Wolf Eve

She limped in on all fours, wolf's head hanging low, and when she curled up at the hearth the fur seemed to roll off her body, again becoming a hide from which she emerged, his own Eve again. She looked tired and wan, but uninjured. Dropping the burning brand he ran and took her in his arms.

“You came back.”

"I had to come for you," she said.

Peter swallowed. "You shouldn't have. There's danger." And he told her everything. He expected her to be angry, but she proffered no reaction at all. When he finished all she said was:

"Then they'll come for us soon."

"Yes," said Peter. And then: "Did you hurt Maren?"

She appeared confused. "Why I would do that?"

The word "jealousy" was on the tip of Peter's tongue, but he realized how foolish it was. But he wondered whether he'd be able to detect a lie if she told one; was that something she even could do?

As always, her yellow eyes seemed to have depths he couldn’t fathom. He shook his head to clear the thoughts away.

"It doesn't matter," he said. “They're going to kill us both no matter what."We should run."

"They’d find us. Unless..." She paused and went to the door, and she seemed to be listening for something. After a moment she turned back. "We could go to the other world."

Peter swallowed again. "The place you came from?"

"Yes.” She sat down in front of him and looked into his eyes again. "But you could not go as you are now."

She held the wolf skin out to him. He took it in trembling hands. It was heavy.

"This other world...we'd be safe there?"

"Of course not," said Eve. "But who is ever safe anywhere?"

"I never understood what you meant when you talked about another world."

"You understood when you dreamed."

Peter shivered. "I don't want to go there, then."

"In my world no one is innocent. In my world we live and die, kill and spare, as the world sees fit. It's not a good place, but it's not a bad place. It's a place where whatever is, is."

Before he could reply she pressed a finger to his lips.

"No more talk," she said. "If we go, it’s now."

Peter ran his fingers through the soft fur of the wolf hide. Then he touched Eve's hair, just as soft. Her eyes gleamed. The embers of the fire were dying in the hearth.

"Then we should go now," he said.

At the door he shed his clothes, his boots, his belt, even his knife and tools. He would need none of these things where they were going. Snow was falling in icy white flakes. Pain shot through the soles of his feet when he stepped out, but Eve touched his arm and he felt warmer.

As he watched, she shuffled into the wolf skin and in a blink she was running on all fours, tail behind her, toward a break in the trees. There she waited for him. Breathing deep, Peter wrapped the skin of the wolf around his body, and waited.

At first he didn’t believe the magic of the thing would work for him. Only when he took the first step and saw not his foot but a paw in the snow before him did he realize it had already happened. Or maybe, he thought, it happened a long time ago, and I didn’t notice then either…

That was the last truly human thought he had. Everything after that was crowded out by the sound of the wind and the smells of the forest and the sharp white glint of the snow on the earth and the retreating figure of the gray she-wolf through the thicket.

Though she was slower because of her leg she still kept the lead, since she knew the way and he didn’t. The nameless wolf (for he'd forgotten his human name now) stayed close to her tracks, because he smelled peril in the winter air.

When the wind shifted heard the crunch of heavy boots on snow and the murmur of quiet voices and smelled not just the scent of the hunters themselves but also the smell of burning pitch from torches that would scorch his hide and burn his fur to nothing if he let them get too close. He had to keep away from them but he also had to stay with the she-wolf. Only the she-wolf knew the way to safety—

But where was she? He could not see or smell her anymore. He glimpsed movement out the corner of his eye and when he turned he saw a furry form slipping toward him—

Too late he realized the danger. The other wolf crashed into him and they rolled end over end in the snow, snarling, snapping, clawing, jaws searching for purchase. He should have realized it would not just be the village hunters looking for them tonight; the wolf pack had lain in wait all this time for an opportunity and now they had it.

The two beasts snarled and rolled over each other. The enemy wolf was bigger and the nameless wolf was still not used to moving in this body. The enemy wolf was on top now and weight was crushing the nameless wolf. There was not enough air in his lungs, not enough breath left to fight with, not enough time to—!

And then the weight fell away and the gray she-wolf stood over their enemy, her jaws red. The other wolf was not moving anymore.

The nameless wolf struggled to his feet. He was hurt, but there was no time to rest, no time even to slow down. The smell of burning pitch drew ever closer.

They ran together, shoulder to shoulder, through the trees and the thickets and the dark and the snow. Around them, they knew, the hunters closed in in a ring, and somewhere out there the other wolves howled and bayed, angry and vengeful.

How much further did they have to go? The nameless wolf didn’t know. His haunches hurt and his ribs ached. He longed to simply turn and fight, to tear their pursuers apart with his jaws or even to throw his body onto their spears in a mad act of defiance. Anything would be better than this blind pursuit. But still he followed the she-wolf.

Footsteps drew closer; voices shouted; the hell-light of orange flames illuminated the tree trunks around them. Smoke was in the air and some dim part of the nameless wolf's brain registered that they must have set fire to the chapel. At least that will have slowed them down a few moments, he thought. Maybe it will be enough. Maybe...

They broke into a clearing. The well was there, the nameless wolf knew. And between here and where it lay was the wolf pack, its surviving two members circling the old well, heedless, apparently, that the approaching mob would kill them just as readily.

They were determined to be revenged on this interloper no matter what it cost them. The nameless wolf paused; he was hurt, and the gray she-wolf was lame. A fight now was the last thing they wanted. But the hunters were closing in...

The she-wolf didn’t hesitate; she charged, and when the other wolves blocked her way she tried to muscle through them and they were both on her at once, and all three made a rolling pile marked by the flash of fangs.

The nameless wolf ran in and collided with the first body he found and he and the enemy wolf rolled away, biting, snapping, tearing. The virginal white snow turned red. For a moment the nameless wolf was buried beneath a drift and when he came out he saw, to his relief, that the gray she-wolf had reached the safety of the well and even now was leaping into it, down into the cool, safe, dark world below.

Now there was nothing left to do but run. The nameless wolf was hurt too badly to still be quick or strong, but he would run as fast as he could and hope. Where were the other wolves? Their scent was everywhere but he couldn't see them; the bloodied ground looked like a wound in the forest itself. No point thinking about such things now; now he just ran.

Orange light flared to his left. Men were running at him and he heard their manic, garbled calls. He slipped and slid over the stones of the old well, trying to pull himself up, trying to let himself fall in, but below there was only a black abyss with no bottom and for a moment he was not sure if he could go in, nor sure that he wanted to...

Pain lanced up his body. The smell of singed fur and burning flesh sickened him. Flaming brands were flying through the air, striking him on the shoulders and back and burning his feet and singing his tail. So he jumped, and as he fell through that darkness below he was burning, burning, like a shooting star coming to earth, burning to pieces as it fell...

And then it was over. He lay in a deeper, colder snow than he'd ever imagined, and the flames sizzled and died. His pursuers were all gone. The pain remained, but cold numbed it. He could not stand.

He couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt. Would he recover? Or would he die here? There was no one who could say.

But the gray she-wolf was with him. She trotted to where he lay and then lay down on top of him. Her body was warm. She stayed there all night and kept the cold at bay, and now and then she nuzzled him.

The night was long. Perhaps it lasted for days. From somewhere out there came the howling of wolves. Faintly, he howled back. If the day came when he was strong enough to walk, they would follow the sound and join whoever was there. If that day never came, then it wouldn't matter.

For now, though, they were together, with each other, and with the sky and the snow and the forest, and no one else.