Circus of the Beast

16

Maeve ran from the oncoming man near the animal cages. The insistent roars of Dragún made a thicker bolt of fear rush up Maeve's spine. She mentally berated herself as she ran. This was all due to a heroic action when she saw Phelan in need of help when he was cornered. She just had to breathe fire into the man's long and dirty dreadlocks.

The hair had instantly ignited in brilliant orange flames. His screams had caused enough commotion for Phelan to free himself. However, that turned those dirty men on her instead. Perhaps they thought she was just a disgusting creature. Or maybe it was because she was a girl that they began chasing her. Either way, Maeve had to get out of there before she regretted her decision.

The gray light of the moon washed over Maeve's intended path as her quick feet carried her. Her bare soles were coated with mud and sharp little sticks poked into her heels. Her breath was heavy. Maeve couldn't remember the last time she had ever pushed herself to run so fast. She hoped that her body wouldn't fail her.

If the weather had been more agreeable, she would have just stood her ground and blew fire at the men chasing her. Even as the small rain droplets fell, she knew that her original plan wouldn't work out.

The men were gaining on her, their shrieks of pure wrath echoed on the grounds around her. Maeve soon entered the forest lining, hoping that their echoes would become as lost as she intended to get.

No matter where Maeve ended up going, the men were right on her heels. She could even smell the rank odour of stale ale on their tongues. She could almost feel their hands upon her skin as they continued their laughing and shouting behind her.

But then suddenly all sounds behind Maeve ceased to exist. She stopped her movement and glanced behind her. A gasp escaped her lips as she stared down the narrow path she decided on using since she escaped the circus grounds. There just a few feet before her was the soft but shaggy coat of a very familiar wolf.

Maeve peered at the animal, observing its sharp teeth glint in the moonlight. The wolf had a blood stained muzzle and a chuck of flesh gripped between his jaws. Those hard and dark eyes softened at the sight of the young fire breather. His gaze washed over Maeve as he took inventory of her well-being.

Good, he thought. No harm done.

The sudden cry of a madman sounded behind Maeve. She began turning to face the man, already knowing that she had reacted much too late to do anything but to look upon the face of her killer.

The man's knife came down fast, but a dark flash of movement pushed the man to the ground with a shout of agony. Maeve clutched at her face as her fingers felt a long gash from the corner of her right eye down to the edge of her mouth.

But as her eyes met the man's body, she noted that he wasn't moving anymore. The wolf had taken care of the nuisance.

The dark, shaggy dog came over to Maeve and whined slightly. His sad eyes met hers and did nothing else. As Maeve took a good moment to look deep into those dark irises, she couldn't help but feel as though they seemed more nymph-like rather than full wolf. They were familiar, and not just due to her friendship with the wolf, but as though she had seen them within someone else's face before.

The sting of the cut along Maeve's cheek jolted her out of her trance-like state. The pain was horrid to say the least. As the cut healed, she could almost feel the tendrils of flesh gripping the other side of the gash and pulling her skin together again. It was a weird feeling, painful but with a fuzzy pins and needles sensation.

The gun shots within the forest caught Maeve's attention and she quickly spun on her muddy heel. Whoever, or whatever, it was, something would need some help.