AN: I apologise for this one being short. It was written late at night and in a bit of a rush.
Arthur couldn't quite recall how many times the village elders had asked him to repeat his story of what had happened in the belly of the wood, but he was getting to the point where he wished his tongue would tire and fall out of his mouth. The elders were concerned over the manlike vision that the wolf had taken, but also baffled over the fact it had seemingly shown mercy to the young man. It took a night of long discussions before Arthur was congratulated on being alive and sent on his way.
He found little comfort in his own bed. As safe and secure he felt, his thoughts were scattered. Something about that wolf had spoken to him and just came across as too strange, the wolf's gaze had been too human for even Arthur to ignore. Still, he found himself milling in the village market the next day, gazing at apples while his thoughts were still stumbling through the wood. Many men had their lives taken from them by the wolves, so why had he been any different? Why had his life been spared?
Panicked voices and shouting gained his attention, peering curiously towards the gathering crowd. He couldn't help the swell of interest bubbling in his stomach as he made his way through the mob of people to investigate the commotion.
Dangling between two of the village's strongest hung a young man, half naked and clutching the two for dear life. Arthur stretched as best he could to see through the crowd, spotting a mop of honey blonde hair that was stained from a mixture of blood and mud. Horrified mumbling broke out in the crowd as they drew near and it became obvious just how wounded the young man was.
It was quickly apparent that it had been the work of the wolves, not a soul in the village could mistake those trademark pattern of claws that littered the space of sun kissed skin. The young man's arm looked almost mangled, his shoulders and back laced with deep oozing wounds. But it was the long claw marks that stretched across the man's face that stood out the most to the onlookers.
There were shouts for Arthur's mother, the village doctor, to come and see to the stranger. Although the man was not a member of their community, an enemy of the wolves was a friend of theirs, and thus treated with respect and dignity. Arthur pushed his way through the crowd a little, wishing to make some use of himself rather than remaining 'the boy who lived' as it were. He could have sworn he saw the young man's nose twitch as he got closer. And as those eyes lifted to connect with his, Arthur stopped dead in his tracks as it was as if the air had been punched out of him.
A young man with the eyes of a wolf. A young man with those blue moon eyes. A young man giving him a very slight smile across a crowd as if they were old friends.
Arthur had never felt more sick in his life.