The Wolf & The Witch

Forty-five miles to the east the forest pinched down to a single tree at a spot where it disappeared into a stone outcrop, and the wolf and the witch rode around the outcrop. Then they rode to another long, narrow forest. They followed that forest and came upon the remains of an old bridge- trees had pulled it apart, though the bricks at the bank still stood. Then they found the remains of docks, and shallow-bottomed fishing boats, both decades, perhaps centuries, old, half-lost in blankets of red grass.

Then they came to the end of the next forest, and to the start of the first outpost: a tall wooden wall that spanned from the edge of one forest to the edge of the next, with a gate in the center. A series of shacks and buildings surrounded the gate. The wall, like the forest, was easy enough for a human to slip through, but not a horse. They reached their cuffed hand out to the wall and it remained a wall- solid, made of logs, lashed together with metal chains, sunk deep into the ground, and twenty feet high. The wolf and the witch looked at each other, and followed the wall to the shacks.

A scrawny man with a chipped sword came out of a shack when he heard them coming. He rapped the blade on a metal barrel, and two more scrawny men came out, one puffing a joint, his head lost in the white smoke, and the other holding a spear. “One hundred silver to pass.”

Lestat hopped off their horse, then reached up for Claire and helped her down. He looked at the three men, and the gate behind them, and the wall that continued another two-hundred feet to the next forest. So this is how this land works. Want to travel on foot- have at it. Want to travel by horse- it’s neither free, nor quick, nor easy. One hundred silver. They had none. Lestat looked at the man with the spear. “Step aside. Now. Your life is worth more than one hundred silver.”

The men raised their weapons- two swords pointed at Lestat, and one spear pointed at Claire. “Money, or your woman- one of the two. Or find another gate or go through the woods. Your choice, bub.”

Lestat looked down at Claire, then back at the man. “You’re right about one thing- she is my woman.” Lestat drew his sword and flung it forward in one smooth, fluid motion. The blade took the head of the man with the spear and lodged in the wall of a shack. His head bounced off his boot and he slumped over and fell backwards.

Claire looked up at him wide-eyed and blushing and slightly angry. His woman? She didn’t know how to feel about that for a second. She didn’t like being claimed, as if she was owned, but at the same time, she was very much interested in those words. Then she was in the air-

Lestat pulled her close and sprung forward. He deflected a short, fast swipe, brought his second sword up and took the man’s arm, then down and took his head. The last man held his sword like a bat and swung wide; Lestat kicked it out of his hands, tripped him, and pinned him to the ground with the end of his sword. “Has another couple cuffed like us come through here?”

“Go to-”

Lestat brought his right foot up and slammed it down in the man’s stomach hard enough to break bones. The man bent in half and gasped and struggled.

“Has another couple, with this cuff, come through this gate?” Lestat held their hand out and pushed the man’s face back with his foot, to make sure he had a clean line of sight to the cuff.

“Y-yeah. Yes. Yes. Come... come on, man, I’ll let... you through, just let-”

Lestat moved the tip of the sword to the man’s arm and slowly drove it through his bicep and into the ground. Straight through the muscle. The man screamed. Lestat twisted the sword.

“Ow god stop! Ow! Ow!”

Lestat brought his boot up and kicked the man hard in the face, sending teeth flying. Claire’s left hand was behind her back, Lestat’s right arm wrapped tight around her. She was looking up at him, biting her lip.

“Which way did they go?”

“East. Everyone goes east! Ow! Goddamnit!”

“Do you have a map?”

“Yes! Fuck yes! Please let-”

“Check his pockets,” Claire interrupted.

Lestat pulled the sword free and placed his right foot in the center of the man’s chest. He had his hands to his mouth, trembling, coughing blood. “You heard her. Empty your pockets.”

The man did. Quickly. He was a bright white and red mess. Notes, coins, matches, a bottle opener, and cards. Lestat brought the sword up, and brought it down, and removed half his left hand, his head just above his adam’s apple, and his right arm to the elbow.

Lestat leaned over and picked up the matches, then pulled her to the shacks. They found three more men asleep, in a dim room, surrounded by bottles of wine, and let them sleep. They also found quite a lot of gold and silver and a very useful map.

“Hey… uh…” My woman. Her brain was not happy about that. Fuck him if he thought he was going to own her, or collar her. Absolutely not. But her heart pulled very hard towards those words...

Lestat retrieved his sword, pocketed the gold coins, and led them through the gate, horses following, and pulled them into the fields on the other side, away from the gate. He sat down in the grass, and pulled her down, and opened the map. “Yeah? What is it?”

“What you said- I’m your woman. What did you mean?” She looked up at him, her eyes soft, and warm, and a little angry- a few thorns, and a small fire, alongside afternoon sunlight through a jar of honey.

Lestat looked at her, and then wondered- what had he meant? Then he realized- saying those words made him no different than any other wolf, and what he meant by them could very easily be taken as disrespectful. “Nothing. Sorry I said that.”

Now she was curious. It wasn’t like him to slip with words, or accidentally say something. “Tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“I… didn’t mean anything by it.”

She watched him study the map, and tilted her head and studied him. Why wouldn’t he tell her?

He cleared his throat. “What do you think?” he asked, pointing at the map. This map made it clear: they had two options. Either go west, where the border was closer, but they had more forest to cross on foot, or to the east, following at least one other couple, where they would do nothing but crisscross back and forth past gates for another thousand miles. If they went west they would ride another forty miles, and then be within one hundred miles of the border. Though they would have a couple swaths of forest to cross, one nearly twenty miles wide. On foot. If they went east they would come across nothing but walls, and gates, and they would do nothing but ride their horses around the forests. This land was bisected by ancient stream beds that split and broke and braided the land. Three large cities stood at points along the eastern route, probably just another expensive gate through the forests. There was only one village to the west, just before the large stretch of forest that ended at the border of this land.

Claire looked at the map. It wasn’t a hard choice- not if their goal was speed. “West.”

“I agree. For a few reasons. Let’s go.” He folded the map and slipped it into his pocket.

“Lestat, tell me what you meant. Please.”

He didn’t answer, but hopped up in the saddle and then pulled her up in front of him. He clicked his tongue and the horses took off.

They rode another fifty miles to the west, then made camp. They unpacked the horses, removed the saddles, and bridles, and ropes, and set them free. Then they repacked their pouches and sacks. Then they laid out the blanket, and Lestat took the saddles, some clothes, two blankets, one of their cloaks, one saw, string, soap, a few knives- everything they couldn’t carry, and heaped it in a pile and lit it on fire. A painful fire to watch burn in the shadow of a red forest.

Claire still didn’t know what to make of those three words. When they first woke, that first day, she remembered thinking that she would rather stay a virgin forever than touch him. She clearly remembered thinking that all relationships with wolves were the same: from love, to ownership; from a ring, to a collar. And she didn’t think any woman would argue: the words “she is mine” sound more like ownership and collars than love and rings. But her heart was in ribbons, and he had some of them. He said those three words, and grabbed a handful of ribbons, and had been holding them ever since. Her heart was ok with those words, and she didn’t understand why. “Lestat?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me.”

He looked at her, then back into the fire, and sighed. Lestat felt like his heart was fighting itself- he was positive, without a doubt, that he liked her, and he was positive, without a doubt, that when this cuff fell off, she would walk her way, and he would walk his. But being close to her made him want to be closer. Once again he felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Same as in the snow, when all she wanted was to be held, same as every other night. Lestat didn’t understand his heart; this shouldn’t be a hard decision. “I…”

Claire was looking at him, watching. He was struggling with this question, a lot. Why? He had never struggled to answer any question, and she had asked quite a few harder than that one.

“I… don’t want to answer... Forget I said that.”

She glared at him- she funneled her eyebrows down to the center and set her eyes on fire. God damn if he wasn’t being stubborn. “Answer me. I won’t be mad.” Claire was growing mad. She could hear it in her voice. She growled, then stopped growling, and calmed herself. “Lestat, our promises belong to both of us, not just you, not just me. I don’t lie, you don’t lie. You value and respect me, I value and respect you. I seriously doubt this will work any other way.”

Lestat cleared his throat, and sighed, and looked away. A part of him had to wonder- did he really like this witch enough to make promises, hold her hand, hold her in his arms? His brain doubted. His heart didn’t. She fit perfectly against him, and she was right- their promises belonged to both of them, or neither. Off the cliff, then, “I meant that you’re mine. That you… belong to me- your body, your heart, your mind. No other man touches you but me, no other man hugs you but me, no other man kisses you but me. I will not allow anyone to hurt you. It means you let me take care of you; it means I…” Lestat paused, and looked down. “Sorry. That… is a very wolf-like, and disrespectful, thing to say.”

Claire swallowed. That was indeed a very wolf-like thing to say. Ownership. Control. Possessiveness. And how would he exert ownership over her body? Not by snuggling up in her cleavage- she had to force him to do that. So then what? Her heart knew the answer: he would crawl overtop her, as he was dying and burning to death, and shield her body from heavy kicks. He would turn her so that it was him that took a beating, and not her. And he would shield her nakedness from the eyes of other men. How would he exert control? He would refuse to sit her down as he carried her, because they only had one pair of boots. He would order her to stand on his shoulders. Was he possessive? Claire tugged at the cuff, then tugged it again, till he turned his head. “That… don’t apologize for that. It might be the wolf in you talking, but… I respect, and value you as a wolf as… as much as I do you as a man.” The promises go both ways, and Claire realized- she truly meant those words.

Lestat didn’t say anything, but opened his right hand. Claire looked down, and put her hand in his, and closed her fingers, and he closed his.

“What does it mean to you when you say I belong to you? Or that you own my body?”

He was slow to look up. Now his heart felt like it was in the air, falling. He swallowed, and looked at their hands, and had to wonder if it wasn’t this cuff pulling them together. The purpose was, after all, forced mating. But it didn’t feel like he was being controlled by some metal cuff. “It means I want to take care of you, and keep you safe- I don’t like to see you hurt. It means I’m jealous, and protective. I do not want any other man touching you, or looking at you, or…” he trailed off again, and looked down at the fire. “I don’t want to share you, or your smile, with anyone else.”

Ribbons, all over the blanket, all over their legs, and arms, and shoulders. Nothing he said was wrong. That was exactly how a man should feel about a woman. And Claire knew all about jealousy. And why was she jealous of those little red-headed witches? It was a quick and easy answer: because she liked him, and because she wanted him to belong to her, and no one else, his eyes, and what they looked at, included. Those damn little fucking hussies and their young, perky white tits. Claire growled at the thought of the redheads. “You know, a couple months ago I would’ve smacked you for saying that I was your woman, and that I belonged to you.”

“Oh yeah. I know.”

“But not anymore. Don’t apologize for that, and… it’s ok. I… feel the same way. If we’re sharing promises, then let’s share belongings. I belong to you, and you belong to me, and as long as we-“

Lestat’s heart heard four words that shut out all others. Those four words erased every other word from his brain- he lost the totality of his vocabulary in her words: I belong to you. This beautiful, strong, smart woman belonged to him? The night breeze picked up and tossed embers away from them into the red grass, and Lestat turned, and put his left hand behind her head, and gently took a handful of her hair, and pulled her mouth to his.

Claire’s eyes went wide and her heart stopped as cold as if she had frozen it with magic. She flushed, from her forehead down her chest. He’s kissing me? Then Lestat opened his lips against hers, and very gently touched her lips with his tongue, tasting her- he ran his tongue back and forth across her lips, probing, waiting, tasting.

Claire wasn’t breathing- she could tell she was going to die if they didn’t break this kiss; she couldn’t inhale; she couldn’t... she tried, and couldn’t, and then didn’t care. She slowly opened her lips to his, and very slowly moved her tongue till it touched his, and it felt like she sank upside down, underwater.

He opened his mouth a little more and ran his tongue over hers, and around, then he bit her lower lip, gently enough, and took a deep breath, then let go. A line of saliva ran from his lip to her tongue.

She was breathing heavy, and dizzy, and was glad his arm was around her- she felt like she might fall over. “What... what did you just do?” she whispered.

“I kissed you. Mad?”

She shook her head no, and the line of saliva between their lips broke.

“Out of order?”

She shook her head no. Why did he taste so good? She had no idea. Why did that make her heart so weak?

“If you belong to me, then sometimes I might kiss you, or scratch you, or hold you close to keep you warm; sometimes I’ll carry you- over my shoulder if I have to. Sometimes I’ll force your little ass to go to sleep, and-”

“Ok,” Claire said, and nodded, and squeezed his hand. Now she wanted more kisses. She shut her eyes, and leaned in, and-

“I’m holding you tonight. Come here,” Lestat said, and unlaced his shirt, and slipped it over his head, and laid back. He pulled her onto his chest, and groaned a little as she moved against his bruises. He pulled her closer and brought his left hand up and scratched her arm, her hand, her shoulder.

But scratching wasn’t working tonight. “Let me go,” she said.

He didn’t.

She struggled. “Let. Me. Go,” she ordered, and he loosened his hold. Claire climbed out of his arm, and crawled up him till her face was over his. Moonlight framed her, and sparkled at the edges. “I want another kiss.”

“Then kiss me.”

She leaned over, her hair brushing his face, and lowered her mouth to his. Slow kisses- warmth, and the soft feel of their lips pressed together, then taste- tongues circling each other; she tilted her head so that their mouths fit better together. He reached up with his left hand and slipped it under her shirt; he moved his hand up her back, and pulled her close, and she slipped her hand under his head. Closer.

The forest was forgotten. Lost horses, red grass, couples, borders- all forgotten.

Sixty miles. If they moved at a steady pace, walking fast, and did not sleep, did not stop for kissing, did not stop to argue, or eat, or anything else, they could cover that distance in twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours to the next border.