To anyone else, the night were just that; an ordinary clear night with the stars dancing in the sky above, like they always did. To the child running for their life in the woods, it was a nightmarish hell they had found themselves in. With their patched together boots sinking into the mud each step they took, their attempt at fleeing from the beast that hunted them were growing weaker and weaker by the minute. A small heart thudded endlessly in the child's chest, praying against all that someone would come save them. Their parents, a stranger, a knight in shining armour. Anyone would have done.
Varga had heard the child's cry for help, as she spent more time in the woods than anywhere else. Not to aid a village in the art of hunting but simply to avoid humans all together. What a child was doing this far out were beyond her, but she couldn't leave them to their fate. Something large and vicious were chasing them, a smell she recognised all too well. Only this one was coarser and more… wild than her own.
Her own werewolf curse had locked her into a different set of life than that of a normal werewolf's. Unlike them, she could control herself, except during the full moon's first silver rays. It was a dreadful time, spending each full moon, wondering what she'd wake up to next after her fit of frenzy. To the body of a woman? A child?
It was why she skulked out here too. To not endanger others. Opposite rather. The large village nearby had already started the rumours of the white werewolf that helped them. In turn, the rumours had continued and Varga's influence had reached several villages by now. Like a wolf, she travelled far for the simplest things, able to keep running for hours at an end.
Rumour's that attract the attention of witch hunters, that she had no choice but to defend herself against. Very few of them listened to her and her reasoning. Great many humans reacted with fear and disgust if they ever glimpsed her true form and she couldn't blame them.
This night, she had little choice. The child would have to endure the large wolf hybrid because it was the only thing that stood against them as they fell to the ground with the brown werewolf charging at them from the woods.
Varga leaped out first, right in front of the attacking werewolf; her paws placed carefully over the child, protecting them with her own body. At least the other werewolf went to an abrupt halt at the sudden sight of another werewolf, snarling in anger and surprise.
Thinking over her own options, she realised she didn't have many. Per usual. She was no witcher, who protected people from monsters. She was one herself and ending another's life with the same curse as herself felt wrong. But it wouldn't be the first time. The child would die if she didn't act… and sending the werewolf off somewhere else would just end up with someone else dying.
Sometimes she was lucky and the other beast made the choice for her by attacking first, like this one did. Lunging for her throat, the werewolf missed just barely, on top of that, almost stepping right onto the child. Screaming, the human cowered on the ground, as Varga grabbed the other's neck and threw it further off, allowing herself to step over the child.
With the space free, she continued forward at the same time as the other werewolf; both colliding with their front paws, claws ripping at each others' furs. The wild one's teeth found their mark over Varga's upper arm, biting down hard until Varga managed to slash her claws over its nose. Ripping hard, it pulled back with a painful howl before her other claws hit it across its chest.
Forcing the werewolf backwards, Varga continued to slash towards it until it was on its back in which she jumped forward and dug her teeth into its neck. In desperation, it gripped her shoulders; claws digging into flesh as it started to cough up blood from the pressure and wound in its throat. Ignoring the stinging pain, Varga pressed harder, until no more sound or struggle escaped the other werewolf.
Once she was certain life had escaped it, she dropped the body onto the ground with no further care and stood up on her hind legs, looking back at the child. They were still huddled up in the mud, staring wide eyed with their hands over their head.
Varga had been through this several times, never knowing their reaction, she approached slowly, with her paws out in a as non threatening display as she could pull off.
"Shh, it's alright now. I'm not going to hurt you." She spoke with some difficulty; hoarse sounding and stiff, as the anatomy of the werewolf made it difficult. The blood on her white fur surely wouldn't help her case here, as the child, a boy, stared at her terrified.
"You need to head back home at once. It's not safe out here."
"You… you're not gonna eat me?"
Varga couldn't stop the half smile that appeared in her face.
"No. I don't eat humans. I'm a nice werewolf, see?"
"Daddy says there are no nice werewolves."
Varga had no real answer to that, so far she had been the only werewolf who was in control it seemed. To say otherwise would be potentially hurting the child even more.
"We're rare," she replied shortly instead. "Most are like that one," she continued, pointing towards the dead werewolf. An unfair judgement but it'd do for now. "It's why you need to go home."
"I can't. I'm scared. I want daddy!"
The werewolf let out a low frustrated grunt, but as the child stood up himself, she gave him a puzzled look. There was no real fear right now, only a kind of shyness she couldn't place. A child's innocence and naivete didn't seem to falter much even after a chase such as the one he had just endured.
"You're nice," he said, looking up at her as he hugged himself. "You're like the village's dog! She barked at a bandit once and he ran so fast!"
The white werewolf tilted her head to the side with an amused look on her face.
"If you're with me… nothing will dare touch me!"
"You want me to walk you to the village?" The boy nodded but Varga looked uncertain still, glancing at the direction where she knew the nearest village was.
"You're a strange one. Very brave," she noted. "But I can only take you a bit of the way. I don't want to scare anyone." Landing back on all four, she reached just at the boy's head, trying to look less intimidating. He seemed delighted at the idea of safety at least, even if that came at a werewolf's company and while Varga questioned the boy's sanity, she figured it was better than leaving him alone out here. More things than just werewolves roamed out here.
They walked mostly in silence, only interrupted by the boy's stumbling. When he fell to the ground, Varga suggested he'd get up on her back and save himself the walk. It was obvious the child was tired and had gone through quite an ordeal. The suggestion was accepted and they continued through the darkness, an odd duo of a vicious beast and a human child.
Varga had no idea how much time had passed when they reached the edges of the village and thankfully no soul were found outside now either. The night had started to slowly leave way to morning and she wished to return to the woods quickly, before she were discovered.
White werewolf or not, most didn't trust her despite that.
"We're here," she said, letting the child slide off her back and onto the soft grass. "Go find your parents. Tell them what you wish, but I'm sure they'll want to know the other werewolf is dead."
She used the back of her paw to nudge the boy forward, though he didn't need much incentive to run into the village. Half way there, he stopped to offer a final wave to her.
Varga turned, when she felt something, something that made the hair on her neck prickle. A foul smell travelled through the air, along with the rustle of swords and a horse. A distinct combination of sounds that she had long learned to fear.
The glimmer of silver edged into her mind like tendrils and she crouched quickly to the ground; green eyes fixed on the direction of the sound.
There was no missing the white haired man that led his horse on the dirty paths between the buildings. Even so, the two swords on his back, one of silver, made it awfully clear what he was and Varga had no interest in becoming closer acquainted with a Witcher.
It was time to move to a new area. This one had become very unhealthy.
She turned fully, skulking back into the shadows of the trees, missing that the Witcher approached the house where the boy stood, wrapped in his parents' arms.
Stretching her back against the tree, the werewolf stared up at the full moon; silver rays reflecting in her green eyes. The object in the sky used to be a beautiful sight, a guide in the darkest nights. Then it became a nightmare, a message of death and chaos. The first year she learned to hate the light it threw on her body; twisting it into the body of a beast.
Now, at best, she felt apathetic. It was just a blob in the sky who told her when it was time to run and never stop. To satisfy the monster she was and was unable to kill herself. Varga could call her curse a great many things but it had one hell of a survival instinct; not only twisting her body but also her mind, to want to survive… despite the madness.
It had only been a day since she had rescued the little boy from the other werewolf and the forest had been silent since then. The second night of the full moon had only resulted in a dead deer from Varga's end; a death she could live with. A death that had allowed the injured tissue of her flesh to fully heal.
A flexible paw stretched to her throat, scratching the long fur that covered it when she suddenly froze; nostrils flaring and ears turning back towards the sound behind her. No longer was her stance relaxed; every muscle in her body had tensed up, as she slowly put her front paws onto the tree she was leaning against. Claws pressing into the firm bark, she drew a deep breath. She should have run further.
The scent of silver, steel and that dreaded oil had returned, closer this time and now she had very few options to act out. She should have figured the boy would have told his parents about the werewolf in the woods and the judging fools they were, they hadn't stopped to ponder the child's words. She hadn't done him anything, only saved his life.
Would nothing she did ever be good enough to these people? To give them a reason to not call one of the blasted witchers onto her back?
Varga leapt off the tree suddenly; turning mid air to land on her hind legs a good distance away. Hunched together with her claws and teeth bared, only heaving heavy breaths in tension.
Glimmering eyes from the shadows behind the tree watched her intently; the gleam of silver and fiery runes appearing to their left. The sword slowly drawn, as if savouring the moment because she rather doubted the witcher would be hesitant. She wasn't that vain to imagine she had given him pause just because she had noticed him before he could attack.
As he stepped out from the shadows and into the moonlight, her eyes narrowed as her already pretty clear suspicions were confirmed. The two swords, the white hair and yellow eyes… the heavily prepared gear. How he even moved that silently in it was beyond her but it hadn't been quietly enough and he had lost his element of surprise.
For a few long moments, only the wind between them made any noise, until he swung his sword in his hand. As quickly as an eye blinked, he had pushed his right foot forward and altered his sword to come towards her in a low, sharp cut.
She had been prepared; jumping backwards to avoid the swing but she never countered. Still debating the options in her head and they were a few. Fight the witcher and risk her life, or simply run. Run far enough to where he could no longer track her. If her lack of action had surprised him, he made no show of it and he attacked again, pushing her back towards another tree.
For some stupid reason - and Varga hated her damn meek nature - she decided not to fight him but rather just delay him so she could make a run for it. Before he could launch a third attack, she glanced upwards at the heavy oak tree she had been forced in under. The glance alone served him an opportunity as he changed his stance but before he could charge forward, let alone raise the sword again, she jumped upwards. Grabbing onto the nearest branch that could carry her weight, she used the speed from it to kick him hard in the chest with her feet.
The blow could very well have broken a rib or too, it depended entirely on his armour. The main thing was that he had fallen to the ground, a distance off and wouldn't get up on his feet easily again. That was enough for her to turn and bolt, taking the lunge to land on all fours on the ground.
The stinging pain in her lower back ceased all movement next, causing her to let out a furious growl as she spun mid run to see what had struck her. The pain was already turning worse, the fur and skin at the arrow sitting there sizzling enough to fill the air with a foul scent of burned flesh. Only silver could have that affect on her and she clenched her paws onto the ground, still moving backwards the best she could; away from the witcher.
Pushing up onto her hind legs, she allowed herself a quick look at the arrow, before pressing her fingers around it and tugging it out from her back, discarding it to the side in a loud huff. It was far from a lethal blow, but it hurt like hell, fuelling the rage building up.
"I have done nothing to you!" she roared suddenly, swinging her fisted right hand to the side in frustration. "Just as I haven't done any harm to the people in the village. Why do your kind keep on persecuting me when there's so much other out there hurting people!"
She pulled in a ragged breath, placing her hand onto her chest. The witcher was moving slowly towards her, the silver sword's runes gleaming and irritating her further. "You're certainly more talkative than the other werewolves I've encountered," he commented instead.
"My brain still works."
"For now. It's when it stops working that worries me."
She bared her teeth, knowing it didn't make her point any better, but like any human, fighting your body language when fuelled on emotions required training she didn't have.
"Even normal people can turn mad by rage or just… mad in the blink of an eye if things don't go their way. Why is my curse any different?"
He paused, eyeing her. Some long moments after he rested his sword in front of himself, lightly against the ground and his hands on its cross guard. "I wasn't sure I believed the rumours from the village. About a white lycanthrope who wasn't a mindless beast. You talk well and you move like more than just a beast."
Varga watched him intently, not sure he was bullshitting with her or not. She had seen werewolves that didn't move like beasts but acted like it all the time. Maiming and killing everything in their way. He sighed next, moving slowly to sheathe the sword across his back thought he had his every focus on her in case she decided to attack again.
"Morning's soon here. If yours is a regular curse you won't remember anything come morning. If you do…" he offered a light shrug. Varga merely snorted at that kind of argument, besides she knew she'd remember everything perfectly well.
"You shot me with a crossbow and now you're just going to what, stand there?"
"And you kicked me."
Pressing her lips together, she fumed loudly at that argument. "You'll be disappointed if you think I won't recall anything," she pointed out, making a slow walk towards the nearest tree to sit down under it. He had turned half ways to follow her with his eyes but said nothing. If he wanted to waste his time, Varga figured it was his wish to do so. As things looked now, she had no choice but to hope for the best anyway. Running wasn't possible with the silver lining her blood and even if she turned human, the wound itself would take days to heal, even with her faster regeneration.
OOC: I'm giving this type of writing/and ffnet a second chance, now that years later I might handle it and writing better. Might even continue a few old stories. And yes, this is a character I've used before, but as with most of my characters, they have alternate universes that I write in.