Howl

II.

He stumbles through the woods, clumsily attempting to maneuver his muscles back to life. The night air is brisk and he becomes acutely aware of just how flimsy his hospital gown is. He doesn't remember how he got here. He remembers a long stretch of nothing, and then a soft voice reading to him, and then, the cold around his legs and the dirt underneath his feet.

His brain is screaming to go back, go back the way he came, but something else, something deeper inside of him is willing him further into the forest. He's supposed to find something, of that much he's sure. But he has no idea what it is or where it is or why he needs to find it.

Walking hurts. Breathing hurts.

He hears a rustle and stops.

He can't see worth a damn and his vision is starting to blur. The rustling gets louder and louder and closer and closer and then it stops, and a wolf saunters out from the bushes. He stares at it, his muscles refuse to move.

It feels like hours or maybe days have passed. Then, the wolf snorts and walks around him deeper into the forest.

Against his better judgment, he follows it.

And the deeper he gets into the woods, the more inexplicably familiar it gets, and he remembers long brown hair and twinkling eyes and a rock in his face. He thinks he hears laughter, a playful voice taunting him, calling him charming. But his name isn't Charming, his name is-

He can't remember. He can't remember anything except for that voice.

He continues deeper into the forest. He's supposed to find something, or maybe someone.

A stray branch catches his wrist, scratching him, but he barely notices the pain or the blood.

He's getting closer, he can feel it. The trees break and he sees water, then a bridge.

The bridge!

(He remembers a soft voice: for it was here, in the shadow of the troll bridge, that their love was born.)

And he is here at the bridge, but there is nothing here, there is no one here, just him. He wonders if he did something wrong – maybe it's the wrong time (maybe it's the wrong place). He's out of ideas, he can't feel his feet, he's having trouble breathing.

He staggers over to the bridge and sinks to his knees.

And here, in the shadow of the troll bridge, he waits to be found by something, or maybe someone.

He closes his eyes. His last thought before the darkness claims him is of long brown hair and twinkling eyes and a soft voice.

The faint prick of a long-forgotten memory.

Somewhere in the night, a wolf howls.