Jane, covered in dust and scratches, cold, tired, and sore, was holding onto a bush for dear life. She'd only slid a small distance before the plant had presented itself, but a few moments scrabbling with her feet revealed that there didn't seem to be any other vegetation to use as footholds to climb back up. Remembering all that Sir Theodore had told her about remaining calm in battle, she held on and listened to the fight that went on above while she sorted through recent events in her head.

Going by the noise, the battle was currently in the wolves' favour, and it seemed they were battling a human. The moonlight was still strong after the recent full moon, and the muted colours of her rescuer had looked very familiar. It had to be Gunther. Jane wasn't sure what to think of this, but right now she didn't care. If he could shake off the wolves long enough to give her a hand, then maybe they could make an escape, or climb a tree or something. Jane grimaced at this thought, as the pain in her side pounded. God's blood! Damn horses! She knew she rode Dragon for a reason.

"At least he can keep his head in an emergency. Not even a horse should panic so much over a few wolves!" She ground out angrily, as spiky leaves brushed her cheek. And what will I say to Smithy . . . ? She deflated slightly at this thought, imagining the look on her friend's face, and cursed again.

"Worry about that later, Jane." She reminded herself, as the bark of the bush rubbed against her hand, and her grip began to loosen.

The scuffle above wasn't sounding too good, either. If it went on much longer then Gunther would grow tired . . . .

There was a growl, much deeper than she thought a wolf could make, and intensely angry. Jane felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle, and shuddered as she adjusted her hold on the bush, once again scrabbling for a foothold. She really had to get back up there, before something happened to Gunther. Even though this whole situation was his fault, she couldn't really wait around while he got himself killed.

The growl faded, and Jane could hear Gunther let loose with one of his war cries. The one he uses when he's feeling over-confident, Jane thought distractedly, busy dragging her knee up underneath her, attempting to wedge it between the base of the bush and the valley wall. She eventually succeeded, and paused to listen, breathing heavily.

The wolves were . . . whimpering, and yelping, and it sounded for all the world as though they were losing. Jane frowned in confusion, and began hauling herself upwards, towards the bush, until she was crouching on one leg, the other braced against the dirt wall. She clung to the bush with one hand and the wall with another, while the fight above came to an end with one final thud, and silence seemed to spread through the entire forest. Noises that Jane hadn't even realised she'd been hearing ceased, until all that was left was her own breathing. She assessed the situation, and realised she wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry, except maybe down. There didn't seem to any wolves moving around above, although she couldn't hear a person, either.

"G-Gunther . . . ?" She called out, her throat dry from dust. "Are you there?"

There was a scrambling noise, and then Gunther's face appeared above her, pale in the moonlight.

"Jane," he panted, extending a hand towards her. It was covered in blood.

She stared at it in confusion, until his voice snapped her back to reality.

"There is a time and a place for being squeamish, Jane, and the when and where are never 'hanging over the edge of a cliff'," he pointed out impatiently.

Jane blinked, prepared to snap back angrily, before shaking her head and reaching out a hand.

His grip was slick, but he reached down his other hand and grabbed her sleeve, and hauled her up easily.

They both lay on the path, panting for breath and clutching at their sides, for quite a while. When her heart had stopped racing and breathing had become easier, Jane turned her head to look at Gunther, confused. How could he possibly have survived that?

Beside her, Gunther looked her over quickly. "You are uninjured?" He asked, his voice thick.

Jane nodded. "Only a few bruises."

She sat up slowly, keeping her back to Gunther as she gingerly touched her side. It really hurt, and a wave of dizziness washed over her as she stood.

Gunther had risen to collect both his sword and hers, as well as the bow and arrows he had tossed into a bush, but turned as she hissed in pain.

"Liar," he said dryly, although Jane thought that he might have looked concerned.

He gathered the weapons, sheathing his own sword and slipping Jane's back into the sheath on her back, before lightly gripping her arm.

"We should keep moving," he said shortly. "There's an inn down here."

Jane was burning with questions, but a quick look at the long path ahead smothered them in tiredness. Questions would have to be asked later, but they would be asked. Jane would make certain of that.

---

The two walked in silence for a long while, Jane stumbling occasionally and Gunther not letting go of her arm, worried she'd fall.

She didn't look too good, all scratched and holding onto her side with her free hand. Gunther, who was by now feeling fine, if a little tired, felt guilty.

So much for my backup plan, he sighed to himself. He'd never been that great at strategising, after all, and Jane was, well, Jane.

"Should have known," he muttered to himself.

Jane gave no indication of hearing, and Gunther continued on in silence, keeping his ears open for signs of any more wolves, although he doubted any more would try anything. Hopefully the bodies he'd left behind him would be warning enough.

Gunther suppressed a shudder as he remembered the fight, and the feeling as the wolf inside of him had almost taken over. He'd been losing, badly, and the werewolf had seemed desperate to fight the wolves, almost as though it was clawing at his mind. Gunther supposed he had eventually relented, although he wasn't entirely confident he had, and the werewolf had grasped at his moment of weakness, almost turning him.

He'd stopped it in time, but only just. Gunther had always been dimly aware that he could chose to turn at any time, day or night, full moon or no. He'd just never imagined that he would.

The Wolf had been furious, and the feeling had been dreadful as it struggled again, but Gunther had refuse to relent, and eventually it snapped, sending forth a wave of strength so intense that Gunther had almost been overwhelmed, before some instinct kicked in. He'd thrown away his sword after that, and the wolves hadn't stood a chance. He'd attacked, disgusted at himself even as he ripped them apart, both awed and ashamed by the rush of power. His senses had been heightened ever since the bite, but it was nothing compared to this. And the strength. No knight could match him with strength like that . . . .

Gunther growled quietly to himself and turned away from the thoughts. I will not be tempted!

Beside him, Jane winced as his grip on her arm tightened, and he quickly removed his hand under her glare.

"Sorry, sorry."

They stepped out of the last of the trees, and into the light pouring out of a window of the inn. Gunther sighed in relief and turned towards the door.

"Are you injured?" Jane asked suddenly.

Gunther's hand flew automatically to the wound in his flesh, between hip and ribcage. But of course she couldn't see it, and any tears in his clothes no longer had the accompanying tears of flesh.

"Nothing to worry about," he said lightly, and put an end to the conversation by knocking on the inn door.

---

It had taken some time to convince the Innkeeper and his wife that they weren't a pair of mass-murdering madmen, but eventually the story of the wolf attack, heavily edited, and the clink of coin in Gunther's purse won them over. The woman had helped Jane upstairs, and treated her wounds. Apparently they weren't too serious, just so long as she rested for a few days. Gunther wasn't sure if that was actually true, or if the Innkeeper was just hoping for some more money.

It had been a long and restless night, in an uncomfortable bed and a fetid smelling room, but at least he was clean. He sat downstairs by the fire and waited for Jane to wake up. He'd debated taking off and leaving her again, but she'd just follow him, and now she had no horse, and no supplies. There were times when Gunther knew he should listen to the nagging, guilt-inducing feeling in his gut, and this was one of them.

He knew taking Jane could lead to problems, such as how to travel without a horse. Horses had been scared to death of him since he'd been bitten, and he'd had his work cut out just riding his once faithful steed home.

But Gunther also knew those problems could be overcome. If they travelled by foot during they day, at walking pace, then once Jane fell asleep at night he'd be free to roam around until dawn, searching for the cure and maybe hunting for something to feed both of them. The difficulty lay in the possibility that they might not have any success before the next full moon, and then the situation would get a little on the desperate side.

"Morning, Gunther," said Jane, halfway down the staircase.

His ears had picked up the tread of her feet, and he'd smelt her, but Gunther had been so deep in thought that her presence hadn't really registered. He stood and smiled at her briefly.

"Feeling better?"

"A good deal better than I might be feeling at the moment, thanks to you, I suppose." She grimaced slightly as she stepped away from the staircase, but Gunther doubted it was her side that caused it. "On the other hand, if you had waited for me yesterday, then none of this would have happened."

Gunther sighed; he should have known. "Whether we travelled together or not, there would still be wolves lurking in the woods, Jane."

"But perhaps they would be less eager to attack two than one. Here." Her hand moved quickly and she tossed a piece of grey cloth towards him.

Gunther raised his hand to catch it, only remembering at the last minute what it had been used for. So she found the arrow.

Jane continued to talk in a slightly cold tone. "It was at the top of my sack, and it got covered in dust, so Mrs. Ploughman washed it." She frowned at him, but said nothing more about his unusual parting gift, for which he was grateful. "I lost my money and supplies with my horse, so you will have to buy some food and pay for everything."

She fixed him with a glare before turning towards the kitchen, and Gunther sighed. Apparently she felt he owed her.

---

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys. Thanks as ever to KrisEleven, and all reviewers.