Prompt from Helenluvsboo: werewolf!(and princess!, if you like)emma imprints on lonely!huntsman.

The sun was shining down through the trees and shimmering on to the creek surface. Emma was quite alone by the steam, and she stretched out in the sunshine. Most of the pack thought she was stupid coming out into the daylight when she wasn't in wolf form, when she could be captured by humans, but her parents understood. They'd both been born human, and their instinctive love of sunshine remained with them years after they sought shelter with the pack underground. She was the only born werewolf who loved the sun.

A stick cracked behind her and she whirled around, hand going straight for the knife in her make-shift belt. A wolf stalked out of an opening in the trees, and she stared around suspiciously. It was rare for a wolf to make such a loud noise. That much noise belonged to someone as heavy as a fully grown human. Quietly, she unsheathed the knife and twirled it in her hands.

"You might as well come out," she said dryly. "I know you're there."

A man stepped out of the woods, looking sheepish and embarrassed that he had been caught. His hair way curly and brown and scruff had grown on his chin. And, somewhere deep inside Emma, it was like a switch had been flicked.

When she was little, her mother had explained the process of imprinting to her. "You see them, and you just know," her mother had said, stroking her hair. "They're the only one you'll ever need, the only one you'll love. It's a quick way for a wolf to know they've found True Love."

"Is that what happened with you and Papa?" Emma had asked, her eyelids drooping as she drifted off to sleep.

"Yes, Emma. That's exactly what happened for Charming and I."

In the present, Emma was taken aback with the sudden flood of emotion that overtook her the moment she saw the man fully. He was beautiful. Amazing. Perfect.

'For gods' sake, I don't even know his name!' she thought, frustrated and annoyed at the strength and abruptness of imprinting. But as she looked at him, none of the doubts she'd ever had about the reality of imprinting sprung to the one. She just knew: he was it for her.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to sound brusque. Her voice was annoyingly soft, however, and she really didn't sound scary at all. 'Gods damn it,' she thought. 'Mam didn't fall to pieces after she fell in love. She still managed to smack him over the head with a rock.'

"I'm the Huntsman," he replied, and internally she melted at the sound of the voice. She mentally smacked herself. 'Get yourself together!'

"That's not a name," she said.

He shrugged. "It's the best I've got."

"Mid if I give you a name?" she said. "It's a bit hard to have a conversation with someone nameless." She placed her knife back in her belt and his eyes flashed to her face, surprised.

"Sure," he said finally. "But only if you'll give me yours."

"It's Emma," she said. "What do you think of Humbert?" He shook his head. "Jamie? Graham?" The Huntsman seemed to think about it for a few moments before nodding.

"Graham," he said. "It sounds best."

"Graham it is, then," she said. "It's nice to meet you, Graham."

"Emma!" called a voice from the woods on the other side of the stream. It was Quinn, and she looked over to Graham in fear.

"Go," she said quickly. "Run."

"What - ?"

"Run!" she snapped. "You're human, they'll kill you."

Graham turned and slipped into the woods. Emma took a deep breath, counted to three and turned back to the stream.

"Hey, Quinn!"

One thing about running with the pack is that everybody gets so caught up in the thrill of it that no one notices another slipping away.

It was a thing Emma used to her advantage that night, sliding away from the pack before they crossed the gorge. She had another several hours before they began to head back to the sunken castle, and she planned to use those hours well.

Emma arrived at the stream and immediately put her nose to the ground, sniffing away for Graham's scent. She found it quickly, and set off to follow it to its source. It led through the wood for several miles before she finally arrived at the hollowed out tree he had made camp in. He was sitting inside it, cross legged, and the wolf she had seen earlier was splayed out across the ground in front of him. And, to her utmost shock, Graham was speaking to the wolf in a series of low barks and whines.

"You speak wolf?" she said, best she could in wolf speak. It was hard to get some concepts across in wolf language, such as the idea of languages and dialects. But she thought she'd done a decent job. Graham looked up in surprise.

"Yes," he barked back. His eyes grew larger as she padded closer to him. She was a rather unusual wolf. Her wolf fur matched her human hair colour, as did her eyes. While that colouring wasn't completely impossible, it was surprising to see in this area of the Enchanted Forest. Not that he could see her eyes – it was too dark for that.

"How?"

"I was raised by them." The wolf looks at her and makes a gesture that roughly equates to a confirmation. She wonders what their connection were.

She stared at him, feeling her wolfy jaw drop open in an altogether too human act. He gave her an odd look, clearly wondering why there was a wolf whose instinctive reaction to surprising news is a dropped jaw.

"I am the girl from the creek," she said finally.

"You are a werewolf?" he asked. She nodded. "That is why you sent me away. Your kind hate humans."

"They do," she barked back. "Not me. My parents were human."

"Did you have to leave them when you were turned?" he asked.

"No, my parents were turned both turned before I was born. I was born a werewolf," she barked.

A wolf howls in the distance. It's her mother, and Emma growls in frustration. Of course her mother would notice that she was missing. "Farewell," she barked to Graham, and goes running off back into the woods, feeling the wind whistle through her fur.

Her mother bowled her over when she arrived, and licked her furiously. "Where have you been? Why do you smell of human?"

"Mam!"

"Emma! Why did you leave?" Emma could tell that her mother was panicked, and she knew that her mother would not be angry with her for imprinting on Graham, but the rest of the pack was lurking around and she couldn't tell them. But her mother knew her too well, and something must have shown in her eyes, because her mother barked suddenly, "You've imprinted, haven't you?"

"What?" snapped Anita. Anita was old now, her muzzle ringed with grey. "Imprinted on a human? Impossible."

"Snow imprinted on me before I was turned," barked Emma's father. "It's more than possible."

"He's not an ordinary human," added Emma hurriedly. "He was raised by wolves. He would not betray us."

Anita slumped. "Then you best bring us to meet him," she said. Emma looked at her, worried about what Anita would do, but her aunt Red came up next to her and nudged her.

"Do not worry," said Red. "The worst she'll do is turn him, like she did to Snow."

"Graham? Are you there? Graham!"

Emma saw the scruffy hunter crawl out of the tree at the sound of the voice. "Emma?" he asked, as the wolf came hurrying out of the trees.

"Come on," she said. "The pack wants to meet you."

"Should I be scared?" he asked, eyebrow quirking upwards.

"Probably," said Emma, and he laughed. With a sudden burst of courage, she closed the distance between them in a few steps taken at a run, and kissed him. It was better than she had imagined (no, not imagined, she most definitely had not been fantasizing about kissing him), but she came back to herself all too soon and pulled away.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand, and pulled him off to meet her pack.