Chapter 7: Interlude I

(AN: Happy Halloween to the like 9 people who read my fanfic! Sorry this didn't update sooner. I promise Chapter 8's gonna be great. In the meantime, have this labor of love. Love you guys so much!)

That night, he dreamed of a red sky and an open field of white grass.

He was a wolf in this dream, graceful and powerful, feral and free. All around, the world beckoned him with breezes carrying unknown scents. He wandered through the pale field, soft and lush underneath his paws.

Then he saw her: a deer, grazing nonchalantly in a field of rainbow flowers. Everything about her was so soft, so welcoming… he just had to chase after her.

There was a certain primal elegance in the way she looked up at him before bounding away… he had to chase her. Some unknown force tugged at him, pulling his soul towards hers. He had to catch her, not to kill her, but to catch her.

Eagerly, he gave chase, sending petals to the wind as he ran. And oh, how exhilarating it was to run! How exciting it was to throw caution completely to the wind and chase after something; the breeze frigid against his body, warm with adrenaline; the grass soft and fresh as it bent beneath his paws, and the satisfying rustle it made; the steady pounding of his heart. And of course, the promise of his prey…

Still filled with the rush of the hunt, he sprang after her, knocking her to the ground… but there was no fear in her eyes, only a smile.

"Well, scruffy, you got me."

He knew that voice. It was her, the wild-eyed painter he'd come to know as a friend… but maybe something more. How did she know it was him, behind the fur and fangs?

All he could do was shrug it off with a laugh and push her deeper into the flowers… deeper, deeper still… soon he himself was sinking too… until he found himself somewhere completely new… a clearing, surrounded by scarlet trees. The atmosphere resonated with the songs of birds familiar and unfamiliar, the beating of wings and the hum of a mysterious yet benevolent force.

He had shed his lupine form to be human again, and there she was, human once more, but… different. The hair dye and tattoos were gone, leaving an unfamiliar being. Now he could see her body more clearly; she was like a jackrabbit, small but sturdy, with legs built for bounding away at any moment. And she was… oh, dear goddess, she was wearing a dress. She never wore dresses. And yet here she was, this tough-and-tumble artist, now an angel in his deepest dreams. Was this… love?

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She reached out a hand to him, a wry smirk crossing her face. "Let's dance."

"D-dance?" he sputtered. "I've been raised in the wild half my life. Do you think I know how to— oop!" Just as he was about to say anything else, she pulled herself close to his bare chest. All he could feel was awe, awe of how suddenly light he was at her touch; of how pliable she was in his hands, and how soft; of how, though he had never danced before, every step came so easily to him, every pivot and dip and twirl… oh, how blissful it was! It was as if at once, they had become butterflies, birds, beams of light locked in a symphony of sound and movement.

And then it all stopped, as if something out for blood was afoot.

A single gunshot was all it took for him to break from her grasp and drop to all fours, a wolf once more. Behind him came the thundering of hooves and the baying of hounds. Seized by fear, he hit the ground running, not looking back, not even to flash his beloved a quick grin.

Faster now, faster he ran, but he couldn't escape the snapping of the hounds and the ringing of rifle-fire. Deeper, deeper into the woodland went the path he tread, through cavalcades of twisted trees with blood-colored wood and leaves. And the horrible din of the hunt never ceased, growing louder and more discordant by the second.

And then it stopped, as a single cartridge broke through his front leg. The blood came gushing out, a vile black-red river; he tried licking it up, but the bleeding wouldn't cease.

Through the blade-sharp agony of his shattered leg, he caught sight of the leader of the party. He knew that weathered, scarred skin, those blank, cloudy eyes like polished skulls, the hair that hung limp and tangled in faded green patches like the scum pulled up from the bottom of some hellish lake…

"F… Father…" croaked the injured wolf, his mouth now sticky with a bloody film from his own woods.

The old man did not show a single shred of sympathy. He loaded a cartridge into his rifle and pointed it at the beast's head, one gnarled finger on the trigger.

"You should have stayed dead where I left you, you wretched demon child."

BANG.

And then silence. Darkness.