(no subject)
Written as I go.
They shared no gesture of greeting and none of challenge; their lips did not pull back to bare sharp teeth, and they did not lower their bodies in the oldest of bows. The black wolves only stood nose to nose in the rain-spattered wood and took the measure of one another's scents.
At length, the male turned and began to trot deeper into the woods, and Inakka kept pace with him. He did not smell of human, but only of wolf and rain and rotting leaves; he fitted perfectly against the trees and stones as Inakka's kind no longer did. She followed him, matching his pace on the slick carpeting of leaves, taking in the dim world of scent and sound and faint sight as though it were a new, strange place. As though it were not the wood that was her home at all, but a ghost of it, and peopled only with spirits.
This was no hunt. The preybeasts had no more substance than the two black wolves who moved through the rain, and although they passed a pair of spectral deer that glistened white in a pale flash of lightning, the deer did not run and the wolves did not pursue. A rain of alder leaves broke into wet, wheeling bats that screamed silently at the night, and the wolves ran on.
In time, the faint game-trail that they followed met another stream, and its icy water might have been death on Inakka's already-sodden fur. The black wolf began to paddle, and Inakka whimpered low in her throat as the current caught her and pulled her downstream. Hard lightning turned the stream to a fall of silver, and the black wolf at last found the stones of the other side--Inakka's paws swept at the water as she fought it, and at the first touch of rock against her numb pads, the human in her nearly collapsed with relief. But the black female only forded the last stretch of roiling water and crawled at last to the bank, where the black male nosed her gently with his tail lowered. She shook the streamwater over him, but she was still soaked through when they began to move again.
Thunder growled low and distant overhead, and the black wolf wound between the trees like a dark ghost on the path of the ghosts.
A new, faint smell said Fire and People, for people smelled of fire and metal and false-smells--Inakka faltered. People smells meant many things, none of which had words. Inakka had never curled up, as Seyah had, as a wolf in front of the fire; Fire meant Run meant Safety, and she stood hunched beneath a towering beech and smelled the smoke in the air.
The little human voice shouted for her to move, to catch up with the black wolf, to run but run toward the Fire smell, but Inakka shied away. They were too close to the People smell, and People and Fire together still meant--
The building is burning. The building is burning trees on trees are burning, and the dead lie all around. Food dead. Inakka nosed an exposed flank and began to worry at the flesh--food dead, tastesmell fire. Fire trees are burning.
Inakka shuddered into human form and retched as she looked into the eyes of the man that she had been about to eat.
His blood was on her teeth.
His blood was on her teeth, and the building was burning.
"Do not move, Inakka. Take human form--I promise, no harm will come to you."
The part of her that had just taken human form in memory obeyed without question, and suddenly, a long coat was draped around her bare shoulders.
"I will not do you the discourtesy of fastening it. You should, though, if you wish to follow me further."
Inakka turned around, her fingers on the first clasp, and looked up at her benefactor; she knew in her blood that he was the black wolf, for all he smelled of full human, but her human eyes were even worse in the darkness than her wolf eyes, and she could not make out anything of his face at all.
"Thank you."
"Nothing lost. Follow me."
+ + + + +
The gateman did not remark on the strange pair that came out of the night--both dressed in black, both soaked to the skin, and neither speaking a word more than their business.
It was not prudent, somehow, to remark that the woman was barefoot, or that the man led her in a manner that was at the same time too familiar by half and that of a stranger.
Neither was it prudent to remark that, after they had passed through the gates, the gateman could have sworn that he saw two pairs of eyes peering toward the gate from the forest.
They shared no gesture of greeting and none of challenge; their lips did not pull back to bare sharp teeth, and they did not lower their bodies in the oldest of bows. The black wolves only stood nose to nose in the rain-spattered wood and took the measure of one another's scents.
At length, the male turned and began to trot deeper into the woods, and Inakka kept pace with him. He did not smell of human, but only of wolf and rain and rotting leaves; he fitted perfectly against the trees and stones as Inakka's kind no longer did. She followed him, matching his pace on the slick carpeting of leaves, taking in the dim world of scent and sound and faint sight as though it were a new, strange place. As though it were not the wood that was her home at all, but a ghost of it, and peopled only with spirits.
This was no hunt. The preybeasts had no more substance than the two black wolves who moved through the rain, and although they passed a pair of spectral deer that glistened white in a pale flash of lightning, the deer did not run and the wolves did not pursue. A rain of alder leaves broke into wet, wheeling bats that screamed silently at the night, and the wolves ran on.
In time, the faint game-trail that they followed met another stream, and its icy water might have been death on Inakka's already-sodden fur. The black wolf began to paddle, and Inakka whimpered low in her throat as the current caught her and pulled her downstream. Hard lightning turned the stream to a fall of silver, and the black wolf at last found the stones of the other side--Inakka's paws swept at the water as she fought it, and at the first touch of rock against her numb pads, the human in her nearly collapsed with relief. But the black female only forded the last stretch of roiling water and crawled at last to the bank, where the black male nosed her gently with his tail lowered. She shook the streamwater over him, but she was still soaked through when they began to move again.
Thunder growled low and distant overhead, and the black wolf wound between the trees like a dark ghost on the path of the ghosts.
A new, faint smell said Fire and People, for people smelled of fire and metal and false-smells--Inakka faltered. People smells meant many things, none of which had words. Inakka had never curled up, as Seyah had, as a wolf in front of the fire; Fire meant Run meant Safety, and she stood hunched beneath a towering beech and smelled the smoke in the air.
The little human voice shouted for her to move, to catch up with the black wolf, to run but run toward the Fire smell, but Inakka shied away. They were too close to the People smell, and People and Fire together still meant--
The building is burning. The building is burning trees on trees are burning, and the dead lie all around. Food dead. Inakka nosed an exposed flank and began to worry at the flesh--food dead, tastesmell fire. Fire trees are burning.
Inakka shuddered into human form and retched as she looked into the eyes of the man that she had been about to eat.
His blood was on her teeth.
His blood was on her teeth, and the building was burning.
"Do not move, Inakka. Take human form--I promise, no harm will come to you."
The part of her that had just taken human form in memory obeyed without question, and suddenly, a long coat was draped around her bare shoulders.
"I will not do you the discourtesy of fastening it. You should, though, if you wish to follow me further."
Inakka turned around, her fingers on the first clasp, and looked up at her benefactor; she knew in her blood that he was the black wolf, for all he smelled of full human, but her human eyes were even worse in the darkness than her wolf eyes, and she could not make out anything of his face at all.
"Thank you."
"Nothing lost. Follow me."
+ + + + +
The gateman did not remark on the strange pair that came out of the night--both dressed in black, both soaked to the skin, and neither speaking a word more than their business.
It was not prudent, somehow, to remark that the woman was barefoot, or that the man led her in a manner that was at the same time too familiar by half and that of a stranger.
Neither was it prudent to remark that, after they had passed through the gates, the gateman could have sworn that he saw two pairs of eyes peering toward the gate from the forest.