The Wolf & The Witch

They followed the road out of the village and up into the dark pine forest. The wolf had a fur blanket around his shoulders, and an axe at his side, and the witch in his arms. The road was old stone warped by winter and broken by roots, and broken even more by the passage of humans and dire wolves.

Blood, bright red in the white cold, streaked the snow. Claire looked back down the small road. What would happen if they just stayed in that village? More sweet potatoes. More snuggling under blankets. That didn’t sound all bad.

They walked up into the mountains; the trees blocked out the light, and fine crystals of snow sifted down between the pines. Lestat looked at each tree they passed, some broken like twigs. How large must a wolf be to snap trees? Snow crunched under foot, and then he stopped- he heard something up the road, off to the side.

“What is it?” she whispered, loudly.

He looked down at her. “I’m going to start gagging you every time we travel. Something-“

“I’d like to see you fucking try.” She glared at him from his arms. “I whispered, goddamnit, and that was disrespectful.”

He shook his head, but grinned. She was possibly the loudest woman he’d ever met. “Disrespectful? What are you picturing me gagging you with?”

Claire blushed and punched his chest. “That was also disrespectful. Put me down.”

He didn’t. She fussed, and he carried her up the road to a man dying in the snow. He was missing his right leg, and a large chunk of his hip and side. He groaned out for help, and Lestat approached him cautiously.

He watched them come with his left eye- half his face was in the snow. “Who… are you?” he asked. “I haven’t seen… either of… ohhhhh… uh…” His skin was gray, and yellowing, and he laid in a pool of blood that darkened the snow as it spread.

“Um, we’re just… passing through,” Claire said. She hopped out of his arms. “Is there anything… we can do?”

Lestat cleared his throat, and squeezed her hand, keeping her back.

“You’re both wearwolves? Please… save my grand-daughter.”

The wolf and the witch looked at each other. Wearwolves? Both? And why did he pronounce it like that? “Explain that word.” Lestat looked down at the man. This was a very old place- the stoves, the houses, the axe- all of it. And even though they might be trapped in an illusion, or a dream, there still might be very old lessons here worth learning.

“Those who… wear wolves… those who are strong enough to… fight them. How else could you-“ He coughed, and spit blood into the snow. Claire motioned for the water skin, and again Lestat stopped her; he gave the man time to cough to death, if that’s what he was doing, and watched from a distance. “The wolves came early this-“ he hacked, and coughed, and blood sprayed the snow. Claire motioned for the skin, and Lestat stopped her again. “...we should’ve left, sooner…”

It took him another minute to die- choking, gurgling, like a pipe being pulled out of the mud. The old man drowned in himself, and he flailed his arms, and tried to roll over- his stomach and intestines fell out of his body, and he kicked as if sinking, and died.

Claire looked at Lestat- was he being protective, or jealous, by keeping her back? Then she wondered- did it really matter which it was? Part of her still did not like his control, but another part of her trusted him, and felt safety in the words I belong to you, and she liked that he was strong enough to simply pick her up and carry her, even when she fought him. He was controlling, like every other wolf, but the way he controlled her…

Lestat thought a moment as he studied the dead man’s face- clean shaven, well fed. The wolves were early this... year? Clearly those wooden shacks in the village would not keep anyone safe against wolves that size, so what, then? Was there some special stone city at the end of this road, with high walls to protect against wolves?

They left the body in the snow and continued up the road through the dark forest. The road veered left, running alongside the base of the mountain. Water dripped, and froze, on the stone face, to their left, and the trunks of black trees stood like iron fence posts to their right, and blood followed the road, up, and further up into the mountains and forests. As they walked they noticed more and more broken trees, snapped off, flung aside.

Claire pulled the fur blanket around his shoulders, and snuggled up against him, and her thoughts turned to what the old man said: wearwolves. “Hey, do you know how werewolves started?” Her breath hung in the air and she shivered. The temperature was dropping.

“No. Do you?”

“No, but what that old man said was interesting.”

“It was. Do you know how witches started?”

“No. Do you?”

Lestat grinned. “I heard once that a woman was cursed, and had to learn magic to deal with the curse.”

Claire looked up at him. “Really? What was the curse?”

Lestat looked down at her and laughed. “She couldn’t control her appetite when it came to biscuits and ate every-“

“Oh you think you’re so damn funny.” Claire grinned, struggled in his arms, eventually pushed him to the ground, and straddled him. She pinned him down in the snow, and her hair hung down and scraped his cheeks. “I’ll tell you how witches started- there was once a wolf who thought he was the sh-“

Thud.

There was a thud behind them, down the road, and both the wolf and the witch turned their heads. Another heavy thud, and the crack of a tree breaking. A large tree. A heavy crack.

Claire stood, and helped him to his feet, and they both looked down the road. And then the sound of another tree snapping, and the thud of heavy paws on the old stone road. The pines trembled, and snow shook from their branches, and Lestat scooped her up and ran. The wolves were gaining- the sound of trees snapping, the thud in his feet- Lestat leaned in and ran as fast as he could up the snowy path.

Two wolves came through the trees, black as coal, and jumped onto a road just large enough to allow their passage. The wolves tilted their heads- they smelled two humans, and they heard two humans, and they were hungry. Their paws cracked stones, and trunks broke like branches in their wake.

Lestat held Claire in his right arm and pulled the axe from his side: not an especially large or sharp axe, not an axe designed for killing wolves- just a simple, log-splitting axe. He felt Claire clutch his side, and draw in breath- he knew she saw them, and so he stopped, and turned, to face them. .

The wolves slowed to a walk, and one circled away, into the trees, and the other lowered itself, and looked at the small humans, and charged.

Lestat had never fought an animal this size, and he would certainly like to know how wear-wolves fought these goddamn things. Probably not with an axe. He shifted, and just dodged a heavy swipe that would’ve removed his head. He swung the axe, intending to remove the wolf’s leg and the blade lodged, and the dire wolf flung them off the road into the forest. Lestat held Claire, shielding her as he bounced off a tree, then a rock, and rolled down the snowy hill. He slid to a stop and scrambled to his feet. Blood everywhere in the snow; bodies all around them- three women, torn to pieces, and a man impaled and hanging on a tree limb. Half a woman’s face stared up at him from beside his boot.

He took a quick breath, and another, and the other wolf was on them. Claire ran magic down her arm and flung fire into its eyes- it reared up, and howled, and swiped and Lestat rolled away. He scanned the dead as he rolled, and the ground, hoping for weapons, but there were none. However, to the left was a cave- a black slit in the stones. And then he realized- these people made their homes in the caves and came outside to live in shacks when it was safe.

He lifted her and ran, and made it four steps when a heavy black paw hit them from the side and flung them off into a stone outcrop.

Lestat braced himself, but the wolf was too strong, and the rock too hard. He groaned out in pain and was positive at least one rib was broken, maybe two or three. He felt Claire at his side, but couldn’t catch his breath- his vision blurred and swam at the edges.

Claire notched an arrow and fired it at the wolf- it lodged in its skin like a splinter. She fired another, aiming for its eyes. Another arrow, and another, and she might as well be throwing leaves at it. The wolf lunged and grabbed her leg in its huge jaws, and bit down.

Lestat reached up, snatched an arrow from its snout and jabbed it into the damn beast’s eye. The wolf let go of Claire and jumped back, roaring and howling. The other wolf was coming, and they had no time. Lestat lifted Claire and ran to the cave, and wedged them through the narrow opening. He felt the swipe of a heavy paw, and heard claws catch rock at his neck.

Clouds piled up on the horizon and spilled over into the sky, and the snow came heavy, and the forest darkened, and the temperature dropped. Their fur blanket, and the axe, were lost in the snow. The dead disappeared in the blizzard. Frost crept along the rocks, and into the cave, searching for warmth, and outside two wolves waited, angry, and hungry.