The Wolf & The Witch

It was a three day walk to the next village, with nothing in front of them but fields of red grass. No rivers, no ponds, no streams- wherever water had once existed in this land was now a forest. And they were down to their last water skin.

They made camp- a blanket in the grass, and Claire held the map in her hands, against the moon, studying the last stretch of forest they had to cross. Twenty miles of red forest. “I really don’t want to do this again.” She studied the map- it would take much longer, but it still might be possible to go east- they would have to get lucky, and steal horses, and hope they weren’t the last couple.

“Are there any islands?”

“One,” she answered. “And if we find it, then we’ve messed up.”

Lestat gave his right hand to Claire- she was holding it in the air with both hands, looking at the heavy paper with the nearly full moon silhouetting the inks. He dug through their packs with his left. He found a handful of nuts, ate half, and offered the rest to Claire.

She sighed, and folded the map and returned it to their pack, and they shared dried figs, and dried horse meat. He handed her a water skin. She drank. If they did go east, and could steal a single horse, then they could get to the first of four gates, and then to a large city. But they couldn’t risk it- not with only one skin left. Damnit. She smelled something and looked up.

Lestat fished around his pack, found what he was looking for, and brought a joint to his face and studied it carefully in the moonlight- not the best joint he’d ever seen. That’s what they got for leaving packing to the redheads, although the swords, clothes- most of the other items were of good quality. But this joint looked old as hell. Oh well. He borrowed her hand, struck a match, lit the joint, puffed a few times, waved out the match and tossed it into the grass. Then he took a long, slow draw and pulled the white smoke into his lungs. He held it a second, tasting it, then laid down on his back, and exhaled slowly into the sky.

Claire waved the skunky smoke away from her face. “What the hell are you doing? You smoke? What is that nasty shit?”

“I smoke every now and then. Here.” He held the joint out to her.

“Hell no. That smells like a skunk’s ass. I have no intention of getting drunk again.” She pushed his hand away.

Lestat laughed at her and sat up. His beautiful sheltered witch. “It won’t make you drunk.”

She looked at the joint, burning slowly, a tendril of smoke rising from the end. “Then what will it do?”

Lestat took another slow hit and blew the smoke away from her. It wasn’t a very good joint. Shitty redheads. “It calms you down. Makes you sleepy. Makes you laugh. Makes you hungry.”

Hunger and laughter? Claire only cared about two things- would she pull her shirt off and shove her breasts in his face, and would she vomit bile so hard it burned the inside of her nose for two days.

“Here. Try it.”

“No.” She held her hand out.

He took another hit, and laid back, and took another slow, relaxing breath. Other than the forests, and the ghosts, and the red grass; other than the occasional rotting boat where there shouldn’t be a boat, and the total lack of animals and non-red scenery; and other than the gates and scrawny-ass men trying to extort travelers, and the lack of water- this land was ok. Other than the land itself, this land was ok. It was actually pretty nice with nothing in his view except Claire and the night sky. He took another hit. He smiled up at her, peaceful. Perhaps the other good thing about this red grass was that there were no insects. It was quiet.

Claire looked down and watched him, curious. “Will it… does it make you want to…” She couldn’t ask. The kissing was one problem, but she could not allow them to combine kissing with taking off her shirt and sitting on his lap. She knew he had self-control, and she had self-control, but everything has a limit. She could now allow them to kiss and lose clothes at the same time.

He looked at her and smiled. “This doesn’t make you feel like doing anything except relaxing, laughing, sleeping, or eating. Smiling.” He smiled. It wasn’t a good joint, but maybe because it was old and the pot was dusty, or maybe because it had passed through multiple laundry washes in someone’s pocket- whatever it was, this shitty joint hit nice, and up high. He offered it to her again.

All five of those sounded nice, and he did look more relaxed, but she was still nervous. “Will you take care of me, and keep me safe, if I try it?”

“Yes. You’ll be fine.”

“Will you… keep me safe from you?”

He squinted at her. What could she possibly be worried about from smoking a joint? The most likely scenario here was that she would simply pass out. It was dark; they had walked all day; he was tired- he knew she must be as well. “Yes. I will keep you safe, from me. Nothing bad will happen. This isn’t the same as wine.”

Claire took the joint, studied it, brought it to her lips, and took the smallest hit, and coughed and choked. And then four seconds later she felt it, behind her forehead- slightly light-headed, calm, and the corners of her mouth were trying to turn up into a grin. She dropped back into the grass, slower than she would normally drop, and laid beside him, on her back; she scooted closer, shoulder to shoulder, and looked up at the sky. “Is this a joint? This is what you meant?” The night sky sparkled overhead- onyx and diamonds thrown into a puddle of ink.

“Yes.”

She looked at it, “How often do you smoke these?”

“Not that often. Once a month or so.”

“Or so?” She brought the joint to her lips and took another hit and coughed. Her throat was sore, and scratchy, but this wasn’t all that bad, although the smoke tasted like shit and made her mouth feel fuzzy. The sky was black, and the stars twinkled, and the land around them was quiet except for a gentle breeze in the grass. He took the nub from her fingers and took the last, long hit, until the embers were at his lips, then flicked it away.

“Wait, wait- I wanted more,” Claire said.

Lestat paused, and leaned his face towards hers. “inhale…” he croaked, and brought his lips right to hers, and opened his mouth. She paused, then opened hers, and moved closer, till their lips were touching, and inhaled as he exhaled.

Then Claire laid her head on his chest and simply enjoyed the shape of the grass. She could hear his heartbeat, and his breathing, and if she moved her eyes just right she could superimpose his chest hair with the grass. She was surprised his chest hair was so soft, and she was also surprised that, even laying down, relaxed, his muscles were hard. She looked up at him- whoever did those stitches did a shitty job. “Whoever did those shitsies… sthit…” She snorted, then laughed. She couldn’t stop herself. She looked at him again and laughed harder. She tried to say ‘stitches’ and failed, and laughed at her failure. She laughed until tears ran from her eyes. She laughed till she was wheezing and couldn’t breathe, then looked up at him, and tried to apologize for laughing at him, and she tried to ask him about his shitsies, but she couldn’t even get two words out before she started laughing again.

Lestat looked down, smiling. What a pleasant sound to hear in the middle of the red fields, under a starry sky- his beautiful stoned witch girlfriend laughing at herself. Girlfriend?

“Who… who-“ She broke into laughter again, and put her face in his chest, and laughed into him so hard she couldn’t breathe. She sat up and turned away from him- she had to get control. Slow the breathing down, stop smiling- stop smiling, damnit. She wiped tears out of her eyes, and steadied her breathing. Ok. She could do this. She slowly turned back to him, “Whoever did those stitches-“ Her eyes saw the crooked stitches and she burst out laughing again.

Lestat had a plan to help her- he unlaced his shirt and pulled it up around his head like a toboggan, covering his head down to just the narrowest slant of his eyes, so she couldn’t see the stitches.

Claire calmed herself. Breathe in, breathe out, blink tears away. Steady. Her chest and ribs hurt she was laughing so much. Ok. One last time. “Whoever did those stitched did a-“ she looked up, and saw his shirt on his head, and broke out laughing again, and held on to him- she snorted laughter up in her nose, and tears ran out of her eyes onto his chest. “Oh god- I can’t breathe,” she laughed.

“You remember, don’t you- it was one of those redheaded witches who stitched my head.”

That stopped the laughter. Those fucking hussies touched him? She would kill them, and him. She hopped up on his chest and leaned in, nose to nose. “I will kill those bitches if they touched you. Did they?”

He smiled up at her and shook his head no- their noses hit with each shake of his head back and forth. “It was a beautiful brunette who stitched me up.”

Claire didn’t like brunettes either. “Who?” she demanded.

Did she not remember? The joint wasn’t that good. Then he saw the slight smile at the corner of her mouth, and grinned. “Some brunette witch I met a couple months ago.”

“Tell me about her. Right now.” The corners of her mouth turned up- she was trying hard to be serious, she was fighting laughter, but it was in her nose, and chest and face- it took all the effort she had to not smile, and to look serious.

“She’s very beautiful. Her hair is long and brown and smells sweet, and earthy, and she’s kind of a fireball. I’m pretty sure her addiction to biscuits and jelly isn’t natural, but her smile, with jelly all over her mouth, is perfect. And her skin is soft, and she tastes like cherries, and-“

Claire blushed. “And where are you tasting this beautiful brunette woman?” She grinned, and smiled- she couldn’t hide it. She leaned into him. “You don’t know this about me, but I can get jealous sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” he laughed, and because he laughed, she laughed. She collapsed back onto him, laughing, and snorting laughter. “Do you also just cuss every now and then?” he laughed.

“Yep; I try to keep my cussing limited to Sundays,” she laughed.

The wolf and the witch snuggled, and talked, and laughed, as the stars circled overhead. Eventually the wolf fell asleep, and the witch started to doze off, but then one of those other side-effects caught up with her- hunger. She dug through their packs and ate nuts, and dried fruit, but was still hungry. She leaned over to his pack and ate dried horse, and more nuts, and all the fruit. Still hungry. She ate more nuts. She looked down at him as she ate- a wolf. Claire didn’t have a mother, or any family, other than a distant father, and an even more distant sister. And she could count all her friends on one hand- three old women she played cards with, one witch from the village, and the old man who sold greenbeans at the market. She could count them all on her right hand. And the wolf? She looked down at their cuffed hands- he got her left hand, apparently. All of it. Every finger. She laid down beside him, pulled their blanket up, and fell asleep on his chest with a big smile on her face.