Almost as soon as they left the castle's lights behind them, Belle realised that its Mistress wasn't the only danger about in the woods that night. She knew, of course, that sometimes wolves wandered in the forest – Gaston bragged enough about killing them, and had enough silver-grey pelts that she knew he wasn't exaggerating. But she had never expected to actually come across them herself – the first half a mile or so of the forest bordering Molyneaux was free of the animals altogether, and nobody felt any fear letting their children play there.

By contrast, the castle had been a two hour's ride from the village, and within a few minutes of heavy riding back the way they came Belle heard a tell-tale howl coming from her left.

"Oh, god," she whispered, her stomach twisting uncomfortably as she urged Phillipe to keep at his current pace. Although they had outpaced the snowstorm the moon was still covered by clouds, and the forest was black as pitch. Belle slackened the reins and allowed Phillipe to steer them, keeping an eye out instead for the wolves who would surely be approaching soon. It took all her skill as a horsewoman to remain in the saddle as the rough forest floor, in addition to the fast-paced gallop, caused her to rock and bob wildly.

A few feet ahead of them, Belle's eyes suddenly caught on a gleam of snow-white fur, and wide pale eyes. She crouched low behind Phillipe's neck, winding the reins around her hands so that she had some grip. The wolf howled high and long, and flurries of snow showed up in Belle's peripheral vision – the rest of the pack had come to join in the hunt. "Come on, Phillipe," she coaxed, "don't lose your nerve." No more than ten feet away from the wolf, which still hadn't moved, Belle seized control of the reins again, and steered Phillipe hard to the right. The sudden turn caused a spray of snow to cover the wolf, temporarily blinding it, and it staggered back in shock. Without so much as stopping to lose his footing, Phillipe continued to gallop into the forest.

Belle turned to look over her shoulder as Phillipe kept moving. The white wolf shook off the snow, and locked eyes with her. It growled, low and menacing, and immediately started to chase her.

Belle turned back to face the front, her temporary reprieve abruptly lost. She didn't know much of anything about wolves, but she knew enough to be reliably informed that anything which put up too much of a fight usually wasn't worth a wolf's time, unless it was truly starving. Whatever the white wolf was, it wasn't a normal animal. "Come on, Phillipe, my dear, you've got to keep going!" she called out, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. Is everything in this bloody forest enchanted? she wondered. The trees ahead of them began to thin out, and Belle risked another glance behind her. The white wolf had been joined by about ten others in their winter coats of silvery grey. He snarled, and Belle dug her heels into Phillipe's flanks in an effort to spur him on. The wolves were so close behind her she could see the clouds of breath escaping their mouths in the frigid air, and Belle realised with a sudden dread that if one of them made a strong enough jump, they could most certainly clamp down on either her or Phillipe's leg.

Belle spun back around to face the front, where a new dread settled in her chest. Up ahead was a small frozen lake, and there was no clear path around the edge – at least, not unless she drove Phillipe back into the labyrinth of trees which were almost certainly hiding more wolves. She urged the horse onwards, praying that the ice would hold and they would cross without incident. Phillipe continued on his mad pace across the lake, his wide hooves providing plenty of traction to avoid slipping when a more slender horse might have. Belle felt her hands smart painfully as the wind blew across the lake – although her trunk was warm in the cloak, her extremities were almost painfully cold, and her thin summer stockings and skirts did little to warm her legs. A moment later, she shrieked aloud as the ice gave way beneath Phillipe's weight, and she was plunged waist-deep into the icy depths. To her relief they were almost at the other side of the bank, and Phillipe walked up and onto dry land again without any issue; she dreaded to think what might have happened if they had been in the middle of the lake.

He picked up his previous pace without issue, and while adrenaline was still pumping through Belle's body she couldn't stop shivering in the saddle. She glanced behind again – more than half of the wolves were either in the water or back on the original bank, and she couldn't help but feel relieved. "Maybe we lost them, Phillipe," she said. A howl from her right a moment later proved her wrong, and Belle clenched her teeth. "Or perhaps not," she conceded. A swift press of her legs, and Phillipe was off again. But this time, Belle could feel him flagging. While Phillipe was a strong cart horse, he was more used to the continuous grind of a day's work than a sudden burst of energy all used up at once. Belle continued to praise him, all the while looking over her shoulders and at either side to see where the wolves were coming from next. After a few minutes, a dark grey wolf appeared at the edge of the path, keeping pace with Phillipe and ready to sink its teeth into his flesh. Belle acted purely on instinct; gripping the reins tightly, she drove the wolf into a large pine tree, crushing it between the trunk and Phillipe's body. The wolf dropped lifeless to the ground, and Phillipe kept running away – all too soon, however, three more wolves appeared beside them to take the place of their fallen comrade. Belle was so preoccupied with the threat beside her that she didn't think to look in front of her, and when Phillipe made a small jump over a fallen tree trunk, she finally lost her balance, falling out of the saddle and into the soft snow.

In a matter of moments, she was back on her feet; she'd had worse tumbles from Phillipe growing up than into a snowbank. The horse wheeled around again to return to Belle – before he could, however, the three wolves cornered him by a tree, snarling as they raised their haunches. Phillipe whinnied loudly, and the high sound struck an extra edge of fear into Belle's heart. "Phillipe!" she cried out. The wolves pricked up their ears as she shouted, but didn't turn towards her, the far easier prey on the ground. Belle grabbed a thick fallen branch, powdery snow freezing her palms as she gripped it tight. After a moment, Belle realised that the wolves hadn't advanced on Phillipe – instead of lunging for the kill, they were instead keeping him in his current position, away from Belle. "What on earth?" Belle had time to whisper to herself, before a snarl from directly behind her caused her to pivot around.

The white wolf, flanked by another two grey ones, padded towards her slowly. Belle gripped the branch so hard that her fingers blanched, forced to retreat as he drew nearer. This close, Belle could see that he wasn't pure white after all – on his left shoulder was a dark brown mark, wide enough that it spread down the fore leg and across to what Belle could see of the top of his chest – almost as if paint had spilled on it, and the liquid had been left to drip down. With another snarl, he lunged forwards, and Belle stumbled backwards a few steps. He resumed his slow movements a moment later. He's toying with me, Belle realised. Like a cat plays with a mouse. This can't be a normal wolf. Glancing to her side, Belle saw that the rocky forest floor sharply gave away to her left and right; she shot a look over her shoulder to confirm her suspicions. The wolf was edging her over a natural cliff, and the rest of the pack was waiting at the bottom.

A sudden course of anger shot through her blood, and with a new sense of bravery Belle dashed at the wolf with her branch, narrowly avoiding his head. "I did not escape some enchanted castle to be forced over the edge of a cliff by some strange wolf!" she yelled, swinging the branch again with every emphasised word. Phillipe whinnied again, and tried to get enough ground to leap over the wolves in front of him – as he shrunk back to begin the run-up for a jump, however, the wolves claimed the land he had relinquished. Belle aimed another blow at the white wolf; to her shock, he caught the branch in his jaws and wrenched it out of her hands, throwing it several feet behind them. Belle ran to reclaim it, but one of the grey wolves leapt on the long woollen cloak, making her fall to the ground again. She rolled onto her stomach in an attempt to pull the material out of its reach, but the wolf held fast no matter how hard she tugged. The white wolf howled and ran towards her, leaping high into the air. Belle lifted her arms in a defensive stance in an attempt to shield her face and torso from his deadly teeth and claws as her knees rose up to try and push herself further backwards, her heart hammering against her rib cage as visions of her own bloody death flashed in front of her eyes.

But instead of hot, heavy fur and clamping jaws on her arms, Belle felt powerful arms grasp her around her shoulders and under her knees, ripping the edge of her cloak out of the other wolf's jaws as she was hoisted several feet in the air. Before Belle could even process this change in position, the momentum of whoever had picked her up sent them both staggering backwards into another snowbank, rolling over and over until Belle lay on her back. Above her, propped up by her arms and shielding Belle from the worst of the snow with her broad wings, was the Beast. For a split-second, the two took in their positions – Belle on her back, frozen hands gripping the Beast's upper arms, her knees pressed down into the snow by the bulk of her body; the Beast herself leaning over Belle, so close that their torsos pressed together as they panted for breath, pupils dilated and her beak barely an inch from Belle's shocked face.

An instant later the Beast rose straight up with one beat of her powerful wings, and let out a piercing, wordless cry as Belle's hands flew up to cover her ears; the white wolf fell to the ground beside Belle with a hard thud, his muzzle stained with dark blood and small golden feathers caught in his fur. He locked eyes with Belle once again, and she lunged to her other side to grab the branch, now within easy reach. He raised his hackles once again, and Belle flung herself bodily towards him, catching him on his side and hitting his head for good measure. The moment the branch touched him, the wolf leapt backwards, whining in pain. Belle readied the branch again, but the white wolf appeared to have finally given up on his prey – he ran into the darkness of the woods without so much as another howl. Belle allowed herself to fully collapse onto the snow and catch her breath, before pulling herself into a sitting position once again.

Belle could only watch as the wolves surrounding the clearing scattered under the fearsome cries and furious lunges of the Beast. The dark grey one who still had the edge of Belle's cloak in its mouth attempted to bite into her leg, but the Beast plucked him into the air and threw him into the other wolves retreating into the darkness. With a soft whine, he rolled to his feet and vanished into the trees. The three wolves who had been guarding Phillipe took aim at her next, but she was too quick – a dash and a few beats of her powerful wings, and the creatures were gone. Belle scrambled to her feet as the Beast landed softly in the snow, both breathing heavily. They looked at each other for a long moment, the clearing almost painfully silent after the clamour of the battle they'd survived. The Beast took one heavy step forwards, her eyes glazing over slightly before she collapsed in a heap, a feeble groan coming out her mouth as she hit the ground.

Belle was frozen to the spot. Forcing herself to move, she sidestepped over to Phillipe, who had walked a little closer to Belle now that the wolves had left. She turned her back to the creature, instead busying herself with checking Phillipe for any wounds. But the horse was fine. She patted his shoulder reassuringly, and gripped the saddle ready to swing herself back up again. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to mount him again. As she brushed her fingers against the leather, she saw tiny snowflakes begin to fall. Belle tipped her head back to look at the sky. It seemed as if the snowstorm had finally caught up to her. She turned back to look at the creature. She could see now that the white wolf had managed to sink his teeth into one of the middle joints of the Beast's right wing, where the golden feathers merged into brown. Sticky with blood, some had already managed to seep on to the white snow. Belle flipped Phillipe's reins over his head and led him over to the Beast. She crouched down beside her, and firmly gripped her torso, where the shoulders of her arms could be seen hiding beneath the wings.

"Wake up," Belle said in a quiet yet powerful tone – if she had had a name to call, she would have called it then. She shook her shoulders, and one blue eyes opened sluggishly. "You have to help me one more time, I'm afraid," she said. "You have to stand."

When the Beast eventually came back to consciousness, thoroughly against her will and without much enthusiasm, she was back in the castle again. She kept her eyes shut, but she could tell from the quality of the light that she was sitting in an easy chair in front of a raging fire, supported by several cushions – if she'd been human, she imagined the sensation would have been quite nice, but as it was her back felt more than a little uncomfortable to be treated like a human spine. As she came back into herself a little more, she became more aware of her surroundings; the familiar muffled tones of Cogsworth and Lumière talking urgently somewhere behind her, and a decidedly unfamiliar ache in her right wing. She opened her eyes a tiny bit, allowing them to adjust to the light before opening them more.

As it turned out, the fire was the only light source in the room and so the Beast had little light to adjust to. To her right sat the girl – she still didn't know her name, which was more than a little awkward – and Mrs Potts, with a steaming bowl of blood-stained water and a pile of bandages between them. The girl had her long hair loose around her face. The Beast couldn't help but notice that it made her look a little less fierce than she had earlier; it softened the lines of her face and set of her jaw in its gentle waves. The Beast must have made some sort of noise when she woke up, because the girl's eyes shot up to meet hers. No amount of loosened hair could possibly soften the determination in those eyes, the Beast thought.

"You're awake again," she said simply.

"You found your way back here well enough, then," the Beast replied.

"Yes. You seem to have been rather lucky; although this was a nasty wound, you were unconscious while I was cleaning it out with a saline solution." The girl paused. "That's a mixture of salt and –"

"I know what saline is!" she snapped. Mrs Potts drew back a little, but the girl was unmoved.

"Then you'll know it's not exactly pleasant to have a wound cleaned with it," she said. "Just the bandages to go now, and then you're done."

So saying, she picked up a roll of them and began wrapping them around the Beast's wing. They were silent for a few minutes as the girl worked, broken only by the crackling and popping of the firewood. "Hopefully it won't be infected," the girl said. "I'm no doctor, but I've done everything I can."

"Thank you." The Beast squirmed internally, although she didn't move the arm so as to avoid distracting the girl. "And you?" she asked, more out of half-remembered politeness than anything else. "You weren't . . . ?"

"I got a shock when I fell through the ice, but aside from that I'm unharmed." The girl placed one hand firmly on the bandages while she reached back for another roll – she had covered barely half the breadth of the Beast's wing. "I have to ask . . . why did you follow me? Not that I'm complaining, you – you saved my life – but –"

"I . . ." The Beast didn't want to tell the girl her reasons for following her into the woods. But her dark eyes had flitted back up to hers, and under their gaze she couldn't help but let the words spill out. "I lost my temper in the West Wing. I try to keep a handle on it, but when I don't it can have . . . consequences. This time it was ordering you away into a forest which I knew was dangerous. Those wolves have been a menace for years." Six, to be precise, she thought. Without regular visits from her or her father on hunting trips, the wolves had slowly ingratiated themselves back into the local wildlife hierarchy and now posed a threat to even the Beast herself. She noticed the girl nod subtly to herself, and wondered if perhaps some of her staff had been less than subtle throughout the evening. "It was the right thing to do."

"Well, thank you."

Behind the Beast, Cogsworth and Lumière had paused their bickering over whose fault the whole disaster had been to gape at their mistress first apologising, and then admitting wrongdoing. Mrs Potts, knowing her from childhood as she did, was slightly less dumbstruck, but still surprised. Such behaviour had been unprecedented since Yvonne's death.

The girl pulled the last of the bandages taut, and tied them in a little bow before tucking the ends away. "That should be that, then," she said.

"Yes," the Beast said, growing strangely tongue-tied once again around the girl. "Thank you."

"You already thanked me," she said.

"No, I mean – for not leaving me in the forest when you could have."

To her surprise, the girl flushed pink. "Yes, well," she muttered, gathering up her supplies and placing them back on the tea trolley. "It was nothing."

The Beast scoffed. "You think nothing of carting a creature several times your weight and height aided with nothing but a horse? You are strange indeed, Miss . . . ?"

"Dupont," she replied. "My given name is Isabelle, but everybody just calls me Belle. And you?"

The Beast felt a sudden weight in her stomach. In her strange insistence to gain the girl's name, she hadn't expected the tables to be turned on her so quickly. She felt a surge of panic, and instead of her name, blurted out, "You may call me Beast, if you like."

"All right," Belle said, in a pleasant tone which nevertheless implied that she did not like at all. "I think I shall go to bed, Beast, if that is permitted."

"You are still a guest here," the Beast said. "You may come and go as you please."

Belle nodded graciously. "Good night, then," she said.

"Good night," the Beast echoed as the door clicked softly shut. The moment she did so, she shivered – not from the cold, but from some other factor she couldn't even attempt to name. "Belle," she murmured.

Quiet and tactful as they sometimes were, Cogsworth, Lumière and Mrs Potts left the Beast by the fire to be alone with her thoughts. Although there were several hours of telling and retelling the night's events to the other servants before they went to bed, it was later still before the Beast eventually stood away from the dying embers of the fire and walked up to the West Wing, the first touches of the dawn beginning to brighten the sky.