Red, The Wolf

Part 5: The White Wolf

Red blinked awake, well aware that shecurrently lay in a large pool of mud. She could feel it sticking toher skin, coating her side. For a moment, she couldn't recall why shehad chosen to lay down and rest in the middle of the forest insteadof finding somewhere safe and protected, nor what exactly happened toher just before she passed out. Her muscles ached from laying againstthe unyielding, rocky surface for so long, and from her fight withthe burly shepherd, Marc. How she wanted so badly to stand andstretch!

A whining yelp reached her ears, andRed raised her head as a wolf with white fur traipsed into view--thesame one that attacked the sheep! Seeing him now evoked the memoriesof him charging heedless through the streets of Queston, and Red feltthe strength she needed building in her limbs to stand and confronthim.

She only made it halfway to her fullheight, though. Red looked down at where her hands should have been,seeing only muddy paws in front of her. She could feel the clumps ofmud clinging to her wolf's fur--why did she not shift?

The white wolf had pickedup the bundle of cloth she had seen him carrying earlier--and now hedropped it at her feet, laying his ears back and giving a subservientwhine. She noted how he kept his head below hers, not quite showingabject submission, but at least acknowledging her superiority, inspite of the fact that he did have the advantage of size over her.

Red turned the thingover with her paw, and saw a face amid the scraps. A doll! Not justany doll; Red bent down and sniffed. It matched the girl's scent fromearlier--had it been that day? Or had she lain there all night? Shelifted her head to scent the time of day. Early morning--so it wasthe following day, after the celebration at Queston, afterdiscovering Henny and her errant shepherd... Red sensed the whitewolf inching too close to her and jerked back with a snarl. Sheattempted to place a paw on the doll--she could still bring it backto the village, after dispatching the wolf--but he had already hookedthe fabric with his teeth and now doubled back with the doll danglingfrom his mouth. Red swung her ears forward and flattened her tail,growling sharply to let him know that she wanted it back, but thewhite wolf simply shook his head back and forth, sending the dollflapping and flailing as he gave a playful grunt. He leaned forwardwith his forepaws outstretched, his tail curled upward in a curiousplume. This time, he wanted tobe chased.

Red geared up to give him what heneeded, but the moment she stepped with her left forepaw, it gave wayand sent her stumbling awkwardly sideways. Searing pain radiated fromthe joint all the way up to her shoulder, and Red knew she had aproblem. While it wasn't anything that a bit of Mrs. Garrity'sointment couldn't solve, she wouldn't be able to retrieve the jarwhile in her wolf form.

A shrill whistle caught her ear.

"Rascal!" Called a voice."Where'd you get to?"

The white wolf turned his head andinclined his ears toward the sound.

Red fell absolutely still and did herbest to try and melt into the undergrowth as the crunch of humanfootsteps grew closer. This wolf was a tame beast? The whitewolf made a wide arc to sweep past Red and head straight towardsomething in the distance. Red smelled woodsmoke on the air. Rascallet out a small yelp, and she heard the person respond.

"Here, boy! What took you solong?"

Rascal trotted toward a break in thebushes, but once again, he came back around to Red. She watched himapproach, his head held low, ears pressed back against his head. Hepadded slowly, almost melting into the dirt at her feet. She growleda warning at him, curling her lip to show her teeth, to which thewhite wolf responded by rolling over and leaning his head up toexpose his neck. There would be no more fighting between him. He wasready to give in to her.

Too late, Red's attention returned tothe man who seemed to be Rascal's master. He had already approachedthe rise just ahead of them, and he spotted Rascal at once, sprawledas he was in the dark dirt, his clean white underbelly exposed.

"Rascal! Are you hurt, boy?"

The white wolf scrambled to his feetwith a small yip, trotting over to the figure whose shape lookedfamiliar to Red. She hadn't even known there was a camp this far outof Queston--where could she have seen this man?

The man reached out and rubbed the topof Rascal's fluffy head. Red didn't so much as twitch a muscle. Shestill clung to the belief that there might be a chance he hadn'tactually spotted her.

"No," he murmured, "itlooks like you're all right. Well then, who did--"

Rascal left off rubbing against theman's legs to gaze in Red's direction and whine. She never wanted tojust melt into the shadows so much!

"Who's that?" he murmured. "Afriend?" He crouched down in a non-threatening posture. "Don'tbe afraid; I'm not going to hurt you."

That voice! She knew that voice! Redstaggered forward, itching to get a clearer view of the dark man inthe cloak. He smelled familiar--she detected hints of bread flour,sugar, and of the crimson hoods that only grew in the crags aroundQueston. The question became: who from Queston would be camping outin the mountains, so far from town?

His hands reached her side, and Redshrank away with a snarl at the sudden pain. He backed up.

"I'm sorry," he murmuredsoftly. "Something messed you up good, darling." He turnedand regarded the white pup at her side. "You wouldn't knowanything about that, would you, Rascal?"

Rascal dipped his head and trotted awaytoward the man's camp, like he didn't understand the things thishuman said to him.

Red watched as the hand dipped belowher face, letting her get more of his scent--she smelled a whole hostof spices, and still a natural scent below it all that she recognizedas well as she had known his voice. Who was he?

"Come here, lovely," hecrooned. "We'll have you fixed up in no time. I have food, too.Come on, there's no need to fear."

Slowly, struggling to keep her balance,Red limped after the man, puzzled at knowing him but not being ableto identify him, even in the dark.

They arrived at the camp just over therise, where a cheery fire crackled and hissed. Just beyond thedancing golden light, Red could distinguish a massive shape loomingin the shadows, but her bleary eyes refused to focus on it. Therewere other things attracting her senses. Resting on a spit over theflame was a small, quadruped body, neatly flayed.

The man sat before the fire and tookout his knife, carving off a piece of the roasted animal. "Now,then," he said, "how would you like a nice piece of roastedlamb?"

Red stood at the edge of the fire,feeling its heat on her face. Hearing the word "lamb"reminded her of the fight where she had received most of herinjuries: the morning she had to chase away the white wolf from amongQueston's flock. A lamb had gone missing, and Rascal had torn thebellwether ram to shreds. Seeing it now, offered to her at the end ofa stick, Red felt all that fury return, and she looked up into theface of the man who offered her food and protection.

Merry eyes twinkled back at her. Everyhair along Red's spine stood straight up. She knew every crack andcrevice of this face, every wrinkle, every hair from the crown of hishead to the carefully-manicured mustaches on his chin. She knew itbecause this same person visited Queston every time the roadscleared, as often as he could. Rascal's master was none other thanJustin the Peddler!