By evening he was ready to forget that he had ever brought the woman into his home, but that was mostly because he could not seek counsel from the woods so that he would be able to process her accusations. Almost as if to punish the pair of them, he let the fire smolder for close to an hour before he rebuilt it, and she had been silent for that long as well. There was no way to tell the time, save for the growing twilight that inked out the fog, but he was restless and had no desire to remain boxed in for another sleepless night. Of course, her pain would easily draw his attention again, and he would fall right back into that fickle mood of possession that she had labeled with an unfamiliar word. Perhaps he should ask her to explain before she became a wolf and he would be left to think for himself.
"Lucina," he said suddenly, prodding an ember with his boot, "I am not well versed in town life. Why would you say I am 'in love,' and what does that mean?"
It was not that he had never heard of such a thing, but when his father had dragged him by the ear into the forest, never to return to the unforgiving walls of man, the last he knew of love was that it occurred fleetingly and only in storybooks, where often those infected with infatuation were young and beautiful and lived whirlwind lives that ended with a simple, hopeful phrase. In the stories, princesses would succumb to the affections of their impoverish sweethearts, or peasant girls would fall deeply in love with a prince they should never have, and by the end of the tale both were equally engrossed with the other. To a lonely boy in the woods who hardly had an image of women left in his mind, this was a tad ridiculous. He had outgrown the notion. Of course, a castle princess who had landed herself in a curse would be more inclined to believe that her savior would break the wicked spell through love. Perhaps Lucina had allowed herself to be wounded on purpose so that he would rescue her, but after another brief observation he knew that was a lie. She was fragile, yes, but that was because she was shackled by bandages. Without them he assumed she would be a much more terrifying person.
"To be in love means you feel an incredible attraction to someone, an attraction that is stronger than what the wolves feel to the moon." She chuckled softly, then slipped from the bed to seat herself on the floor beside the fire. "I see it in the way you behave around me. You brawled a wolf for me, you bandaged me and fought with me so that I would keep my wounds covered, you sacrificed your bed for me. You carry your emotions in your face, so I can tell when you look at me that you are confused and trying to find answers."
"What if I am just curious about you, and why I found you bleeding in the woods?" he argued, secretly grateful that she was stirring his blood ever so slightly.
"That may also be," she allowed, "but I think you are more instinctual than that. You only care about my health, and the fact that I am a woman in your solitary domain."
"You make it sound as if this love is just me latching onto the first female I've managed to encounter."
"Perhaps. But—" she reached a hand towards the fire and without a thought he caught it, singeing the calloused back of his hand in the process to protect her flawless flesh, "if this were so simple you would have far less confusion when you think of me."
He could not argue with someone who was clearly more knowledgeable. "Alright, then. Say that I am in love. What else would you like to infer about me?"
For a few worrisome heartbeats she pondered, her eyes darting over his face, hands, and most especially his arms and shoulders that he had never bared in front of her. "I think you are afraid of people more than you hate them. I think that something terrible happened to your family while you were young, and I think that it scarred you. You cannot comprehend being in love because you have never been shown love yourself." She reached for his hand and ran her painfully sharp nails across the burn. "I think you are more sensitive than you realize, woodsman."
"I think that if you dare suggest anything of the sort ever again I will tie you up outside while you are a wolf," he threatened, though both his words and his tone were empty. "I will tell you what I think of you now. I think you were spoiled but wanted more, and landed yourself with a curse you could not anticipate. I think you were driven from your home and have no plans to leave mine because you have no place to go. Am I right?"
He knew once he had said it that he had been more accurate than she expected, so she remained silent and all too soon there were tears in her eyes. Apologies were foreign to him, though.
"You have not offended me," she explained with a voice as uncertain as his heart. "I merely thought I was so clever at reading you, and this whole time you could see right through me."
"I am not the only one who carries their emotions on their face," he offered. A sliver of a smile appeared on her delicate lips, so he continued, "Perhaps we should not talk. Talking makes things confusing for me."
"Of course. You are more of a wolf than I."
Now they shared equally broken smiles, and he tended the fire until night had descended completely and their last log crumbled into dying coals. He watched her face as it was plunged into black, noticing how even as she was smudged into shadows and became nothing, her eyes were piercing and alert, almost glowing. One was lighter than the other, and bore a subtle mark that resembled a shield and a teardrop, and he observed it with complete focus until he realized that she had held in her voice and become a wolf while he stared. This he understood; he ruffled her unkempt mane and pulled the bandages from her powerful legs to see the wounds had sealed off and could be left uncovered now, and when the last ember lost its glow he felt the bite of the storm sinking into his own flesh, everywhere except the burn on his hand and the scabs from his scuffle with the wolf.
Lucina, somehow able to comprehend his discomfort, nudged him with her muzzle and laid herself down beside him with her head in his lap. She was warm, burning comfortably the way a wolf should, and he nodded off with the comforting knowledge that neither of them would freeze in the night.
When morning came, heralded by a softer, more forgiving rain, he was roused by an unfamiliar sensation, and when he dared open his eyes he was prone on his back, covered by his own quilt like a land hidden under a shroud of darkness, and Lucina was stepping into the cabin with neatly killed rabbits. She had dried blood smeared across her chest but otherwise seemed completely ordinary, and after she set aside her rabbits she kneeled before him and patted the top of his head.
"I decided that if I have no desire to leave I might as well earn my keep," she explained with a hint of smugness. "During the day we will not talk, I promise. I do not want to confuse you. But during the night I will accompany you into the woods and we will hunt together."
"Deal," he muttered groggily with his mind still haunted by dreams, "but only if we forget everything that was said during the storm."
"You are welcome to try."