The wolf from Anjou, the wolf with the golden eyes,
Serving mass till morning for all the beasts that have been slain,
And not a man in the neighborhood
shall not go out of his house this night.
The bells do not sing under the wolf's paw,
They rustle with fallen leaves and icy lingonberries,
They rustle dryly and sternly till the predawn darkness.
On the bell tower is a wolf with golden eyes.
The night passes, silent as a prayer.
of gray wolves for their murdered mothers,
Brown foxes for missing sisters and brothers,
The beasts stand in the darkness and swallow their tears.
Rowan Tower - The Wolf with the Golden Eyes
Gaston stared dumbly at the closed door, the door into which his Belle had been carried.
He had already tried so many times to free himself that he was completely exhausted and, shivering from overexertion already just lay there, not trying to move.
Thoughts, thoughts pounded in his head with hammers, beat in his temples with a heavy surf. Gaston couldn't stand just thinking, empty regrets and daydreams were not for him. But now in this darkness, after the poison he had been drugged with, there were only thoughts, thoughts...
It was his fault - went to the sea... He wanted to. He didn't prepare himself, trusted strangers... How could he not recognize such a simple trap? He trusted the first person he met.
What's being done with Belle now?
No.
No.
He mustn't think about that.
It couldn't have happened with him. No, not with him, something bad could have happened with anyone, but not with him. He's the smartest, the strongest, the-
He always wins. Always.
But now these human hunters had caught him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
The hunter wins. Always. Only because he's one step ahead of his prey.
Gaston remembered that when they played chess in the tavern, if all another abilities being equal, the player who played white won. Because the first move was his.
The prey was doomed from the moment Gaston began to track it. The beasts simply lived, unaware that death was already following them. Death lay in the bushes, trying not to breathe when the deer and its female went to the watering hole, Death followed the trail unheard and lurked behind the tree near where the deer sharpened its antlers. Death was patient; he could track his prey for weeks.
By the time Gaston struck, the prey was doomed. He already knew its weaknesses, its paths, knew everything about its unpretentious life. The prey could resist, the fight could be difficult, even nearly fatal, but always nearly. Because if done right, there was no chance.
And so they, happy and carefree, enjoying the big city and the sea were closely followed by someone's eyes...
When he had shot that deer, with those big branching antlers, his female had turned and looked at Gaston.
Today he remembered that look.
It was the way Belle had looked. The same terror in those brown eyes.
So, it looked like he was going crazy... No, no...
Why is he thinking about it? Why? Gaston's mind boggled again in his fetters, clenched shut, but in that darkness and the flashes of consciousness he saw only the sad dead eyes of that deer on the wall.
His trophy. His trophies.
He didn't kill them for food or any need, he killed them for pleasure. To decorate his wall.
And now someone had ruined his life too, taking everything he loved to get two beautiful living toys.
That bear had two cubs.
No! He won't think about that. No!
That pair of foxes...
Those dead eyes that stare from the wall with silent reproach.
Some kind of retribution - what happened to him...
"If it's all right... If Belle and I get out of this... I'll throw all this junk away. Darm it, let them say what they want. Hang it up if I want to, throw it away if I want to. I'm gonna bury that head. I'll only hunt if I have to," Gaston whispered, as if making a vow or a prayer. His head burned with fire, but the terrible images receded.
The door opened, and Jeannette came in. She leaned against the door and looked at Gaston in silence. He had caught that look so often he could do no wrong
It was a chance. If they had come for him, Jeannette would not have come.
"It's good that you came," Gaston said quietly.
"Why?" The woman's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Don't give me to them," the man whispered hoarsely. "Don't give me to these rich men. I want... I want to be yours. You see... As soon as I met you, I realized that you are different. Brave and strong. I..."
He stared at her fixedly, doing his best to make sure there was passion and tenderness in his gaze.
Jeannette frowned, but her cheeks flushed red.
"But it's impossible," she tried to speak nonchalantly, but sadness was still in her voice.
"Why?" Gaston whispered hotly. "Let's get on my horse and run away, just the two of us, just you and me. We'll be free. I'll be able to protect you, make a life for us."
"What horse of yours? We already sold it to the slaughterhouse."
Gaston did not immediately understand what she said, and then tried to remain indifferent. But something must have shown on his face, and Jeannette shrugged:
"Well, what was to be done with it? It's healthy and strong, but we were in a hurry, it's not a thoroughbred, you can't sell it quickly. All the peasants who come here to sell their junk have such hybrid thing."
Noir was actually his friend. Smart and loyal, as good as a dog. But they easily destroyed everything he loved.
"All right," the man said as calmly as possible. "Never mind, let's get on any horse and run away. Trust me, I can take care of you. You'll finally be able to live in peace. A woman shouldn't be doing things like this."
"What kind of things?" - Jeannette was angry. "It's none of your damn business what I do."
"My woman would live in her own house, safe. She wouldn't have to socialize with the rabble. Earn for living," he paused, and then he hit harder. "You'd be able to afford a baby, finally."
Jeannette's hands trembled, and she folded them across her chest:
"I'll be fine. A couple more deals and we'll go far away with Paul. We'll buy a house and live in peace."
"He's already promised that, hasn't he? - Gaston said. - Said he'd be out of it in a little while."
"How do you know?"
"I just know weaklings like your husband."
There was silence. Jeannette hesitated. Finally, she moved closer and squatted down and began to untie the knots on the ropes that bound the hunter's legs.
She pulled on the ropes, but then stopped. Gaston held his breath.
Jeannette placed her hand on the man's thigh and guided it higher, Gaston could barely contain a shiver of revulsion. Although this woman was pretty, there was something vicious about her, and she judged him like a thoroughbred animal.
"You will be obedient, won't you?"
"I will be your slave."
"I can be very cruel... If you look at other women. I have ways of making you humble. Sometimes I like to inflict pain."
"If you try to hurt me, you nasty bitch, I'll rip your arms off and make you chew on them!"
He must have gotten nervous, or that poison in the champagne must have done something to his head, but he spoke those thoughts aloud.
Jeannette drew back from him and smiled no more.
"You're so mean," she said in surprise.