us, if we turn around now we will be there in just a few minutes. Look, you can still see the lights flickering just beyond the trees there. Night is falling quickly, and it would be much better to spend it by the warmth of a fire."

"No, my daughter, I do not feel at ease in these woods, even if we were in a tavern. It would be better to be out of them as soon as possible. We will press on through the night, and by morning we will have arrived at the next town."

"All right, Father. Are you tired? I can take over the reins, if you want to rest a bit."

"Thank you, Relena, but you just stay insi—" his words trailed off as blood drained from his face, and a look of horror replaced it. At that same moment, the horse gave a high-pitched whinny of fear and the wagon lurched to an abrupt stop.

"What's wrong, Father?" Relena poked her head out of the wagon, and let out a gasp.

Just a short distance ahead, large, gray forms were slipping like silky shadows out from under the trees' tangled branches. Wolves. Relena began to tremble and her heartbeat began to race as she finally comprehended the situation. Their path forward was blocked by six of the powerful, intelligent predators. Their yellow eyes burned as they surveyed them, and their sharp teeth glinted in their panting grins. Their breaths came in puffs from mouths that were hot for fresh meat.

The old man picked up a staff and a knife that he had kept beside him. Turning his head slightly but without taking his eyes off of the threat ahead, he whispered urgently, "Relena, run! I'm going to cut the horse loose, and hopefully they'll go for him. When that happens, you must run back to that tavern!"

"But what about you?" she whispered, her fear almost taking her voice away.

"Never mind that! Go find help, Relena, do you understand?" Relena's mouth was dry, and she could only nod. "Run, my child!" With that he brought the knife down on the leather straps tying the horse to the wagon and leapt onto the ground in one motion, brandishing both knife and staff at the beasts.

Relena, too, had gotten out of the back of the wagon, and she turned back one last time to see the horse, now free from its ties, preparing to run, and her father, with feet planted firmly in the snowy ground, preparing to stand and fight. And she saw the wolves, grinning their mad grins, advancing with deliberate, confident steps. Suddenly, she locked eyes with a seventh wolf, a distance up the path, removed from the group and surveying them all. This wolf was not normal. It was not panting, nor did it make any move to approach them. Its coat was of a yellow so pale that it looked like a glowing white, and its sky blue eyes seemed to pierce her mind. It was as if all thought had left her, and she found that she would be content just to look into those icy blues eyes forever. If she could do that, she could forget what was happening, forget who she was, even forget to breathe, and she would be all right with it all… If only she could just… look….

"GO!" her father's yell jolted her from her hypnotization, and she realized that only two or three seconds had passed. And she spun around and took off running at full speed toward the tavern, as both her father and her instinct told her to, leaving behind her the desperate cries of their horse and the growls of the wolves.

*****

She crashed through the wooden door of the tavern and almost stumbled over the threshold. Luckily, she was able to catch herself so that she could remain on her shaky legs as she gulped for air.

Her violent entrance served quite well to catch the attention of every patron in the establishment. But while their attention was caught by her explosive entrance, it was held only by the fact that she was a young, slender girl, unescorted, face flushed with blood, waist-length blond hair loose, eyes wild with fear, pink lips parted and chest heaving as she drew ragged breaths.

She had not registered it as her eyes darted frantically about the room, from one patron to another, but every person in here was a man. And every pair of eyes was on her.

Too wound up with fear to even feel embarrassment, she immediately began to plead between pants. "Please! Somebody, please, help me! My father, wolves, up the path! I need help!"

Some people turned away, back to their drinks. They did not want to go up against the demon wolves that were said to prowl these areas. The ones who didn't turn their backs on her continued to gawk at her, their lecherous leering told her that they, too, cared nothing about her plight. No one in the tavern was willing to help her, or even to take her seriously. Tears of frustration started to come to her eyes. She had left her father out there with the wolves, and time was running out!

"Please, somebody! Anybody!"

A wicked chuckle of a deep, raspy voice from behind cut off her desperate pleading. "You sweet little thing, I'll help you!" and before she had time to turn around to face the person who spoke to her, she was overwhelmed by the strong stench of alcohol and stale sweat as two thick, hairy arms imprisoned her against a meaty body and a large hand callously groped her left breast.

Relena cried out from the pain of being squeezed. Fully panicking now, she began to kick and struggle with a strength that she did not know she had. She managed to wrench her right arm free and swing it back, catching her molester in the temple with her elbow. She heard him grunt in pain and then growl, but instead of loosening his hold on her as she had hoped, he gripped her even tighter, so that there was pain everywhere now, her ribs, her abdomen, and she could no longer breathe. Relena squeezed her eyes shut and a tiny whimper slipped out.

"Release her."

Relena opened her eyes again when she heard the cold, hard voice. There was a man standing in front of her now. She had not noticed him when she first burst into the place. He was tall, and long, black hair swept around his steely-blue eyes, which were narrowed dangerously at the half-drunken pig still holding onto her.

She felt him stiffen against her back at the command, and then she felt him begin to tremble, but whether from the tension of an anticipated fight or from fear she did not know. Suddenly, his arms were no longer around her body, and she was unceremoniously shoved forward toward the calm, mysterious man.

Expecting to meet the wooden floor in a jarring impact, Relena was surprised when steady arms caught her instead. She blinked and found herself face to face with a broad, flat, warm chest. Dazed, she lifted her face to look up at the man who caught her, and her eyes were met with those icy, expressionless eyes in an equally icy and expressionless face. Expressionless they may have been, but the intensity was still striking. He regarded her for one second, and then he righted her on her feet and firmly pushed her behind him. Then, his attention turned to the meaty man again, and he began to advance.

From behind, all Relena could see now was his shock of hair, which she saw, now that she was closer to him, was actually a very dark brown. Although his coat was thick, she could tell that he was well-muscled and powerful, and when he had his hands on her, she had felt it without a doubt. The strength in his muscles was not like the harshness of the large, dirty man, but had a controlled, calculated, almost machine-like power. And when he began to stride toward the man, she could see that everything in his stance, his steps, the set of his shoulders, projected absolute confidence.

As he closed in on him, the meaty man began to yell and curse, his eyes taking on the panicked look of cornered prey. Suddenly, he lunged his cumbersome body at the man with the intention of landing a punch to his face. With lightning reflexes, the confident man caught his fist in the air with a sharp smack of skin against skin. The next instant, the meaty man's eyes went wise in disbelief and his mouth dropped open in a silent grunt as he doubled over, winded from receiving a fist in the gut.

With a swing of the arm that still held his fist prisoner, the meaty, incapacitated man went flying to the side, knocking over two empty chairs and nearly toppling a table along the way. Then the dark-haired man turned back to Relena. "Take me to your father."

It was completely dark now. Even before he had reached the spot to see it with his own eyes, his senses told him that blood had been spilt. The heat of it was in the air, and the sound of teeth ripping flesh still weighed down the wind.

When they arrived, and the scene lay unveiled before them like some terrible work of art, the young girl beside him uttered a heart-breaking cry and ran to fling herself onto a man lying on a field of red snow. Her father.

He looked around for any signs of danger, but the wolves were no longer in the area. The snowscape was scarred by prints of padded and clawed paws, like pockmarks, and in one area, the marks of boots continually turning and pivoting. In his mind, he could see the man in the process of carving out those markings, trying to defend himself from attacks coming from every direction around him. To the side, there was a trail of indented snow leading into the woods. Something heavy was dragged to form it. Nearby, the wagon lay on its side like some kind of great, dead animal, nearly completely consumed by fire that started from a spilled lantern. Only by its light was the entire scene illuminated, while the heat it gave off felt unnatural and antagonistic in the snowy landscape. And everywhere there was blood. From the smell of it, he could tell that most of it was the old man's; and a great deal of it was a horse's. But a surprising amount of it was wolf blood. He looked to the two on the ground. Not far from where he had fallen, he saw the knife that was his main weapon, along with a staff that had been split in half by jaws with the strength to crush bone. Yes, the knife was still wet with wolf blood. He lifted one eyebrow slightly in grim astonishment. It was not easy to hurt the wolves that lived around here, he knew. The old man had earned his respect, but there was nothing to be done for him anymore. It was pretty much over.

He walked to stand above them, and just then he heard the girl tearfully saying, "Father, look. I brought help. This man came with me. We'll bring you back, and you'll get well again!" He got down on one knee on the other side of the dying man, who he now saw was nearly covered in blood. The tears in his clothes and the wounds on his arms, legs, and neck were clearly in the pattern of claws and teeth. With a great effort, the old man turned his head to look at him. Unexpectedly, his eyes widened at the sight of him, and his already shallow breathing sped up into a raspy grating.

"You… I know… I know what you are… You are… one of them…" The man was surprised and drew back almost imperceptibly. No one had ever said that to him before. How could this one know? Was this the delusion of a fading life talking? He looked deep into the dying eyes, and saw in its bright clarity the absolute lucidity of a man who was ready to leave the world. The absolute wisdom and omniscience. Likewise, the old man was staring deeply into his eyes. They were both measuring the other. His labored breathing calmed a little, as he continued to study him intently.

"But…"

Apparently, he was not finished.

"You… are different." Even with a broken body, his eyes seemed to nod at him in acknowledgement. "Yes…" he paused to swallow what must have been blood in his throat. "Take… care of… her…"

He found himself solemnly nodding the promise to the dying man, though he did not know why. Then the old man turned again to the girl, his daughter.

"Father!" she cried out with a sob. One of her hands were clenched in his own bloody ones, on his chest, and the other lovingly cupped his face. They both understood that they were saying goodbye. "Father, don't leave me, please!" Tears streamed freely down her cheeks.

"Relena… my daughter… I love you… so much…" He took one last shuddering breath. "Be… happy…"