(no subject)
Written as I go.
Inakka had never hunted a wolf before.
Kargoth had sent her hunting men many a time; she knew well the man-scent and the traces that they left behind, and she knew how to follow them without making them Prey in her wolf's mind. The human had to hold tightly to the line between them, and yet hold tightly she could . . . Inakka had been the pair of eyes in the darkness before, and she had been the ghostly shape between the trees. She had, too, been the soft growl and the hard, tearing teeth--the idea still disquieted her sometimes, on dark nights when she dreamed that she was standing naked and bloodstained in that wreck of a half-built bank with the taste of human flesh still in her mouth, but she had long since learned to push the disquiet aside and remember that hunting the hunters had saved her pack.
Inakka had hunted many, many men, but she had never hunted a wolf, and so it was that she nosed the patch of wet, dead leaves where the black wolf had stood and learned how the full wolves of Deit smelled when their scent was being washed clean by the heavy rains.
She wouldn't have been able to find the smell as a human; the part of her mind that thought in a human shape knew it, but she was not thinking with that part. Her mind said This and her body followed it through the low underbrush, deeper and deeper into the grasping saplings at the edge of the wood until the damp branches ceased to tear at her because their larger cousins had clutched all of the light close.
The black wolf smell clung faintly to the wet leaves--male scent, somehow more male than those of the pack wolves; a scent that was Not Hers.
The rain was pounding the trees over her; leaves fell through great, heavy drops of rainwater that beat against Inakka's muzzle and brushed her flanks. She was soaked almost to the skin; when she reached the stream, she only leapt the banks to search for the scent of the wolf on the other side, and she did not find it.
Every animal that is being pursued will leave a stream further down than he entered it--but a wolf that was not being pursued?
Wolves did not think about eventual pursuit, and Inakka's human-shaped thoughts knew it.
Her brothers would be raging with worry if they knew that Inakka was taking human shape, naked, in the middle of the rain-sodden autumn forest, but wolves did not think about eventual retribution, and so she let her bones break and her muscles scream the change and her newly-human shoulders shiver and hunch against the chill.
He must have human in him, to think that he might be chased when he was not being followed then. Inakka coughed and drew her knees up to her shaking chest, clenching her hard, slim arms around them to hold the warmth close. But if he is a werewolf, then he would only be able to take wolf shape when I can--if I could have changed, wouldn't I have torn off my leathers and hunted him down like the interloper he was? Can a man take wolf shape, or a wolf take man shape, without being a werewolf?
She blew water from her chilled lips and sucked in a breath that was heavy with the smell of rain and of slowly decomposing leaves, and of animal warmth--
--that was the cold touch of an animal nose to her shoulder, and before she could be afraid she was already remaking herself as the wolf.
The heavy, swollen stream rushed behind her as she faced the black wolf down, and leaves fell around them in the lightless night like rain.
Inakka had never hunted a wolf before.
Kargoth had sent her hunting men many a time; she knew well the man-scent and the traces that they left behind, and she knew how to follow them without making them Prey in her wolf's mind. The human had to hold tightly to the line between them, and yet hold tightly she could . . . Inakka had been the pair of eyes in the darkness before, and she had been the ghostly shape between the trees. She had, too, been the soft growl and the hard, tearing teeth--the idea still disquieted her sometimes, on dark nights when she dreamed that she was standing naked and bloodstained in that wreck of a half-built bank with the taste of human flesh still in her mouth, but she had long since learned to push the disquiet aside and remember that hunting the hunters had saved her pack.
Inakka had hunted many, many men, but she had never hunted a wolf, and so it was that she nosed the patch of wet, dead leaves where the black wolf had stood and learned how the full wolves of Deit smelled when their scent was being washed clean by the heavy rains.
She wouldn't have been able to find the smell as a human; the part of her mind that thought in a human shape knew it, but she was not thinking with that part. Her mind said This and her body followed it through the low underbrush, deeper and deeper into the grasping saplings at the edge of the wood until the damp branches ceased to tear at her because their larger cousins had clutched all of the light close.
The black wolf smell clung faintly to the wet leaves--male scent, somehow more male than those of the pack wolves; a scent that was Not Hers.
The rain was pounding the trees over her; leaves fell through great, heavy drops of rainwater that beat against Inakka's muzzle and brushed her flanks. She was soaked almost to the skin; when she reached the stream, she only leapt the banks to search for the scent of the wolf on the other side, and she did not find it.
Every animal that is being pursued will leave a stream further down than he entered it--but a wolf that was not being pursued?
Wolves did not think about eventual pursuit, and Inakka's human-shaped thoughts knew it.
Her brothers would be raging with worry if they knew that Inakka was taking human shape, naked, in the middle of the rain-sodden autumn forest, but wolves did not think about eventual retribution, and so she let her bones break and her muscles scream the change and her newly-human shoulders shiver and hunch against the chill.
He must have human in him, to think that he might be chased when he was not being followed then. Inakka coughed and drew her knees up to her shaking chest, clenching her hard, slim arms around them to hold the warmth close. But if he is a werewolf, then he would only be able to take wolf shape when I can--if I could have changed, wouldn't I have torn off my leathers and hunted him down like the interloper he was? Can a man take wolf shape, or a wolf take man shape, without being a werewolf?
She blew water from her chilled lips and sucked in a breath that was heavy with the smell of rain and of slowly decomposing leaves, and of animal warmth--
--that was the cold touch of an animal nose to her shoulder, and before she could be afraid she was already remaking herself as the wolf.
The heavy, swollen stream rushed behind her as she faced the black wolf down, and leaves fell around them in the lightless night like rain.