They traipsed through the woods, her hand on his furry back. Immediately he turned their backs on the little beam of light- Ane looked over her shoulder, and it sidled invitation-like forward. At her pause, her wolf spun; she felt his hackles raise, and he sent a low growl in the direction of the light beams. It paused a moment in consideration, then fled. Things are rarely what they seem in the forest, chided his voice in her head. You must be careful.
Ane only nodded mutely and replaced her hand on the wolf's shoulder. They continued on in silence, and as her frantic terror calmed into a dull prickling under her skin Ane looked around and began to recognise objects as more than That Dark Blotch Between Those Other Dark Blotches. Footsteps to her right: she searched the darkness until the movement grabbed her eyes, and the body of the deer filled in around it. She watched, a disciple mesmerized by the sheer beauty of a yet unexplored cathedral, as the deer fled them and disappeared into the night. She could make out the trees and their leaves as they passed, and when her feet touched upon the path again her eyes had already known and her feet were little surprised. Away in the distance another orb of light cut through the darkness: Ane stopped instantly; again her wolf paused as soon as he felt her hand slide away. He looked back over his shoulder. Do not be afraid, he said, I have brought you to your grandmother's house; can you not see it? That is what the light marks.
She could, she had, and for that very reason had she stopped. Through the lit window she could just barely see the outline of her grandmother's head. It shook, turned and stalked away. Dropping her head, Ane muttered "There is one untoward thing thing in this forest you have not protected me from." When her hand clutched her wolf's fur it shook not with fear, but anger. Ane was just about to tell her wolf that she would rather take her chances with the Floating Light to Nowhere when a sharp cry of "ANE!" snapped her head up. She felt muscle stiffen beneath her hand until a taught and quivering girl rested her hand upon the shoulder of a very convincing statue of a wolf. A shotgun tucked under the approaching hunter's arm caught her attention; it must have caught the wolf's also: she heard I am afraid I must leave you now before he melted into the forest.
Ane tried desperately to follow his trail; the hunter's "Don't worry, love- I think I scared the beast off" frightened her half a foot into the air. Ane only noticed the rose in her hand when she shied away from his touch and nearly pricked herself on it. Distracted (though by whom she hoped he had not guessed), she allowed herself to be led down the remainder of the path to her grandmother's cottage.
The homecoming went much as Ane had expected. As soon as the hunter bade them goodnight, all pretense of concern dropped from the wizened figure; Ane had never known any woman that age capable of such ferocity and would not have believed it possible if it had not terrified the wits out of her since childhood. She hated her grandmother for it, but hated that part of herself just as much that remained frightened after all those years. The old woman lay into her like a cleaver: Where had she been? What had delayed her? Did she have any bloody idea how bloody inconvienient it was to eat so bloody late? How dare she leave the hunter just to go for a trot in the forest? She was bloody lucky that that charming young man hadn't called off the engagement; at her age it would be damn near impossible to hope for another offer, let alone a better one.
Ane bore the tirade in silence (at one point she wondered if her arrival had interrupted anything between her grandmother and the hunter, but dismissed the thought quickly with a barely supressed shudder), and once she thought she heard it draw to a close- for Ane had not listened to a word out of her grandmother's mouth- she retired to her room, closed the door, and collapsed onto her bed. Ane fell asleep with the scent of the wolf's rose entwined in her dreams.
And did not sleep very long; it seemed far too early to be rising when voices from the front room woke her. She attempted to roll over and return to sleep, but the murmurs permeated her thoughts and wound themselves around the black void of not-dream behind her eyelids. Frustrated and underslept, she opened her eyes. Somewhat to her surprise, it was still to darkness that she did so. At the edges of her window hazy swatches of dawn crawled and crept, but Ane still needed to light a candle to see clearly. Failing to find a match, Ane picked up the rose from her pillow and held it to her breast like a talisman against the unseen evils of her bedroom. She walked to the door and opened it slowly; even so the flood of light blinded her: Ane rised the hand that held the rose to shield herself and shied violently from the sudden onslaught.
With a muttered curse to the god of Remembering To Put Useful Things Within Reach Before Needing Them (if there really was such a god, Ane expected he was well used to complaints by now) she righted herself- then promtly grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling over. Curses and pain from stabbing herself with a rosethorn were forgotten in the shock of finding the hunter in deep conversation with her grandmother- holding her basket and readied for travel.
