Author's Note: In honor of Fat Tuesday, I have updated! Thank you to all who have alerted, favorited, reviewed, etc. A big thank you to Baroness Orc for her influence on my writing. Now, on with the show. Review if you like it, and check out my other stuff too. FYI: I own the characters, but not the archetypical fairy tales lying beneath the surface. Enjoy!
Chapter 12
They walked for what was left of the afternoon in silence. Snow blew across the roads, and their breath was white, like the transforming mist they were all-too-familiar with. Isabelle's fur was warm, and she was glad that Trestan had not sent her back to the castle like she had been expecting him to do.
When the light began to fade, they stopped to spend the night in a copse of pine trees which stood near the road. Trestan took the long knife at his belt and hacked off some low branches, making two beds, and then started a small fire to cook. After a small, but warm supper Trestan began to speak. Isabelle thought she heard a little shouting in the distance, but ignored it, enthralled by Trestan's words.
"I am sorry," Trestan began, playing with one of the candles in his pack. "I never thought that it would come to this. I have treated you shamefully, and I ask for your forgiveness.
"First of all, Isabelle, I want you to know that I do love you." He paused here to gauge Isabelle's reaction. Isabelle lifted her head off of her paws, doing her best to hide the fire in her eyes with a look of annoyance, but that is difficult to do without eyebrows.
Trestan continued, encouraged by this. "I must admit, that from the time when we first met, I have done everything to win your love, just for the sake of winning it. Then you changed, and I loved you for it. Then I understood what love truly is, and how wrong I had been.
"Isabelle, ever since I was born, I have been under this curse, because my father refused to marry a witch. I was a victim of it, but I have realized that everyone is a victim to something, curse or no. Soon, however, I won't have to worry about this, because it will be decided either way. I have ten days to remove this curse, or I will be stuck with this half-life until I die. The lady who cursed me gave me one day of my life for every gold coin she would have given my father if they were married. Nine thousand days, and then a lifetime of certainty."
"Trestan," Isabelle said from her sphinx-like position, "What can I do for you?" The shouting in the distance grew louder, something was wrong.
"Wait," Trestan said, dropping the candle and holding up a hand. Suddenly all of the shouting stopped. "Isabelle," he said forebodingly, hand finding the hilt of his deadly knife, "Where are your glass slippers?"
"In my pack, on my back, you know how things disappear when we transform," Isabelle said, terrified.
Trestan cursed. "Quiet," he ordered. "When I shout, run. Act normal until then."
Isabelle realized that his rough manner was not directed at her. She could hear the sounds of men, stepping on the pine needles. They were being surrounded.
"Good dog," Trestan said, a little more loudly than necessary. "Time to sleep, aye?" After putting a few sticks into the fire, he laid down on the pine branches.
Isabelle began to panic as everything began to happen at once. A score of villagers rushed through the pine trees, armed with a few rusty swords, cudgels, axes, and pitchforks. They began to yell even more loudly when they saw Isabelle. Trestan stood his ground, even though he was surrounded by villagers.
"What do you want with me?" Trestan said calmly. A few of the villagers stepped forward to attack, but most were stunned by his calm demeanor.
Their leader, a middle aged laborer, stepped forward. "We want your wolf. It scared the wits out of my daughter today, bit her. Nasty bite. Surrender it to us and we will let you go free."
Trestan turned to Isabelle. "That was a very wicked thing to do," He scolded.
Isabelle whined penitently, tail between her legs.
"See," Trestan continued, "she is sorry for what she did. Can we not leave it at that and part as friends?"
"No," the man said, "My orders were to see that wolf dead. I can only give you one more chance: give her up and walk away, or face our gang here." The men raised their weapons.
"I apologize, but I will not be able to do that," Trestan said dryly. "If you wish to fight me, well, be forewarned. I will not make it easy for you tonight." The men paused, unsure. Trestan shrugged. "As lovely as your company is, I must leave you now."
Trestan swung his pack onto his back and began to walk away from the mob, when something fell out of the pack and hit the ground. It was the candle that Trestan had been toying with when he was speaking to Isabelle.
"He has candles," A young man yelled. "He's a sorcerer!" The man slashed at Trestan with an ancient battleaxe. Trestan whirled around to face his attacker, knife in hand. With a few deft moves, he disarmed his opponent and dodged several pitchforks.
"Isabelle," Trestan urged, "run!"
Isabelle did not need to be told twice; she bolted out of the copse, hoping that Trestan would be able to find her after the battle.