connor est le (grandemauvais) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-07-13 09:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | faust, wolf |
Who: Wolf and Faust
What: A chance meeting in the woods.
Where: The Witching Wood [Fairy Tale Door]
When: Before the plot.
Warnings/Rating: None!
The Wolf didn’t stray far from the cottage, not yet. He’d only been in it a week or two, and he had agreed to keep an eye on it. To watch over Rose’s - and his - territory. To patrol the boundaries and keep it safe. So he did that.
When she was gone for a while, though, he did move a little further afield, a little deeper in the forest. It was still so strange, so unsettling, to walk the same clearings and hollows that he’d known on all fours. The full moon was just a week away, and when it rolled around, he would have the chance to test his tormenter at his word. He had promised he could be himself again when the moon came, so the Wolf would have to see.
He moved between the trees with all the quiet, easy swiftness of any creature who had spent all their life there, ducking down into low places. He wasn’t just exploring the land again. He was looking for traces, to see if any living thing was within a day’s walk of the cottage. After that girl had come to the cottage, the skinny whelp of a pup in her red cloak, it had made him skittish. He hadn’t expected her, hadn’t been prepared, and he should have smelled her from a mile off - would have, if things were the way they should be. He needed to be sure more trouble wasn’t coming. He brushed trees with his fingers and rubbed leaves in his hands. His scent would be all over this place, and any creature that smelled it would know what it meant and stay away.
It had been a long time since he’d had territory of his own. In the hungry years, he had been constantly on the move, unable to stop for any length of time anywhere. There had been no comfort to find, no ease, no hunting ground. He could slaughter a family of humans in a blink: pluck off the child when it wandered out to the well, cleanly snap the daughter's head off her slim shoulders when she checked at the back door, kill the mother in the kitchen while she tended the stove, and kill the father when he came home at dusk, never expecting a black ghost to cut through the wheat below his line of sight and drag him down in a spray of blood across the grain. He could do these things, and had done them to fill his belly and fight off licking starvation. But a family was one thing. An entire town, a whole kingdom, that was another. To stay in one place too long meant hunts for his head, and he’d eluded more than one of those. In these same hollows, in these same dark places beneath the trees, he’d hid. The forest was adulterated and stripped, but he still knew it better than any human and their pathetic hunting dog. He would wash clean of his scent in rivers, and bury his large body beneath piles of rotting leaves. They never, ever caught him. A week later, the next town over would be struck by death.
No one had ever caught him save the man, the one with the coat and tall hat. He’d cut such a conspicuous figure, and walked so slowly. The Wolf had thought him a lost traveller. Those came through sometimes too, carriages braving the solitary roads through the wood to reach the green places far on the other side, past the mountains. He dressed the way the travellers had, moved the way they did. They walked differently than the peasants in the towns, like they were taller because they wore more clothes, heavier skirts and jackets on jackets. They died just the same as the peasants did, and the Wolf expected the same from the man.
That had been a mistake. He had been desperately hungry that cold day anyway, denied a meal by heavy doors in the village that had denied him entry. The man had looked like blood and meat on prettily decorated bones. But it had not turned out to be so.
He could not forget the man. It was impossible. He would know him so long as he lived. And when he caught his scent again, the Wolf was standing at the edge of a short drop into a deep hollow in the land, thirty feet of dirt and knotty roots down to a small cave entrance. The trees were just behind, and a clearing all around. He went utterly still, turning his head, stupidly weak eyes skimming across the treeline. He looked behind, but there was no sign of movement, or of a shape.
The Wolf made for a strange sight in the forest. A man, very much on his own, dressed in Mundane clothes the likes of which wouldn’t be found on any peasant, merchant, or lord. He did not think of himself as such, but he was young. He had always been smaller than any of the other wolves in the pack. It had taken him a long time to grow anywhere near their size, relegating him to one of the lower roles in the hierarchy. That is, until the alpha died, and the Wolf was left behind.
Whenever it was he’d been born, he was a youth by human standards. His hair was blonde despite being a dark wolf, long and unkempt, hanging nearly into his eyes. His eyes had made the girl who had threatened him at the cottage stop cold, and they were strange, flat and black and staring far too long, pupil blending into iris. He didn’t look particularly human, standing there, stock still, listening for a sign of approach, nose lifted into the wind.
And there, a sound. He dropped his head.
Whenever a man, especially one that had magic under his fingernails, entered the forest he could hear it suddenly hush. The birds chirped off into the distance, the insects buzzed to a stillness on nearby plants and leaves stopped restlessly moving in the wind. There was no fear in this particular top-hatted man and that’s what turned the forest quiet. Fear was part of survival, after all, a healthy way to keep a critter from being eaten. And, the only ones who weren’t afraid could not be eaten. Or they were mad. Faust? Faust was a little of both.
He had wandered off into the forest near Rose’s cottage to gather herbs and ingredients for potions that wouldn’t grow in his garden back in town. He was there for solitude, too, because Rose and her sister took a lot of energy out of him and once he left to help the Beast he would get no quality time to himself. Faust enjoyed the crisp, bitter smell of untouched leaves and brush and hummed once the bird songs stopped. It was a hymn, one the Wolf did not know, about miracles that changed minds. It was possible the wolf had heard it late at night during one of his prowls and found no beauty in it as a predator. But, he wasn’t one anymore, was he? His fur stripped, his claws clipped, his teeth dulled down. As a man he would eventually learn what blood tasted like again. Though, this time, Faust hoped it wouldn’t go down as sweetly.
Just as the Wolf could smell the tall magician, Faust could feel one of his curses lingering. It pricked at his neck curiously and he turned to survey the heavily guarded forest he had wandered into. “Has Rose tamed you as she’s tamed most monsters?” Faust asked sharply, his voice a direct contrast to the tangled forest like a smoke signal. “She’s tamed me as well. And, the Beast. You shouldn’t be ashamed.” He spoke like a man who believed he was wise. Who had seen things. Who had done worse things than he seemed capable of. Unlike the Wolf, he didn’t wear savagery on his sleeve. Only mercy. Only taunting kindness.
The Wolf heard the music and took a few brief, silent steps in the direction of the sound. When the man began to speak, however, he held still. He could see him, through the trees, talking to the air, and if Faust turned, just a little, the Wolf would be in his line of sight as well. He stared at him with a mixture of anger and uncertainty sharp enough that he came only one step forward, then stopped. He did not come closer, even as his eyes darted across Faust from under furrowed brow, trying to suss him out.
The Wolf had never had a grudge to hold before. If he had felt anger at anyone, it had been at whoever was responsible for twisting the wood and everything inside, but there had barely been time while hunting to stay alive to think about anything like that. If a man had hunted him more than once, he would hunt that man in return until he was dead or moved far from the forest's edge. There was a practicality in that - seeking an end to being hunted, he hunted in return.
Faust did not fall into this category. What he had done to the Wolf was beyond the bounds of his understanding. He did not know how to change it, how to turn it back. Only Faust knew that, and dead, he could never fix this. If he killed Faust, he might go back to being a wolf again. He might not. Being stuck like this forever or twisted to some other grotesque shape was a prospect too chilling to risk.
So he hovered, not too close, and listened as Faust spoke. The man still moved slowly, still reeked of what the Wolf now recognized as magic. At his mention of Rose, caution was briefly forgotten. "I am not tamed," he said, sharp and thick as a growl. If Faust hadn't known where he was before, that revealed him, standing just beyond a thatch of thick foliage. He pulled back a little. He was tall, but not as tall as Faust, and his voice was deep for one so young.
The Beast - he knew that name, a whisper passed along from a forest far on the other side of this one, a place he'd never bothered to go. That way smelled of death. This forest was empty and withered, but not poisoned. There was something even worse in the forest where the Beast lived, and he had smelled it on the wind once - musty stone and wet animal the size of a horse, magic shot through it. Big, dangerous, the sort of creature whose territory he steered far clear of.
The Wolf’s gaze flickered. He hadn't had a chance to speak with Faust, before. He was still wrapping his tongue around speech, and it showed a little. He hadn't thought, yet, to ask why he could talk at all, why he knew how to form the words, why he could read. Even as a wolf, human signs and symbols had made enough sense to him to keep him out of more than one isolated farmhouse, out of chemicals tucked in barns. It had always been a mystery to the wolves in his pack, but it kept them safer, and little else mattered.
"Monster," he said. He knew that word. He moved again, around, this time, circling to a place where the view was clearer and he could see if Faust moved to use his magic.
"You're a man," the Wolf said, with that anger, still, and a little skepticism too. He could cautiously keep his distance and still be unsure, after all. Faust had turned a wolf into a human. Maddening, but, to other humans, hardly a monstrous act. He couldn’t believe they ever would have called such a smooth person such a thing. "A man with magics. When humans say 'monster', they're saying it to the thing that eats their children. The Beast, he smells like a monster. You smell like a man with magic. No human is fool enough to put you in with that Beast and I." He snorted. "Not even that girl." He stopped moving, black eyes fixed on Faust. “You’re here to fix me.” Not a question. Faust ought to be, or they would have trouble.
The Wolf appeared to Faust as more of a child than a man. Fresh, young like a boy who just became a street urchin after watching his family home burn down. There was pity, a bundle of it, stored inside of Faust that made him feel responsible for what happened to the creature and who he might hurt in the process. Keeping an eye on him, teaching him things, showing compassion. Those were his responsibilities now. Responsibilities he had accepted the moment he turned the wolf into a man. “A monster is capable of doing more than eating children.” He said simply, smiling at the assertion that the wolf was not tamed because he liked things that stayed wild almost as much as he enjoyed his own sense of mercy. “And, by your definition of monster, you do not fit the requirements anymore either. You may kill and try to eat someone soon, but the flesh will make you sick. You are only a man, like me.”
Faust didn’t show fear, he never did. He didn’t show it when he saw the Wolf for what he was and it was safe to assume this young, raw version wasn’t going to so much as stand the hair up on his neck. Instead, he wandered around the area they were in, moving to a tree with heavy branches to search the forest floor for mushrooms. “I’m happy you aren’t tamed. Neither is Rose. It’s what makes her magic so strong.” He pulled out a small, black book and tried to identify what seemed to be a hybrid between a white cap and bleeding crown fungi. “Though, I believe we should find you a true name. One that doesn’t make you sound like a roadside carriage robber.”
At the prospect of killing and eating someone, the Wolf's expression flared, eyes widening a touch, but he said nothing. He would have happily eaten Rose when he first came across her. He had been starving - she had been food. If he was starving again, he would do it again, without hesitation. But there was food in the cottage where he was staying for now. Why would he kill if his belly was full, except to protect himself? Now, the girl who had claimed she would hunt him down, if she returned to the cottage, he would kill her and not think twice on it. He might even enjoy it, because she made him angry, and threatened him and the woman he had agreed to protect for the time being. But devouring children for no reason, that was nonsensical. That was a human thing to do.
"It does not matter why," he said, because the man in the tall hat had missed the point entirely, the Wolf felt. "Or when. I ate their children. I ate their mothers too, and their mates." That dead stare stayed on Faust. "They stay eaten, so I stay a monster. That doesn't change."
The Wolf was a little less sure, however, when Faust spoke of Rose, moving through the forest as if they were on a pleasant little outing together. Faust must be mad. Mad and powerful. He kept his distance, but followed, still circling, eyes falling on the book in Faust's hands. "All humans are tamed things," he said. Rose, though, had power like Faust had. She could bend the trees to her will, and she wasn't so much a human as the people in the villages were. But the Wolf hadn't thought of her as a wild thing, not really. He had never seen a human who was wild.
A name. The Wolf moved a little closer, pushing aside a branch and ducking beneath another. Confusion flickered through, though his hackles were still up. "True name?" He pondered that a moment, then, against his better judgement, stepped a little closer. He would hardly admit it, but he was a little curious as to what Faust was on about. "I don't have one. There isn't one to find. Only humans bother with that. Naming." He pointed to the fungus on the side of the tree with a touch of dry, skeptical amusement. "Give it a name, any name you want. It's still a mushroom." He hung with a hand on the back of a tree trunk, staying a few paces away. "You can give me a human name, and a human shape. But I will never forget myself."
Faust gave a short, dry laugh at the notion of humans being tamed. Certainly a majority of people were tame and obedient. They pushed their dreams away and used loyalty as a crutch. But, there were some capable of wildness that even the most feral wildcat couldn’t manage. This was a lesson that the magician hoped the Wolf wouldn’t learn, but knew deep down that he would. He certainly would. “We give things names because it helps us understand.” Faust said, patient and gentle. There was a sharp, small snap as he broke off one of the tiny mushrooms and stood to show the Wolf. “This has the shape of a white cap. See the flat top and size. White caps are restoration mushrooms. But, look at the coloring.” He turned the top of the mushroom towards the Wolf, revealing a splatter of red. “That’s similar to the bleeding crown. Which is a weakening mushroom. Both have their own uses. Both can be dangerous if misused. But, what could a mix of the two mean? You, Wolf, are a mix like this mushroom. And, I do not know what that means. One day I will, though. So will you. And, it helps that I know the two parts that build who you are.”
He carefully put the hybrid into his bag and smiled directly at the Wolf. “I don’t want you to forget yourself. Changing your name is a mercy. A cloak. Do you understand?” Faust took his hat off, balancing it on a nearby mossy log and continued looking for alchemy ingredients.
The Wolf didn't know what Faust meant. A mix of two things? How could that be? If he was two things now, it was only because Faust had made him that way. He was a Wolf, and that was never going to change. He watched Faust flip the mushroom around. "Weakening and restoring," he said, skeptically. "So it does nothing. You're one thing, or you aren't anything at all." Simple enough, and logical enough. The only things he could think of that were some of two things were mutts - part wolf, part dog. But by being part dog, that made them dogs - not wolves. Still one thing, in the end.
The Wolf was ignorant, but he wasn't foolish. When Faust said names helped people understand, that backed up what he said a moment later - that there was something about the Wolf that he didn't understand. That unsettled him somewhere deep inside in a way he didn't like and didn't want to dedicate thought to. "I won't forget myself," he said, eyes still burning and dark. No, changing the Wolf's name wouldn't make him something else. He watched Faust remove his hat, and reached out to brush the brim while the man's back was turned. The things made no sense. "You think it's going to protect me," he said, dry as could be. As if the villagers would stab him just because he called himself Wolf. They might think he was rabid, but they wouldn't believe that he was really a Wolf. Humans believed what their eyes told them, in his experience, just like animals did.
Faust made an amused noise. He hadn’t anticipated an animal to be so logical, though when he reminded himself how survival instincts came into play it suddenly didn’t surprise him anymore. “One day you will find something that you believe is both marvelous and unexplainable. And, I suspect, you’ll hate every second of it.” He turned to smile at the Wolf, then returned to examining two identical looking flowers that were anything but marvelous. Simple white, bell shaped on thin green stalks. But, Faust saw the differences in power between them. He saw it in most things. The wizard took a seat on a nearby stump, fumbling to take his black notebook out again and stared at the flowers intently.
“I think it’ll help you.” He said, a tone of authority coming back slowly. “Unless you’d rather be a dangerous, mindless creature as a human. There are humans that try their best to act like wolves and for the most part they succeed.” Faust spoke as if he had more affection for the plants in his hand than such men. “Behaving as such is a waste of your gift. And, then I will have to kill you and will not feel sorry about it. Not for a moment. I have no mercy for those that do not wish to learn.”
His gift? The words struck the Wolf strangely. He didn't know what Faust meant, but he was disquieted, in the way he had suggested he might be, when he came across something that didn't sort in a way that made sense.
"Dangerous," said Wolf, "But not mindless. Not ever." No, he hadn't quite been that, even as a wolf. Perhaps even less so than other wolves, but that was not worth lingering on. It didn't make sense, so he cast it away, at least for now. In the meantime, Faust's words made him feel like something he couldn't see was nipping at his heels, and he didn't like it one bit. "You think of a name," the Wolf said. "I do not need one." And with that, he passed back into the trees, disappearing as quickly as he'd shown himself between the gaps in the foliage.