Thunder and torrential winds shook the tiny cabin as if an entire platoon of monsters were stomping through the forests, cutting trees aside as if they were mere weeds. Along with them came the lighter drumbeats of rain, a monsoon of sorts that crafted such a mist that when he opened the door to gauge the storm, he could not even see the trees ahead. The dampened gusts snuck past him and scattered across the floor, chilling the one-roomed structure so that Lucina, still partially asleep, shivered violently and receded deeper beneath the blankets to avoid it. When he realized her discomfort he fought the winds to shut the door once again, but he remained by it a minute more so that he could ponder the weather. He clearly would be tending a fire for the day, but he had not anticipated such a storm and there was a magnificence about its magnitude. The wood he had stacked outside would be soaking, so he would have to ration what was inside. For today, his world was limited to the four walls, the fireplace, and the naked woman.

Apparently she would transform back in her sleep, virtually painlessly so long as she was slumbering deeply, but just after dawn he had woken to her whimpers as a particularly gruesome morph had taken hold of her. Just like her excruciating change in the night, he had run his hand across her shoulders until she was a woman once again, and then he had noticed the rain. Now, she was completely still once more, other than the rise and fall of the blankets to indicate her breath, but he still struggled with the idea of her waking and realizing that the two of them were absolutely trapped in the frosty cabin. He started the fire to draw her into consciousness slowly, but the meager stack of brittle logs made his stomach twist nervously. Chopping wood was easy, but being completely prepared for mysterious storms that came in the night and swirled about the room without a thought to the occupants was impossible. He needed a better plan than the fire if the storm lasted longer than a day.

Lucina began to stir at the crackling of the fire, and when she pushed herself up and the quilt slipped from her shoulders he saw her skin rippled with gooseflesh. "Priam..."

Attentively, almost as if he was a dog himself, he faced her with mild concern. "It hurts more now. Why is that?"

"They wane and wax with the moon," she murmured breezily, the shiver and chill tangible in her voice. "But, Priam... The sound is overwhelming. So is the cold. What is it all?"

"Just a storm, and a fire. You can move closer to it, if you are too cold."

"You will be here all day, yes?"

"I cannot leave, not in this weather." He shook his head and brushed bark from his hands so that he could set about preparing a meal. Normally he cooked outside, where the scent was free to roam the woods, but today he would have to prepare food on a tiny fire that could sacrifice very little of its heat. Or they would eat uncooked plants or dried meat, but he was skeptical that her wolf side would allow him to feed her something like that. "Are you hungry?"

"No." Her arms were beginning to quiver under her own minuscule weight, and to save herself she sat up and slid her feet to the ground. "I need something to wear. It is too cold to remain like this."

"Of course." Suddenly he was embarrassed to the point of death, the realization that he had not once offered her clothing sinking into his simple mind. Had lust ruled him for so long? Was there something about her skin, delicate as a spiderweb when a drop of dew was strung from its unsupported center, or her hair, dark as a moonless night and glittering as if she had caught the stars, or maybe her eyes, the whirling infinite of secrets he could never begin to comprehend, two masterfully crafted liquid glass orbs containing hearts of azure fire, that made his body stir in ways he could not control? Perhaps it was merely because he was too stupid to realize that he had allowed her to remain sinfully naked, but somewhere in the depths of his terrible heart he knew it was not ignorance to be blamed. To redeem himself, for now his hands felt filthy and perverted, he dug around his few articles of clothing and found one shirt that was not stained by the woods, and he offered it to Lucina. With a belt, he determined, she would almost be wearing a real tunic, though the sleeves would not fit her and it would likely reek of him and of solitude.

She slid herself into the garment gracefully, a true princess in the way she draped the dramatically large sleeves over her bandaged arms, and he gave her the thinnest belt he owned to tie around her waist. Once she had, he felt an unfamiliar stirring, a primal emotion that reminded him of possession and something more akin to obsession, but he did not have the heart to admit to himself any sort of infatuation. Yes, she was lovely, he had established that, but now she was lovely and dressed in his clothing, bathed in his raw scent. Any remaining hostile wolves would be loath to challenge her now that she bore this mark.

"This is thicker than I imagined," she noted with a bit less innocence than he anticipated from her. "Warmer. Do you get cold easily?"

"The cold means nothing to me. I simply want to keep my skin intact when I walk through prickly areas in the woods."

"I can see how that may be true. But I think you do not want to admit weakness to me. You are strong, strong enough to wrestle wolves. If I were to know you were susceptible to the elements, I could sway you." She giggled softly and he turned away from her to monitor his fire. "I can see the gooseflesh on your arms. Do not try to hide it."

"There are many things I will never admit to you," he muttered cryptically, a bit worried that this response would only bring further questions.

"I know. You are a closed book. But I can read you better than you think."

"I doubt that."

"Doubt all you want, but noble ladies learn quickly how to tell which men are genuine in their advances. Wolves understand instinctual attraction. I know the name of that confusion you are feeling."

"I do not need your words," he growled dangerously, casting a smoldering glare back to her. She had no right to pick him apart, to pry open the cover of his complicated and idiotic tome and ponder the twisted sentences within. She was not allowed to voice what he did not want to be known. If she dared to search for answers, he would act rashly.

Lucina's expressionless face brightened then, illuminated by the flames and by some internal light she had kindled. "You poor man. You do not know what it is to be in love."

He stood so abruptly that he spilled a bucket of bloody water and extinguished the fire, plunging them into obscurity and smokey air. There were no words left in him to argue, to even explain or process what she had just accused, so he stepped towards the bed and his heart writhed under her undivided attention.

She continued, "You will believe me soon enough."