Fantasy Blackspring (Penumbra & Coreonysis)

[marshmarrow]

The Elk River Pass, as it is called, is the most peculiar valley in all of North America. On one side, the Rocky Mountains, a vast expanse of barren stone, a treacherous place to be alone or in the dark. 100 miles east, a scorching plain, where wild horses gallop in a sea of golden grass. The valley itself is blanketed in ancient ironwood trees.

At the heart of the woodland is the town of Blackspring. Population: 932. A sliver of civilization surrounded by national parks. The trees sustain Blackspring, having the largest concentration of carpenters and whittlers in the Midwest. With every tree that is cut down, a new one is planted; the tradition as long as anyone can remember.

Not so long ago, strange things began to happen. The forest, while at one time was a symbol of protection and survival for the residents of Blackspring, now feels foreboding and unfamiliar. No birds sing, no wind blows, and the sky has become gray and overcast. The clouds are dark with rain, but not a single drop has fallen. Time almost seems to stand still in this town, except at night, when people disappear upon entering the woods. The local police have assembled search parties, but they never go out into the woods at dusk, for fear of never coming back out. When the sun begins to set, some residents can feel something in the forest call to them, beckoning them to the treeline, before they are snapped out of the trance by a strange howl.

The wolves and humans of the Elk River Pass have had a tenuous relationship at best. While hunting wolves has become illegal in the region, poachers have not stopped trapping the wolves in the valley. Despite the efforts of farmers and pet owners, wolves have dug, bitten, and squeezed through fences for the animals inside. Still, the town has superstitions about the Blackspring wolves.

Old folk stories tell of wolves stealing women and conceiving children, and of men being seduced by the alpha female deep in the forest every century or so. An act so sinful that it would cause the very nature of the forest to become unbalanced. Many people have started to believe the strange aura may be attributed to the return of a halfling child. One cannot deny the intelligence and understanding one sees in the eyes of the Blackspring wolves.

A human voice calls with the howls of the wolves.

 

[Coreonysis]

Hunters.

No words were spoken. No words could be spoken. What are words to an animal? Words are meaningless sounds, syllables crafted by humans to distract and dissipate the sounds around them. Words held no meaning this deep within the forest. And yet as two wolves ran next to each other, their paws pounding against the dried leaves littering the forest floor, Entylin’s mind could only race with thoughts of becoming what he hated most.

He thought of changing, right there. He thought of disregarding everything he had ever known and turning human, just so he could let his friend go free. His friend who bore no name to him, as wolves had no need for names. His friend whom he knew by scent alone, whom he could find miles away with his eyes closed. And yet the world felt so oddly foreign to him within the animalistic body he wore.

He didn’t feel at home as a wolf. Yet he had no home as a human.

If he became human there, everything would change. His friend would understand that he was nothing like them. The wolves only knew one thing when it came to the humans. Death. Their numbers had dwindled since the hunting began, and though the wolves had tried staying away from the town, food was scarce. The hunters didn’t only hunt the wolves out there. They hunted anything the wolves usually had for food; the pack was falling apart. The alpha was sickly, going without food so the pack could eat. A constant feeling remained among the pack, communicated by all of them in mutual agreement. They would not last long.

Yet still, no words were spoken.

It was a chill night. Even while running for his life, Entylin took in all the little things that most of the wolves would miss. The clouds were large and fluffy, and drifted lazily along the sky. The leaves were red and orange, signaling an unreasonably early fall. They shouldn’t have to be running yet. And here they were.

It had been a simple scouting mission. Go forward to check the land. The alpha had not said a word, and yet someone, Entylin knew what to do. His friend came along with them, and that’s when they heard the crack of a bullet.

Entylin knew the word. He knew what a gun was, and what a bullet was, and he even knew why the humans were after them. It was better than the blind fear, and panic, that radiated from his friend. His friend knew nothing of why the bipedal mammal came after them, or what the “Silver death” actually was. The wolves simply knew they didn’t stand a chance.

Entylin heard a snap. His friend did too. And then, he friend ran no more.

A pang shot through Entylin’s heart, though he couldn’t afford to think of what had happened. Wolves don’t think. Wolves do. He kept running.

He heard the twig snap behind him, and had no time to react. He splintered off his course rapidly, and as he did so, a blinding white pain laced up the entirety of his breast. His hind legs worked no longer, and he fell to the side after a few moments of running. The hunter was close behind.

With a mournful, sorrowful howl, Entylin receded to the place in his mind which he hated the most. He receded to the place with words and guns and death. And then a hunter stumbled upon an empty patch of grass, where he was certain the fallen wolf should have lain.

Entylin gasped as he ran, possessing no clothing, no shoes, nothing to protect from the elements. A bullet was lodged above his right breastbone, and he could feel the cold, steely metal pierced through him. He could almost feel liquid lead traveling through his veins, slowing him.

But that was impossible.

His eyesight was growing dark as he saw what looked like a clearing. He ran hard, his energy nearly expended. He didn’t have much time before he would pass out, and everyone would know. He had to get to the other side of the forest. If he crossed sides, the hunters wouldn’t find him. They wouldn’t expect a wolf to run through town.

Though as he finally, finally broke the tree line, all he saw was a singular house. He walked, no longer having any energy to sprint, and gazed at the immaculate lawn. The perfectly designed house. The nice, soft grass…

Entylin fell to his knees. He could only see red. Tears brimmed in his eyes, as he thought of his brothers and sisters who had fallen that night.

And then he collapsed, his face hitting the soft, green grass in front of him.

Entylin had fallen as well.

 

[marshmarrow]

The forest screamed. It mourned for a child.

Death hung in the air like the tension before a lightning strike. She had ducked behind the goat shed as the first shot rang out, clutching the SIG .40 she stored in the barn, but her hands shook as she flexed her grip on the weapon. No one grew up in Blackspring without knowing to shoot bullets and carve wood, but the gun felt cold and unfamiliar - a tool that could only be used to hurt. Her breath puffed white, her fingers numbing in the cold. The horses were inside for the night, but she could imaging their mild bemusement as they watched their mistress crouch with a gun on her hand.

Coming around the back corner of the house, Cora kept her weapon at the ready, her left hand holding a flashlight. She scanned the front yard with the beam of light, summoning enough courage to propel herself forward as the light caught the shape of a figure lying in the grass.

Bending down, she found a faint pulse in his neck and an oozing wound inches from his jugular vein, fragments of bone circling the bullet's point of entry. Taking off her sweatshirt, Cora ignored the chill and pressed it against his wound, applying pressure, trying to slow the bleeding. When it no longer gushed, Cora realized for the first time the man was completely nude.

Stepping back, Cora inhaled sharply as she gazed at his pained, unconscious expression. Everybody knew everybody in this town, and the only strangers were birdwatchers and scruffy backpackers. This man looked both too young and too mature to be either one. Hoisting him up, she half-dragged him to get him into the house, laying him down on the couch and rushing to find materials to begin treatment.

 

[Coreonysis]

Wolves are not often ones to trust people. Entylin was no exception.

When he came to, he did not immediately open his eyes; he kept his breathing completely calm, steady, as his nostrils flared. He took in the scents of the room, though realized, all to suddenly, that he was in his human form. His sense of smell was humiliatingly lacking, though much better than that of the people of the town.

He smelled a girl, that much was certain. A fire, and something that made his mouth water. He heard the smallest of her movements, and slowly, very slowly, began to open his eyes.

She was not in the room, but he knew that wouldn’t be for very long. She had taken him, for god knows what reason. He couldn’t move, however. His neck pulsed with pain, and he couldn’t find the energy in his limbs to bring himself to his feet.

It was a hell of a predicament.

Then the memory of what had happened came back to him, all in one sudden rush. His friends, his brothers, his sisters. A single tear leaked from his eye, and he couldn’t bring himself to wipe it away. Very quickly, he was sobbing violently, yet silently, and the chill around him was no longer felt.

He tried to bury himself within the folds of the couch, as he had within the leaves as the animal he preferred to be. Yet he couldn’t bring himself any further within their reach.

And so he laid there, broken, hurting, crying, and trying desperately to make himself unseen.

It was the weakest he had ever felt.

 

[marshmarrow]

Cora fixed stew in silence, turning the heat down on her wood-burning stove and placing a lid on top of the clay pot. She had left dinner cooking while she was outside, but it was salvageable, and the pungent aroma of beef with peppercorns, wild onion, celery, and garlic filled the kitchen. Letting the meat slow-cook in the creamy broth, she filled another pot with water and placed it on the backburner to boil.

Cora reached for the first-aid kit she left beside the medicine cabinet, wondering when she had last stocked it. She pulled out two scalpels and a pair of forceps, dropping them in the heated pot. Pulling open a drawer, she added a butterknife to the other instruments, before returning to her kit and picking up a roll of occlusive gauze, a magnifying glass, and antibiotic cream.

She padded into the living room, setting her medical supplies on the coffee table beside the couch, where she had wrapped him in a blanket, mindful of shock. He faced into the cushions away from her. His back quivered, though the room was quite warm, and she sensed his pain and sadness. He was awake, though his even breathing might have tricked anyone else into thinking he was still unconscious. Unrolling a length of gauze as long as her arm, she waited for him to calm down.

"My name is Cora," she murmured to him, slowly placing her cool fingers on his neck. She firmly pressed into his jugular, finding the faint rhythm of his heartbeat and counting beats with the third hand of her watch. He had not lost much blood, but the shattered bone might complicate things. She would keep a close eye on him.

"I'm a medical doctor," she added quietly, "You're safe here. You're going to be just fine. I'm used to gunshot wounds in these parts," she reassured him.

 

[Coreonysis]

Food.

As the shock wore off, and the actual pain began to set in, Entylin could only think of the scents in the air. The warm aroma of wonderful food, which he had not smelt in a long, long time. Wolves had no need to cook their food; wolves had no need to taste their food. This was the one part about being human he actually enjoyed; the wonderful, satisfying feeling of eating a well-cooked meal.

The heavy scents made him less wary than he probably should have been, so when the girl walked back into the room, he merely tensed. He still shook, albeit less, and his tears began to lessen. He would not be seen as weak in front of the person who was making such amazing, wonderful food.

But then she touched him.

Entylin was not used to being touched. At all. Whatsoever. It had been years since anyone had laid a finger on him, and at that time, he was being beaten senseless for something he could not control. At first, he didn't know how to react. He simply laid there, his muscles contracting and expanding, as she spoke to him. She told him her name, and he acknowledged it, but he didn't memorize it. He didn't expect to need it in the future. She then informed him she was a doctor; meaningless babble to him, as he hadn't seen a doctor in years.

He couldn't move much, but Entylin dragged himself away from her. He meant to spring away and leave, yet the wound in his shoulder wouldn't allow it. He meant to snarl, but it came out as a pathetic little whimper. He couldn't allow himself to stay, but he couldn't force himself to leave. The warmth, the smell, the medical supplies she had brought...

He needed all of it. But he desperately didn't want to need it.

And still, no words were spoken.

 

[marshmarrow]

She felt him tense up as she touched him, but it was a clinical and impersonal movement; so quick and so close to the wound she was surprised he even registered it. Remembering that all that covered him was he jacket at his chest and a blanket, she should have known he would be sensitive.

"I'll get you some clothes and then examine you," she continued to say, feeling useless and awkward as he pulled himself away. She didn't wave her medical degree around, but she could tell he wasn't impressed by it. She knew he was in a lot of pain, but because of the placement of the wound, she couldn't prescribe anything taken by mouth until the tissues scabbed over. She went back into the kitchen, putting the pot of stew on a backburner. The pot of water was boiling, having sterilized its contents, so she turned the stove off and placed the pot on the counter to cool.

She went upstairs quietly, pulling the rope to get to the attic. Climbing the folding ladder, she sneezed as the dust shifted, keeping her head low as she reached for a cardboard box marked DADS CLOTHES. Feeling around blindly, she pulled out a soft cotton T-shirt, long johns, and a pair of jeans.

When she came back downstairs, she set the clothes down next to the gauze, picking up a packet of latex gloves from the first aid kit. "You'll wear these when I'm finished, then we'll eat," she promised before going back into the kitchen.

Cora sterilized a serving platter with a spray and unwrapped the plastic of the gloves. She washed her hands thoroughly before snapping them on. Once the water had reached room temperature, she took out the instruments, shaking the excess water off before setting them down on the tray. Taking it back to the man in the living room, she stretched a surgical mask over her face. She was ready to begin.

"I need you to face me and sit up," Cora ordered him. "I know it hurts, but I can't give you anything to stop it. You'll have to endure it for now."

 

[Coreonysis]

Wolves didn't have medicine.

For some reason, that was the only thing Entylin could think about as the girl made her way about the house. He could hear her movements, quite clearly actually, yet he didn't try to move again. Doing anything more than what was necessary at the moment costed him valuable energy, and it was energy he couldn't spare. As a wolf, the pack would take care of him if he was maimed like this. He had a feeling that was what the girl was trying to do; but she didn't know him. She had no idea what he was, and if she did, she wouldn't be letting him lay on her couch.

He heard the clang of metal on metal. The smell of the food still roiled through the air, yet it had abated to a soft simmer. His nose was becoming accustomed to the scents of the house, which he didn't want; he needed to be sharp. Alert. Aware of anything that didn't belong. And yet he felt oddly at ease. Relaxed. As if he had been drugged with dopamine.

As she came into the room again, Entylin decided then and there that he would figure out what she wanted. If she was doing this for some end game, he would find out and tear her to shreds. If she was actually being nice, granting him a kindness... He would return the favor, and then leave her. Because she wouldn't want anything to do with something like him.

She told him to sit up. He hadn't particularly been listening to anything she had been saying up until that point, but he listened here. He followed her orders, sitting up and staring directly into her eyes. He hoped, he prayed, that his bright yellow wolf eyes had toned down a bit. Maybe to a deep hazel. They just couldn't. Be. Yellow.

"Why are you doing this?"

His voice was deep. Raspy. Because it literally hadn't been used in years.

 

[marshmarrow]

After the final touch, a stethoscope around her neck, she was ready to begin.

As soon as she looked up, yellow eyes met blue.

She blinked. Hazel. His eyes are a hazel brown. Why had she thought they were yellow? She barely heard his question, but she quickly regained her composure, inhaling.

"I'm helping you because that's what I do," she responded, more sharply than she intended. She untied the jacket from around the wound, inspecting the red stain before folding it. Most of the blood had coagulated, meaning the wound was no longer bleeding.

"Hold still," she said in a softer tone, ripping off a swatch of gauze and picking up the forceps. "I'm going to clean off the bits of bone that surround the bullet. You won't feel a thing." Parting the tissue and ensuring the smallest fragments with the gauze, she picked at the larger pieces with the tweezers, dropping each one in a section of the platter separated from the scalpels. Noticing that the bullet had been lodged in only surface nervous and muscular tissue, no blood vessels were compromised by the presence of the bullet. The only thing it had really hurt was the bone, which is why it had to be removed.

Once she had cleaned the area to her approval, Cora set down the forceps and reached for the scalpel and more gauze. "I'm going to attempt to remove the bullet," she told him. "If it hadn't shattered your collarbone, it may very well be left alone. Your bone can't grow around it and adapt like muscles and veins."

 

[Coreonysis]

It was an odd sensation, to have metal within his body.

Entylin was always one for the forest; it was where he was born, where he was raised, and where he belonged. In the forest, there was no metal besides the iron in your blood and the biting lead of a hunter's fifteen year old illegal round. He had only ever experienced the first.

As she cleaned the wound, he closed his eyes and took in every scent that his acclimating nose could find. The food was still ever present in the air, and he sifted around it to find the simpler things. Her perfume smelled of wildflowers, like the meadows his pack had stayed in when the sun was high. The wood of the house was at least a century old, as it reeked of older times.

The couch was a comforting sort of leathery smell, and it reminded him of the alpha. He had always been sort of grandfatherly to the pack. With a pang, Entylin realized that he was most likely gone.

All of them were most likely gone.

He couldn't allow himself to think like that. The pack was resourceful, and they were full-blooded. They weren't the disgrace of a half-blood that he was. As she pulled fragments of bone from his body, we watched in fascination. He had never seen bone splinter like that; all he had ever seen was the skeletons of the pray they hunted. Bone was supposed to snap; it was not supposed to shatter.

When she came back with the scalpel, he nearly snarled on instinct. A blade. What was she doing with a blade? He tried to rationalize the thinking, to think more like a human. Sometimes, to get a thorn out of a paw, teeth had to be used. It was the best analogy that he could use, but his heart began to beat faster. His nose twitched, and he kept the wolf within him at bay. His eyes, he could feel them shifting from yellow to hazel, rapidly, and he steadied his gaze.

He stared into her, through her, and saw no malice in her eyes.

"Explain what you are doing." He said. He remained still.

 

[marshmarrow]

The air seemed to crackle with tension, and so did his body. There was explosive potential waiting to happen, and she refused to be the spark that ignited it. The lancet hadn't sparked fear in him, but something even more primitive. Curiosity, cloaked by his biting tone.

"I'm going to remove the bullet," she answered, furrowing her brow as she positioned the edge just so. Her hands were practiced and confident, but she had never worked this way on a live patient before. She had removed bullets, yes, but a life had never been at stake. She wasn't going to tell him that.

To ease both of their minds, she began to speak as she worked, smoothly cutting away through minuscule amounts of flesh to loosen the bullet from the snug cavity it made. "You're in the town of Blackspring," she started, her voice coming out as a mumble as she removed a difficult bit of sinew. He was covered in wiry muscle, the kind an Olympic runner would have in their legs, but it was in the most peculiar position at his shoulder. Shaking it off, she continued, "There aren't many of us here, less than 1,000. There's plenty of life in these woods, though."

Her features darkened as she recalled what she had witnessed only yesterday. "Many strange things have happened lately," she murmured. She recalled the clouds gathering, the birds flying out of trees by the thousands. Her animals had stomped and whined in fear, not listening. In the city, people argued and bickered, exasperated by their spooked animals and blaming each other for the recent attacks on their sheep and cows.

"This town was tranquil and everyone was close. Now, it's dangerous to go in the woods. People are scared. We can't trust one another."

 

[Coreonysis]

It had been obvious to Entylin, too.

In the point of view of an animal, he hadn't had a reason to run as he did; he simply felt the need to migrate, and he did so. As a human, he was able to register what the feeling was. Group terror. He had run because his pack had, but he didn't know what they were scared of. There had been no predator, and yet they ran with the stench of fear cloaking their pelts. It had been so heavy, it was a wonder the humans themselves hadn't smelled it.

"Do you know why?" He had the dreadful suspicion that he was a part of it. His human half, which he kept from the wolves, and his wolf half, which he kept from the humans. He had never met someone else like him, and that absolutely terrified him. All he wanted to do was belong.

Entylin hardly felt the cold metal slice through his flesh, as the muscled shoulder was used to immense pressure. It was, however, a new sensation; he flinched a few times, though kept his body steady.

"I... Uh, my animals... They were scared too." His voice was warming up, eventually reaching a pleasant tenor note. It was a major improvement over the shaky bass it had been at first. "And haven't people always been afraid of the woods? I mean, there's wolves in there." He spoke of his own kind, and tried to sound nonchalant. He mostly managed.

He then looked her directly in the eyes. "And why do you trust me enough to bring me inside, then?"

 

[marshmarrow]

She felt him loosen up, her words seeming to have an affect on him. She sighed softly, almost finished clearing the bullet's point of entry. His first statement was clearly a bluff, but she ignored it and answered his question.

"Wolves are timid," she reasoned. "I have no reason to be afraid of them if they are afraid of me. I am afraid for my livelihood; my farm, but not for my life. That has changed. In the last few days, people have gone into the woods and not come out. Something lures them in. Children, too." She blinked, realizing he had been staring directly at her. She gazed evenly back.

"I don't trust you. I'm making a medical decision based on medical judgement. It doesn't matter if you are Mother Theresa or a wife-beater, you usually don't know, for one thing."

She set down the lancet, picking up the butterknife instead. "We'll eat when I'm finished," she repeated. "You can decide what to do for yourself afterwards."

 

[Coreonysis]

She was very direct. That was one of the first things Entylin actually committed to memory about her.

"I wouldn't say that wolves are timid. W-They're more intelligent than most animals out there, and know that humans can kill them easily." He almost screwed up. He almost said 'we'. He hoped that little stutter would go unnoticed.

As for what was luring her people in... He had no idea. He hadn't heard of such a thing. It certainly wasn't his pack; they didn't have an affinity for human flesh. Pretty much anything in the forest tasted better, tree bark included.

He liked her logic, regarding trust. It made sense. And he was glad she didn't trust him; it would make it easier to leave once he had to. But he could, at least for the moment, trust her. And if he had to fight, well, he had a hell of a surprise tactic.

He still looked forward to the food that hung heavily in the air, though he didn't make that obvious. He simply held his gaze steady, and in that moment, decided to tell her something that he had never told anyone before.

"I'm Entylin."

 

[marshmarrow]

"Of course they are." She raised an eyebrow, positioning the butterknife. It slid between the flesh and metal, catching on the rim. Shifting her grip, she began to pull slowly, feeling the knife and bullet smoothly emerge. It was a clean motion, like a strike on a tuning fork.

Once the tip of the bullet protruded, she reached for her forceps with the other hand and grabbed it gently, slowly taking it out. Pulling out the knife with care, she traded it for her other scalpel and snipped off the sticky threads of flesh that clung to the bullet, dropping the offending object into the tray.

"All done," she breathed, getting up and grabbing another pair of gloves. "Don't move yet, Entylin." She said the last three syllables softly, acknowledging his name. It was unique, but it fit him perfectly; an odd name for an odd man. It was too peculiar of a name to be an alias, but she noted he hadn't given her a surname. She realized she didn't either.

Taking off her bloody gloves as she entered the kitchen, Cora nudged the cabinet under the sink open with her foot, dropping the gloves into the wastebasket. Searching through her medicine cabinet, she found what she was looking for and set the items down, before opening the separate gloves and washing her hands. Pulling on the next pair of latex, she made her way back to him with the injection of lidocaine, a surgical needle and a length of white thread.

"Just a little prick, then it will be numb and I can put the stitches in, big guy."

 

[Coreonysis]

He looked at the sharp, thin piece of metal she held in between her fingertips. That was supposed to go through his skin? Hadn't he just had a lump of metal pulled out of him, and now she wanted to shove another one into him? It made no sense to Entylin, and he much rather would have shifted back, then and there, and let the naturalistic healing tendencies of the rivers help his wound.

But he knew that he couldn't do that.

It sounded strange, hearing someone else say his name. He hadn't heard that since he was incredibly young, before his 'parents' had found out what he was. Before they had cursed his name in their household and had banished him. He was tired; oh so tired of running from himself. But it was all he had ever known.

Entylin didn't move; he simply sat there, staring at the needle in her hand. 'Stitches'. He had heard the term before. Weren't those when they would put string through your skin and pull it together? It seemed rather archaic to him, but he supposed that this woman, who had been a human much more than he had, would know what was normal and what was not.

If she really was to heal him, he knew he couldn't go back to his pack. Not until his debt was paid off. They wouldn't accept him back, otherwise. Honor was big among them; stealing, even if the kindness was a gift, was not looked upon well.

Entylin swallowed as she neared him with the needle, and before she even began, he muttered a strained, "Thank you." Two measly words, but they tugged at his ego like a bad case of rabies. He hadn't said them, at least not aloud, in what felt like ever.

 

[marshmarrow]

She noticed him eyeing the needle, so she moved closer, cleaning the hole one-handed before dropping each piece of used gauze into the tray. She flicked the syringe to get the bubbles out. Entylin had tensed up again as he gave her his thanks, so she placed a hand on his back, carefully guiding him into the light, her gaze softening.

"You're welcome," she answered sincerely as she pushed the needle in beside the wound. The effect should be almost instant, so she pulled away, letting the syringe empty before pulling it out. She looped a gossamer-thin strand of white thread through the needle, and began delicate butterfly stitches, each one identical to the last.

"So tell me, patient to doctor, what happened to you, Entylin," she began, trying to distract him from what she was about to jab into his flesh. "The bullet entered at a slight angle, and while it can move around, I didn't see any signs of it shifting. This looks like it was shot at close range, less than twenty yards away." She looked up at him expectantly.

 

[Coreonysis]

She was asking him about what happened.

He didn't particularly know how to answer that.

He could always state something obvious that is still inherently true; he had been in a hunting incident. The wording was careful, drawn away from himself. It would work as an explanation for most people, and he could be on his merry way. But he had looked into this girl's eyes, and he had seen just how intelligent she was. He could see the years of hardships she had faced out here by herself, and even though he didn't want to admit it, he sympathized with her.

So Entylin was caught in a predicament. He wanted to tell her, but he didn't want her to know who he was. She had been kind to him, and had stitched up his wound. She had also described the shot almost perfectly It was, indeed, shot at close range from about twenty yards away. So she would know that whoever had shot him, had done so on purpose.

And so, for the first time in a long, long time, Entylin decided to tell the truth about himself.

"I ran from a hunter. He shot me. I got away before he could finish it."

It gave away none of who he was. But he felt she deserved to at least know that much, as she had been the one to ensure that the hunter hadn't won.

 

[marshmarrow]

She nodded, biting her lip in concentration as she worked. She didn't like to pry, and his answer truthful. He didn't offer details, and she didn't ask. She moved away to unroll more gauze, wrapping it to completely cover the sutures.

"All done." She ran her thumb over the bandage to smooth it into place, paused to admire her handiwork without making eye contact, and then began cleaning up. She peeled her gloves off her damp hands.

"See, the world didn't end." Her concerned face was close to his. She smiled, then she looked away self-consciously. She had to kneel in front of him for what seemed like forever, her knees protesting as she stood up. She shifted her weight from foot to foot tiredly. She picked up the bloody, gory tray and took it into the kitchen, carefully setting it down in the sink after scraping off the solid waste. She would sterilize it later. Returning to the den, she handed Entylin the clothing she had picked out.

"Go and change, the medication should last for a few more minutes for you to change easily. The bathroom is down the hall, the only door on the left." She gestured in the direction behind her. "If you need help, knock on the door. I'll be in the kitchen."

 

[Coreonysis]

It was done. He was fixed, and all he had to do to let the wound heal was allow time to run its course.

That meant that Entylin was now bound to her servitude until he was able to repay the favor, in some way or another.

Taking the clothes she offered, he walked to where she had indicated. He had always found clothes, err... Restricting. Not to mention that 'going wolf' usually tore apart any clothes he tried to wear. He made it a conscious effort to stay in his human form now, though; he had learned to control it, for the most part. He pulled the clothes over his naked form, not even feeling the wound that had just caused him so much pain. He hated thinking that he could have died, if it hadn't been for the help of a... A human.

And now, he was bound.

He had no idea how to tell her that he had to stay; he wasn't used to talking to people, and definitely didn't know how to say things lightly. Finally, he left the bathroom, and walked around the house to find her. He found the kitchen, and cleared his throat. He definitely looked a lot better; the jeans and loose shirt fit him well, framing the muscles that were evident upon his biceps and calves.

"I... I have to stay here now. I can't leave until I pay you back for this."

Like I said. Entylin wasn't good at putting things lightly.

 

[marshmarrow]

Cora was bringing down bowls for the stew from the cupboard when she heard Entylin pad in behind her. She glanced around the room and at the dishes piled high at the sink, decided he'd seen tableware before, and turned her head to greet him, filling his bowl with plenty of meat to restore the iron he'd lost in his blood.

"I'm glad those fit, I was worried they were going to be too big," she commented, watching his movements. He seemed stiff, but that was normal, the pain would set in as soon as the lidocaine wore off. "They're clean, they were my father's. I have a pair of his boots too, but I'll go into town and get you proper clothing tomorrow." She decided not to press the issue of his initial nudity; as a doctor, it was nothing she hadn't seen before, and she didn't have clothing to rip open as she treated him.

She handed him his bowl, filled nearly to the top, and a spoon. She poured the rest into a bowl for herself, leading him to the table. "Sit down," she insisted, setting her bowl down at the seat across from him. She headed back for two glasses of water, placing one next to his bowl before taking a seat.

"Those sutures will have to come out in 20 days. They don't dissolve, so a doctor can take them out for you, free of charge if you tell them I stitched you up. If you start feeling dizzy, or confused, or the wound looks infected, you should have them taken out immediately."

 

[Coreonysis]

He blinked. She hadn't seemed to have heard what he had said.

That didn't matter to him much, however, when he was presented with the steaming bowl of stew. His mouth immediately began to water, but he was stuck in a predicament; he was unused to using silverware. He picked up the spoon clumsily, obviously in the wrong hand, and began trying to scoop the larger pieces of meat out of the bowl. Eventually, however, he deemed it too difficult. If she found him weird for using his hands, that was fine with him. He sat the spoon down and began picking out the larger pieces of meat, vegetables, and all of the other goodness she had packed into the small bowl.

And my, oh my, did Entylin enjoy it.

Hell, he lived in the forest. Pretty much anything would beat the raw, dying carcass of a deer, but this was something different. This was cooked perfectly with the finest ingredients he had ever tasted, albeit that wasn't saying much. He ate faster and faster, until he practically wasn't chewing anymore. He swallowed the pieces of flesh and plant, savoring every savory bite. When he couldn't find anymore pieces, he picked up the bowl and drank deeply. The warm broth flowed down his throat, and he welcomed it.

It had been a very cold winter.

He heard her speak, and understood her words. He would need the string pulled out in twenty days' time. He didn't know if he would still be in her servitude by then, and figured he could probably find a way to get them out using his canine teeth. He didn't worry much about it; what he did worry about was the food in front of him.

He practically whimpered when it was gone.

 

[marshmarrow]

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment as Entylin slurped down his helping after an aborted attempt at silverware.

They ate in a not-quite-companionable silence, but it was nicer than eating alone. She consumed her broth daintily but efficiently, alternating between spoonfuls of meat, vegetables, and broth. She was ravenous after a mere two hours of treatment.

She regarded him intensely over the rim of her bowl, wondering which of them would be the one to break the silence. He had a lazily intimidating air; she could tell he could be a dangerous man to cross, but it was power he wore well. She knew he felt confined here, but like her, he was a pragmatist. He would restrain himself if he was rewarded in the end.

Her Catholic guilt had started to get the better of her, and tiring of the quiet game, she exhaled, laying her spoon atop the edges of her bowl. She folded her hands in her lap, still meeting Entylin's eyes without expression. "I haven't been completely honest with you," she began, feeling some weight beginning to lift off of her chest.

"It is true that I have done many similar operations as yours. However, the majority of my work revolves around patients after they die. I'm a coroner at the county hospital. I work with the police to solve crimes."

She laughed bitterly, more of a bark. "Do you know the difference between forensic pathology and medicine? Medicine is an art, but pathology is a science. Sometimes they use the same technologies, but the goal is different. Medicine is a search for wellness, but pathology is a search for the truth."

She gestured leisurely around the room. "I have a house in the middle of nowhere with skeletons in every closet, chronic sleep deprivation, and I often come home smelling like raw sewage. Stay as long as you'd like, most men are eager to get as far away from me as they possibly can. I just might be as pleasant as the week-old cadaver of a drowning victim."

 

[Coreonysis]

Entylin set down his bowl and then looked up to her. He narrowed his eyes, not in anger, but what appeared to be a sense of puzzlement. His nostrils flared, wider than any normal human's should be able, and he closed his eyes.

"I do not smell anything of the sorts upon you. In fact, your perfume smells heavily of wildflowers. Violets and lilies, to be more precise." He opened his eyes, the yellowish hazel color reflecting more light from the above glow than should be possible. "I don't know anything regarding medicine or forensic pathology. You have, however, healed me; that leads me to believe there can't be that much of a difference."

His eyes were kind, yet wary.

"Your sleep problems do not bother me; I myself sleep at extremely strange hours. I sense no skeletons in your closet, and I find that to be an extremely strange thing to say." At this, his voice seemed genuinely clueless; if there had been bones within the house, he would have smelled them. All his nose could pick up were the rat skeletons from beneath the floorboards.

"You have been kind to me; I do not see any reason any man should want to avoid someone so kind as you. I am not one to be scared away so easily; like the wolves of the woods, I am not timid." He brought the conversation back to his earlier point. "Drowning is a terrible way to go, but you don't seem to be drowning. Maybe in work, and in stress. It positively radiates off of you. Maybe that's the reason you don't sleep so much."

Entylin genuinely thought he was helping. He didn't realize he was only pointing out the obvious.

"I owe you a great debt, and therefore I must stay here until my debt is repaid. Mayhaps I can perform simple tasks around the house, while you deal with whatever is stressing you out the most? I do know from experience that leaving a task to fester makes it much worse in the long run."

Entylin's vocabulary was very shifty; he knew some advanced words, and yet in other sentences, he fumbled through the grammar. It was obvious he hadn't spoken much, even though he was trying. His tone was kind, however, even if he wording was forced, and he tried his best to make that fact known.

His nostrils settled to their normal positions, and the eyes that had been unceremoniously shifting colour once again settled back on hazel.

 

[marshmarrow]

She was rambling, she knew, so she had not expected him to listen, or take what she meant to be literal.

In an instant, something primal lurked just beneath the soothing hazel of his eyes, but there was also kindness and warmth. It was as if speaking came as naturally to him as setting himself afire. He was real, touchable, as he offered her his honest advice. As naive as he seemed, she sensed he truly meant what he said, a gesture she received so rarely from a total stranger.

"Thank you," Cora responded, though she felt as if she had hopelessly understated. "I have never met a man as strange as you, but also I have also never met a man so eager to assist me."

She smiled faintly, taking every word into consideration. "Perhaps you can be of use to me, then, but for more than household chores. Come into town with me tomorrow," she urged, her face darkening. "I have to show you something that has 'festered' for quite a while. You can begin to repay me if you listen to and learn from me."