"He did what!?"
"Be still, idiot," Jean-Gabriel hissed a beleaguered sigh. "You're still injured and need to heal." Zack could still smell Ray's scent, and he was fairly sure it wasn't just from his bandages. Jean-Gabriel had had contact with her, too; there was another unfamiliar scent faintly underneath that, too, but Zack couldn't make it out. If possible, the fact that Jean-Gabriel had been close enough to get Ray's scent on him agitated Zack even more. The blond wolf pushed back against his patient's chest, pressing him into the coverings of the bed. The two of them were alone in the infirmary, but that didn't excuse the loudness.
It was mid-morning now and the grounds were busy with their normal goings-on. Zack could tell there was a bit of excitement surrounding their arrival, but the knowledge that Gray had interrogated Ray informed him what exactly that excitement was about. If she wasn't in the room with him, and Jean-Gabriel was refusing to say where she was, that could only mean one thing.
Gray had found her untrustworthy and disposed of her.
Zack knew this was something that happened from time to time. When he had stayed here before, he'd argued against housing any humans whatsoever; as far as Zack had been concerned, humans were inherently untrustworthy and should never be allowed in their camp full of orphaned wolves.
Gray was different, though. He wanted to help as many as he could, regardless of whether they were human or wolf. His residents were all male wolves; some were orphaned in territory disputes, some sent away because they weren't chosen to be their pack's heir. Some, like Zack, were even orphaned by their mothers when they started a new family.
Any humans that stopped by, however, were usually injured since Jean-Gabriel attended the medical needs of the townsfolk as well. But if the travelers smelled strange or set off Gray's nearly-supernatural sense of judgement and gave him a reason to suspect them, he would catch them alone and interrogate them. Most of them were fine and were allowed to stay. The ones who were sent away, though….
Zack had never known Gray's judgment to be false before. Whatever Ray had told him, he'd deemed it bad enough to separate them and send her on her way. It didn't exactly surprise him, even with this roundabout way of learning there was something bad or wrong about her. The girl was truly odd in how she reacted to things and the way she'd begged for death belied a guilty conscience. On the other hand, though, Zack didn't exactly care anymore.
Whatever sin she'd committed, he was fairly sure that it didn't quite measure up to him killing and eating humans with his bare hands. Furthermore, it aggravated him to know that the choice to stay with her had been denied to him. Whether he was going to form a bond with her or whether he already had, that was his problem, not Gray's.
They were just here for directions, not life advice.
Zack looked over to see the blond wolf at his bedside swishing his tail and giving him a disapproving look. He snorted, laying his ears flat against his head. His tunic and cloak had been removed and laid across a nearby chair. His chest was bandaged as it had been, but with fresh, clean wrappings, along with a line of stitches where the deer had gored him the night before. Jean-Gabriel had been the one to sew him.
"Look, if you're gonna say somethin', say it," Zack barked.
"I'm not saying anything," Jean-Gabriel replied curtly. "But if I remember correctly, didn't you leave here because…" Zack felt his cheeks flush and his hair stand on end. Of course this smart ass would bring that up.
"Shut your mouth, asshole!" he yelled, eyes flashing. "Ray is different! She's not like the other shitty humans!" Ugh, he sounded pathetic, like a lovesick idiot. Jean-Gabriel smirked ever-so-subtly, just plain enough that Zack caught it.
"Of course not." Were it anyone else, Zack wouldn't have batted an eye at the tone. But because he knew Jean-Gabriel, his teeth were set on edge. It was like he was mocking him. Whereas before Zack had been hesitant to commit himself to feeling any one distinct way about Ray, Jean-Gabriel made him want to elope with her right that moment. The way he was feeling this morning, he'd even be tempted to find Jean-Gabriel's bed and use that to consummate their relationship.
As though he could tell what Zack was thinking, the harried medic sighed again and cast him a longsuffering look.
"Look, Brother Isaac," he huffed, straightening his back. "You have taken no vows and I don't want to tell you how to conduct yourself. What I will tell you is to be careful of yourself. Father Gray never sends anyone away without a very good reason." His reasonableness frustrated Zack even more.
"He should've asked me first," Zack grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ray is my responsibility. I'd've kept an eye on her." The gore wound still ached, as well as his injuries from the Masons and from Cathy, as if to remind him exactly why he had gotten those wounds. He hadn't been great about being responsible for her thus far.
"From your sickbed, I suppose," Jean-Gabriel peered out between his sandy blond curls, his blue eyes assessing Zack coolly. It got his hackles up again, but he shoved it down.
"When will I be fit to travel again?" Zack asked pointedly. The blond gave him a disinterested look.
"Are you going after her?" Plain, simple, and to the point. Zack wasn't exactly difficult to read.
"Of course I am! Are you stupid?!" Now the blond looked disappointed.
"Brother Isaac, be serious for a moment here," he said softly, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward to place his hands on his knees. "Have you actually bonded with this girl?" Zack's eyes widened; he very nearly snapped at the other wolf with a curt response, but he stopped short. Instead, he released his frustrations in a torrent.
"Look, I don't-" he began, dropping his voice. "I don't know, alright!? I don't know! I don't actually know what 'bonding' really is or how I'm supposed to know if I've done it! I thought I didn't want to bond with anyone, but I like being with Ray! I wanna keep traveling with her and I want her to stay in my new territory when I get one!" The blond raised an eyebrow, his expression halfway between pity and mockery.
"Well, it's not like I've ever bonded with anyone," Jean-Gabriel replied succinctly, perhaps with a dusting of pink across his nose. "Or any of us, really. It's probably not as bad as you think it is, anyway, or we'd have a lot more dead wolves on our hands. But if this girl was dangerous enough for Father Gray to remove her, you might give a thought to finding a different one."
"I agree."
The two looked up to see Father Gray enter the sick room from the open corridor outside. The old wolf had his hands in his long, brown sleeves, a placid look on his face. The very early winter light fell over his flint gray hair, giving it the faintest silver sparkle, lending him the slight appearance of a ghost. Those milky eyes seemed to wander over to Zack and stare right through him. It made him grit his teeth and nearly growl.
"You old dog!" Zack huffed, his temper rising. "She's not a pair of shoes, I can't just 'find another one'! Where did you put her!?" Jean-Gabriel sighed but Gray's expression barely changed. The tips of his ears flicked, though, signaling that he was somewhat displeased with Zack's attitude.
"At least greet me before calling me names," Gray scolded, pulling a plain chair to the bedside. "No harm has come to her, but I'm afraid I must insist that she is not welcome here." Zack could barely fight the growl that rose in his chest.
"As soon as I get out of this bed, I'm going to get her," he warned, his frustration barely disguised.
"You'll stay in that damn bed or I'll knock you out," Jean-Gabriel warned.
"Language, brother." The blond wolf grumbled and flattened his ears, but said nothing else. "You'll need at least a week to heal, and she will very well have moved on by that time." It sounded as though this had all been planned out without him, leaving Zack to watch helplessly as the ground was yanked out from underneath him.
Worse still, the prospect of never seeing Ray again settled a chill in his chest. His reluctance to be apart from her and the way it sent his stomach roiling wasn't normal. He'd never needed anybody to be around him before; he'd never looked forward to seeing someone again when they were away from him before, either. There was a sharp fear that he might lose her, but the worse fear was that she might want to be rid of him; she might not wait for him to come find her at all.
He dismissed that within a second. If Ray had wanted rid of him, she'd have slipped away earlier. She would have been satisfied with being allowed a fire and wouldn't have insisted on sharing his bed every night. She would have simply stayed in the Mason's house and let them have their way.
"Bullshit!" Zack finally exclaimed. "I don't care what kinda confession she gave you – Ray wouldn't leave me!" Gray raised an eyebrow curiously.
"Language, please," he replied calmly, his tranquility making Zack angrier. "In any case, if it has improved your disposition towards humans, I cannot say I'm completely disappointed." Zack wanted to snarl in frustration, but the pain in his side stopped him. With a hiss, he clutched at his wound and leaned forward into his sheets.
"'Improved my disposition' my ass," he snarled. "I'd still just as soon piss on 'em as look at 'em." The old wolf looked at him then, the age showing in his features, before shaking his head. With a sigh, he touched his forehead as though he felt a headache coming on. Zack wouldn't be surprised if it was brought on by too much incense.
"Language, Isaac," the older wolf replied, "Even so, what was it you came here for? The territory you found has become barren?" Zack relaxed a bit, glad for the change of subject. He could find Ray later on by her scent, maybe even later today if he could sneak out unassisted. But this was what they'd traveled here for, after all. Once he had his directions, he'd be gladly rid of this place again.
"Yeah," he grunted reluctantly. "Some disease or somethin'. Wiped the whole town out except for Ray. So we came here. But everywhere we've been has been just as dead." The old one nodded his head in understanding.
"That pestilence came from the other side of this pass and from the coasts," he responded gravely. "It affects man and wolf alike, laying them low with black pustules until they rattle their last breath. Even the Papal Estates at Avignon have been affected, although I've heard the Pontificate has yet to fall ill himself." Zack nodded; that was what he'd seen in Tanay.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "Ray had it, too. But she lived." Both Gray and Jean-Gabriel stared openly at Zack then.
"What?"
"You nursed her back to health?" Jean-Gabriel asked incredulously. Something about the other wolves' disbelief was insulting.
"Not… Not like that!" he protested, face flushing behind his bandages. "She was up an' runnin' when I caught her! Wait… you don't think I could!" Jean-Gabriel cast him a cool look while Gray coughed into his sleeve.
"No."
"When you caught her?" Gray changed the subject handily, causing Zack's teeth to clench.
"If you made her confess, you already know what I was doin'," Zack grunted dismissively. It didn't cause Gray's icy look to soften any, though.
"Isaac."
"Fiiiine," he bayed like a pup with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I was gonna eat her but she smelled too gross! And there was no one left to eat and like hell am I gonna spend all winter eatin' squirrels and shit!" Both wolves sighed and shook their heads, exchanging a frustrated look.
"Language," Gray reminded him before continuing. "I'm not judging you, Isaac, but you know I disapprove." He was definitely judging Zack, but he wasn't going to press the point. Jean-Gabriel seemed slightly disgusted, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a comment.
"So you got gored hunting a buck to feed her rather than eat her yourself," he stifled a smug chuckle. Zack growled quietly.
"Shut it—oww!"
Even as he strained to yell at the older brother, his stitches hurt. Gray sighed again and pulled a small bottle from his sleeves.
"Settle down and rest, Isaac," the older wolf intoned. He rose and moved to Zack's bedside, setting the bottle on the table beside him. He looked suspiciously up at the elder.
"What's that?" Zack asked warily. The bottle was square and clear, but whatever was inside of it was dark and viscous, almost oily. It was certainly ominous. When he looked up at Gray, the older wolf beheld him with a look of pity.
"Medicine," he said gravely. "I mixed it for you myself. If you find yourself ill because of that girl, you can take that." Zack stared at the bottle suspiciously as though it was poison.
"You mean bond-sickness," Zack replied seriously. Then, finally seeing an opportunity to ask someone who'd know, he pressed on. "So you think I am bonded to her." Gray turned away, folding his arms behind his back.
"It's not an accurate business," the old wolf stated. "But I'm fairly confident from your reactions that you have at least started to bond with her. I'll leave that medicine with you, in case you begin to feel ill from her absence. It should sedate you long enough to help you break your bond harmlessly."
Zack stared angrily at the bottle as Gray and Jean-Gabriel took their leave, the light from the fireplace glinting off of it. Although he had couched it in terms of mercy and illness, it was clear what the 'medicine' was actually for. It was meant to break his bond with Ray, whether he felt ill or not.
If he drank what was in that bottle, it wasn't like he'd forget her. He was fairly sure he would remember her and everything about her. But her smell would no longer affect him. He'd no longer feel the urge to hold her at night or when they were riding that horse. He wouldn't need to bury his nose in her hair or her hood anymore. And if he couldn't find her after all, that medicine would likely keep him alive.
Just a week ago he would've taken it without hesitation. But now, faced with an actual, permanent solution to his problem, Zack wasn't entirely sure his resolve was that strong anymore.
The sound of humming brought Rachel back to herself. She was flat on her back, covered to her chin with her quilt from home, on a soft featherbed. Looking blearily up at the wooden ceiling, she traced the grain of the planks, stopping to note the orange quality of the patch of light stretched across her field of view. Was it already afternoon?
As she lay there, Rachel was overcome by the vague feeling of sadness. Something was missing and at first she couldn't quite place what it might be. As her memories of the past day clicked into place, she began to slowly realize that her sadness wasn't vague or strange at all.
Zack wasn't there.
Something pricked at the corners of Rachel's eyes, gathering as a hot, stinging feeling in the back of her sinuses. Before she knew what was happening, trails of wet tears streaked down the sides of her face. Rachel hadn't cried in years, not even when she was hurt or scared. She brought an arm up to cover her eyes as she cried, a soft sob escaping her throat against her will.
"Oh, shh, shh!" came a feminine voice and a bustle of skirts. "Here, here, no crying now! A pretty girl like you has no need of tears." Rachel sniffled and tried, but the tears just wouldn't stop. All of the stress from the past nearly three weeks, all of the pain, all of the worry from being separated from Zack came flooding out in a torrent of tears. Before she could register what was happening, she found herself being pulled to a sitting position and pressed against the woman's chest.
"What was that old mutt thinking?" the woman muttered to herself as she smoothed Rachel's hair against her head. "Tossing a young girl out to fend for herself! He oughta be ashamed!" Rachel couldn't stop the flood of tears that poured out just then. This woman could be as bad as Mrs. Mason or even her own mother, but Rachel didn't care at the moment; if she was willing to hold her while she cried, she would trust her for just a little while.
And that's what she did. She cried until the sobbing stopped and her surroundings began to come more into focus. She seemed to be in a lightly furnished room with a small pot-bellied stove, a dresser, a table and a chair. As the fog of confusion cleared from her mind, she realized she was probably in an inn of some sort.
"I'm sorry," she finally murmured to the older woman through her tears. "I just…" She knew Zack would scold her for apologizing over nothing again, and that prompted another wave of tears.
"There, there," the hand on her back patted and stroked her as the woman spoke. "I don't mind. If you need to cry, cry. I'll listen." Rachel was finally able to focus well enough to look up at the woman. She was about her mother's age, but without the lines pinched around her mouth from frowning constantly. Her deep, golden hair was pinned behind her head in a messy bun, escaped strands curling around her cheeks. She was just a little bit plump, with an ample bosom and rosy, chubby cheeks, and just a bit taller than Rachel herself. Finally, her hazel eyes held a warm smile that Rachel found at once alien and comforting.
"I'm… I'm Rachel Gardner," she said quietly. She couldn't fight the suspicious thoughts that crept into her mind, but this woman had a light in her eyes that neither Mrs. Mason nor her mother had ever held. The woman smiled and patted her head.
"I'm Agnes," she said gently. "You're at my inn." Rachel's eyebrows pinched; she had no kind of money or valuables on her. She'd probably be expected to work her stay off. Seeing her expression, the older woman shook her head and smoothed her skirts, releasing Rachel back to sit on her own.
"I have an arrangement with the monastery," she explained. "You needn't worry. Old Gray will cover your room and board. He's even sent word to his sister convent to accept ya, if you want to go." Rachel stared at her, processing her words. A convent? She wasn't sure what she wanted her future to be, but she was certain that wasn't it.
"No," she said with a shake of her head. "No, I don't want that." The matronly woman gave her a curious look.
"Well, what is it you do want?" Agnes asked in return. "Have ya any family to go home to?" Rachel shook her head again, sopping the sleeve of her overdress against her cheek and nose.
"They're all gone," Rachel replied quietly. "And I wouldn't go back if I could. I only want to stay with Zack." The older blonde cocked her head to the side and blinked curiously.
"The wolf they're treating now?" Rachel wondered how this woman knew about that. "Poor thing. I can't believe that toothless old mutt separated you two. He must have his reasons, but I don't have to mind them if I don't want." Was she offering to help Rachel reunite with Zack? Her eyes widened at the possibility.
"Will you help me get him back?" Rachel asked pointedly. Surely she couldn't stand up to that entire compound full of wolves, but if she had someone to help her then she could definitely take Zack back. The look the innkeeper gave her didn't seem especially promising, though.
"I may not agree with him, but I wouldn't set foot in those woods against Gray's wishes," Agnes warned her. "And if you try, that pack won't hesitate to make you sorry. You'd better be well sure that wolf you're after is worth it." Rachel fell silent, her eyes downcast.
"Of course he is," she whispered, more to herself than to Agnes. She heard the other woman tut as she rose from the bed and smoothed her skirts.
"I won't stop you," she said, the concern evident in her voice. "But I will ask you to reconsider. None of them will disobey the old dog, and they'll be on the lookout for you anyway. You ain't the first to be sent away and try to go back." Rachel looked over to see her basket sitting faithfully on the bedside table. She didn't know if she'd be able to outrun the wolves, but she might be able to get away from them with her hand cannon.
"Does anyone ever succeed?" she asked plainly. The other blonde quirked an eyebrow and shook her head.
"I don't fancy your odds, lass," Agnes answered skeptically. "Everyone else he's sent off has been a big, strappin' man. If they couldn't get past that pack, I doubt you could do, either." Rachel had no doubts. She might not make it, but she wasn't going to let that old monk ship her away to a convent, either. Still, if she was already decided, there was no sense wasting time on thinking about it.
"The others he sent away were all men?" she asked, pursuing another subject instead. It would at least be telling to find out the kind of company she was in.
"Usually thieves and traffickers and the like," Agnes replied breezily. "The monastery has little pups there, too, so Gray can get choosy about who he gives shelter to." Rachel's eyebrows pinched together thinking about this.
"And he sends them to you?" she asked incredulously. "Does… Does your husband help with them?" She couldn't see this woman holding her own against big, scary kidnappers and bandits. The other blond snorted and stifled a laugh.
"My girl, I've been widowed since I was your age," Agnes chimed with subtle amusement. "No, I run this place by myself. When old Gray sends me someone, he sends one of his brothers to stay until they leave. Most wouldn't dare brave those claws." This interested Rachel, but not because of the wolves.
"By yourself?" she pressed on. Outside of the old widowed midwife in her town, who was something of a necessity, Rachel had never known a woman who lived and worked all by herself. She couldn't even think of one back home. And this one ran an inn, where strangers came and went everyday.
"Oh, aye," said Agnes. "My in-laws passed on long ago and left this place to me. I've been on my own for, oh, about ten years now, I'd say." Then, she turned to Rachel with a bit of a twinkle in her eye.
"Of course, I have no one to leave this old place to when I pass on," she continued with a little wink. "Unless a good girl like you'd consider staying here instead, eh?" Rachel simply stared, not knowing how to respond to the kind offer.
"I'm only playing," the older woman soothed. "Besides, who knows? Maybe I won't be alone much longer." Leaving it on that enigmatic note, Agnes ruffled her skirts and turned lightly on her feet towards the door.
"Would you like some dinner before you go?" she asked over her shoulder as she reached the door. "I have a big pot of stew downstairs for the guests, but you're the only one today. If you join me, it's all yours?" Rachel followed her with her eyes as she left, waited a second, and then heaved her feet over the side of the bed to follow. She grabbed her hood and basket and then she was out the door.
The downstairs of the small inn was bright and cozy, consisting of a front desk, a bar, a large fireplace, and a few small tables of clean polished wood. Rachel remembered the tavern in her hometown and compared the two in her mind; she much preferred this one, for certain. Perhaps it was Agnes' feminine touch.
As Rachel settled in at a small table, the whirlwind of brown skirts bustled over and dropped a hot bowl of soup on the table before her. In response, her stomach grumbled. She looked up, clutching the front of her dress, to see Agnes give her a welcoming smile. Knowing the older woman approved, Rachel grabbed the bowl and begun slurping it down.
"Well, now," she chuckled, moving around to the seat across from Rachel with her own bowl. "Has that mangy ol' wolf been neglecting ya? Poor little thing, eat your fill! I'll make Ol' Gray pay the tab for ya!" Rachel felt compelled to defend Zack.
"N-No!" she protested around a mouthful of soup. "He feeds me well! Or tries, at least…" Guilt lanced her again, knowing how Zack had gotten his latest injury. Her host chuckled around her own mouthful of soup.
"Oh my!" Agnes prodded on, "So he's not so bad, is he?" Rachel recalled the hallucination she'd had earlier.
"What is it you get from him?"
"No," she said quietly, stirring her stew listlessly. "He's… kind to me." It sounded pathetic when she said it like that, but it was something that set Zack apart from anyone else she'd encountered. Even if he'd originally spared her life out of disgust, he'd ceased to do only the bare minimum to keep her alive a while ago. Instead, he'd indulged her wants and put her needs before his own. It was hard for Rachel to accept, but it didn't feel bad exactly.
As it was, though, Agnes looked singularly unimpressed.
"That's all?" she asked, disappointed. "He's just kind? Any man can be kind." Rachel stared at her hands, fumbling with her spoon. She knew it was an insufficient explanation, so she tried again.
"He… He doesn't hesitate," she remembered what she'd thought last night as they approached the monastery. "He knows what he wants to do and he does it. I don't think I could be like that if I tried to." Her companion raised her eyebrow and downed a spoonful of stew.
"Well," Agnes pressed on. "What is it you want to do?" Rachel pinched her eyebrows together.
"What do you mean?" She was only doing what she had to do to get by. When she woke up to find her entire town dead, Rachel had wanted to die, too. But upon learning that their deaths weren't actually her fault, there was no longer any real reason she should die. Besides which, she had begun to enjoy traveling with Zack. If anything, she couldn't see herself living without him. He made her feel human.
Maybe Zack could be her spark, the person who made her want to continue living.
"You have things you want to do, don't you?" Agnes asked, seemingly oblivious to the internal debate Rachel was having. "Some work you'd like to do, or some place you want to see? A pilgrimage? Don't tell me ya just wanna marry that ol' wolf and call that 'good enough'?" Rachel shook her head feverishly.
"No," she said quickly. "I don't want… to be miserable… like my mother." Her hand trembled just saying it; she had to use her other hand just to steady the one holding the spoon. Agnes blinked and set her own spoon on the table, then reached over to cover Rachel's hands with her own.
"Rachel," the older woman intoned, looking directly at her with her gold-flecked hazel eyes. "Do you think that wolf will make you miserable like that?" Rachel gave it a thought. Sure, Zack liked to yell and be noisy. He could be violent. But none of it was directed at her. With her, he was gentle and indulgent. He wouldn't lie to her. And he certainly wouldn't do the things she saw her father do to her mother. If anything, Zack was more liable to be overprotective of her.
"No," Rachel replied quietly. "He'd never do anything like that." The older woman gave her a curious look.
"Well, I won't lie and say everything will definitely turn out alright," she said, "But you're still young yet. Don't rush into anything you don't want." Rachel gave her a nod of understanding as she let the advice sink in. If she wasn't going to die any time soon, there was no reason to rush to conclusions. She could take her time getting to know Zack. As she mulled this over, a thought occurred to her.
"Didn't you get married younger than I am now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Agnes smiled sheepishly.
"I was fifteen and he was much older," Agnes recounted, a humorous lilt to her voice. "I was barely sixteen before he went and got himself thrown from the saddle during a hunt. Didn't hardly know him enough ta miss him. His folks were plenty kind, though, and better than goin' back to the ones that pawned me off on 'im!" Rachel thought on this. Agnes was alone here, but she seemed to be satisfied with her lot in life. There wasn't anyone to whom she was beholden. She was a grown woman, but she wasn't unhappy.
It made Rachel a little bit hopeful.
"You never tried to remarry?" Agnes shook her head with a smile.
"Never had a need," she replied. "This little pass town is small and most of the residents have one foot in the grave already. Our visitors are noblemen on hunting parties and travelers, so if I get lonely I have but to wiggle my little finger and find my bed a bit warmer! There's even been a wolf or two, tell ya the truth!"
Rachel was quietly fascinated. By all accounts, the woman across the table from her should have been more miserable than her own mother. She didn't seem to be pretending to be happy or keeping up pretenses; on the contrary, Agnes seemed almost overly forthcoming with the details of her life, as though she relished the female company. She wasn't wearing a mask like Mrs. Mason or preening like the girls back home. She just was, and she seemed satisfied with it.
Still, the last things she said made Rachel feel her face heat a bit.
"But your…" she stammered, "Your husband is dead, so why… why would you still want to… to do that if you don't have to?" As soon as she said it, Rachel felt silly. Surely the innkeeper must need money to make ends meet sometimes and that would be an easy way to make a little extra. But Agnes' expression didn't hold the shame or indignation that Rachel would've expected; clearly that wasn't what was going on. Rather, she laughed behind her hand, shoulders heaving with the effort of stifling her chuckles.
"Silly girl! You know, if I didn't like something, I wouldn't do it!" Agnes chimed. The thought struck Rachel as a shock; she had never thought a woman could truly enjoy such things. And now that she heard the woman across from her openly say such a thing, it seemed ridiculous that Rachel had never thought so before. Then again, she'd never seen one who did enjoy herself before, either.
It was a bit of a hopeful revelation.
"What… What is it like?" Her voice was a whisper, conspiratorial even though they were alone in the little inn. The older woman's eyes flashed with mirth.
"A jolly little game of chase, most times," Agnes chittered. "Although the wolf boys make a bit of a mess." Rachel's expression must have been amusing because the other blonde laughed again. "Has that shaggy dog of yours not got under your skirts yet?"
Rachel covered her face and shook her head. Her cheeks burned from embarrassment, but Agnes seemed amused with herself.
"Well, dear," the older woman continued, "don't you worry. It only pinches a little the first time. It's right fun after that. And you don't have to do anything you don't want. If he tries to push it on ya, just give 'im one in the egg sack!" Rachel nearly laughed from the mental image of kicking Zack between the legs if he got out of line. She would never do it, would never have thought to do it, but the look on his face would probably be priceless.
"Ah, there ya go!" Agnes cheered. "You almost laughed! I knew ya had it in ya!"
Even though the small inn was empty, the other woman filled it with her presence. As the sun sunk down past the mountains, it stained the room reddish orange, almost as though it had been washed in fire. Rachel might have thought it ominous, but her mind was already occupied with thoughts of Zack. She had been unsure and afraid of the future before; now there was no question about what she had to do.
They continued in a companionable rapport for a while longer, Agnes chatting while Rachel mostly listened. The woman was open and cheerful and a bit more welcoming than normal. Rachel seemed to remind her of the daughter she never had, that if her husband had lived she might have had. Rachel thought she might be sad or lonely because of it, but the other woman didn't seem to be. On the contrary, she was practically radiant as she indulged in Rachel's company.
As Rachel finished her bowl of soup, she nodded her head at the older woman. Her mirth died down and she gained a serious look. As the last light of the evening disappeared and bathed the room in wintery twilight, Agnes rose to light the chandeliers.
"Well," she breathed, smoothing her skirts and walking past Rachel, "I don't suppose I can talk ya out of it, can I?" Rachel solemnly shook her head. There was no question in her mind as to what she was going to do. She knew Zack would do the same for her; if he was able to walk, he was probably already wandering the woods looking for her.
"Your horse is in the stable outside," the innkeeper said, giving Rachel a piteous look. "Take the main road out front and make a left at the butcher's shop. Stay to the main road and ya might outrun them. Don't think you'll outsmart them in their own woods."
With those parting words, Agnes went about her business of lighting the lanterns and candelabras, humming a jaunty tune as she did so. Rachel picked up her basket from where she'd left it by her chair and headed toward the door.
She was going to find Zack or she was going to die trying.