"This needs to be mended," she began in a slow voice. To her surprise, the wolf paused then nodded in response to her suggestion. And so, Annabel pulled leaves from her basket and applied a makeshift poultice to the majestic creature's limb. As minutes went by, her fear dissipated and she began to casually converse with the beast. For some reason, she felt she could open up to it … to him.
"Can you return to your mannish form? Don‘t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won‘t tell anyone what you look like."
After a pause, the wolf shook his head in a defeated manner.
"I imagine you must be pretty old, being so lanky and graying."
A loud snort exited the wolf's nose in an annoyed manner.
"So you're younger then?"
The wolf nodded then shifted his gaze to look out at the open sky in a stoic manner.
"Well, I'm Annabel. I suppose since you can't change back, there's no point in me asking your name, is there? But that‘s okay."
Annabel continued to dress the wound while feeling the wolf's course textured hair, enjoying the sound of its deep, even breathe. She could feel the ripples of sinew and muscle along its taut frame. It was not a sensual experience but a spiritual one, for lack of a better term.
"Here you go," said Annabel, while finishing up and pressing the last of the herbal mixture into the wolf's injury, still trying to make conversation with the beast. When it was finished, the two sat there again, staring, waiting, and uneasy, neither comrade nor opponent.
As the bells chimed, Annabel found herself again in a field of grass, trying desperately to remember the ecstasy of feeling no care or worry with a hint of libidinous. She rubbed her eyes looking for the lupine stranger, but the wolf was gone. She rushed home, trying to keep pace with the falling sun, knowing Beatrice would be at home, ready to scold and condescend her. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Only the connection she felt with the wolf. She had looked past the flesh, past the appearance of what most would've thought to be a mindless beast ready to tear her to crimson tatters. Instead of perceiving her as a threat, the beast decided to remain copacetic and cooperative, allowing for something to pass between them that were more than just healing but understanding.
"Again? Where have you been? There are so many … " Beatrice began nagging Annabel as soon as she approached the farmyard. Beatrice began to go through her typical tirade off insults and threats, adding to the list of chores to be finished before sundown. Annabel finished them all without complaint or even the slightest response. The only thing she thought of, was the Lycan visitor in the field, free to come and go, free to choose, to cooperate or leave of its own accord. A being, no, an ideal she craved to pursue.
When the sun finally set, Annabel went through the barn once more to check everything had been put away but stopped when she noticed a strange protuberance in one of the hay stalls. Closer observation revealed it was flesh colored and ended in tiny projections. Toes. Feet. Bare legs. Annabel rushed to see the body, which was attached to it and found a boy, or a man? A man! It was a young man about her age, asleep and naked, laying covered haphazardly in straw. Exposed was most of his torso, extremities, neck and head revealing he had jet black hair on the top of his head with only a little strip of the same on his abdomen. It was somewhat curly and wild, reminding Annabel of the unpredictable waves of the Great Sea. His face was handsome, yet intense, reminding Annabel of the wild dogs she occasionally saw in the village, only far more feral. Even his ears retained a slight lupine appearance. His skin wasn't fair like hers but slightly ruddy and a bit tawny.
Annabel began to look closer upon the striking, unconscious youth finding that he had a curious scar with flecks of green leaf on his right thigh. Could it be? Annabel slowly turned the lad more on his side to find at the top of his buttocks was a small furry tail. … he is the Lycan! Annabel widely grinned both in happiness that her new companion was safe and flushed by the thrill of finding such a gorgeous body in her barn. Her eyes drifted down to lads crouch, still covered in far too concealing hay. With baited breath she reached her hand down to see, to discover what had been hidden from her imagination. What secrets about the male body she had heard of but never seen for herself. What anatomical treasures lay hid under just a handful of straw? And just as her arm had crept low enough a sharp exhale broke the stillness. The lads' eyes had opened.
II "Elevation"
Where came the Mist, the source of man and skin changers races many may debate. From the High-lords in their heavens or from the furnaces of the deep most scholars exclaim. Perhaps from the Great Sea or eastern mountains range, others say. But what is known is the resting place of the founding Mist is now the lost South. Both being kind, avoid venturing towards such a place save the bold and deranged. For once one enters the vast fields of the Mist one sees what most fear; reflections of their true self as if they were looking into a mystic mirror.
-excerpt from the Darenkh Chronicles, by Vedakh Carn
Bright, amber eyes peered back into Annabel's with a sense of wonder and bewilderment. The wolf-man was now erect, sitting up in the pile of hay and straw, his body and hair covered haphazardly in the thresh. His eyes scanned Annabel as if trying to decipher whether she was full of goodwill or woe. Annabel thought to open her mouth and start talking, but she then decided not to those the light resin-colored eyes from staring at her. She breathed deeply as a warm flush filled her chest. Right now, a gorgeous young man was sitting across from her, inside her barn, just the two of them. Biting her lip Annabel prayed that he might be the savage she had heard all skin changers were and take her right there. While unable to ask such a thing aloud, in her mind she began to picture him pinning her down, tearing the clothes from milky flesh. If he did, she hoped he'd start by taking her like a bitch in heat, then flip her every which way, and finally finishing on top staring at her with those big, possessing amber eyes.
"Where am I?" the Lycan asked, shattering the still silence.
"Y- You're, uh, this is my barn. Well, Beatrice's anyway." Annabel responded struggling through her heated thoughts. Her gaze was now shifting from the lad's eyes to his trim but defined, bronzed chest. From there, to his similarly muscled legs and then, to the hay covered space between them.
"Are you the girl from the field?" he continued. "My memories are a little clouded."
"Uh, yes," Annabel stammered trying to concentrate on the conversation rather than the growing sensation of carnality, which had gripped her mind. "I'm Annabel."
"Annabel," he said, with a nervous grin, still clearly unsure whether or not to trust her. His head then darted about the barn, taking in his surroundings.
"How did you come to be here?" she asked.
"I think … " the lad's eyes shifted downward, moving in the way one does when they think with great effort. His voice rose and trailed off unevenly, indicating a lack of confidence in his recollection. "I think I left after you patched my wound. I tried to avoid the hunters, those bastards … I think I lost them as I ran, but … "
"You don't remember?" Annabel inquired, keenly interested. She had always been told that skin changers were either completely in control of themselves after they turned or lost their minds to the bestial form they'd taken. Was he the latter type?
"I can't … it's difficult for me to recall what happens when I change. I'm still trying to control how I do it." The youth's eyes shifted down in embarrassment. Annabel thought it curious that his sense of shame came from opening up about his actions, not being stark naked in front of a total stranger.
"What's your name?" Annabel asked, now squatting to appear less domineering.
"Eh, Dirk," he replied coyly, still unsure of Annabel's intentions, "Listen I'm sorry to have stayed in your barn, I'll leave right- ah!" Dirk recoiled, shrieking and grabbing at the gash on his thigh, his leg continued to lightly shake in spasms of pain.
"You should stay here to heal," Annabel insisted with a notable mix of true, genuine compassion as well as a mounting feeling of lust in her voice. "I'll grab some bandages and clothes for you."