Clever

The scent was achingly familiar here. The thick, lush grass that grew was soft on her feet, and the light zephyr breeze carried the promise of the summer to come. She hadn’t been to this place in many, many years, and while much had changed here, she would know this place in a heartbeat if only by the smell alone. Yes, much had changed. No one in this place would know her now- decades upon decades had passed, and anyone who may have recognized her was long beneath the earth. Those memories of the people she once knew were bittersweet, and one of them was the reason she was here, in the middle of a forgotten and fallow field, sitting under the pear tree.

At the base of the craggy and ancient tree lay a stone so unremarkable that it never drew attention, even from the most avid of rock collectors. No person ever came by the tree and thought, “I’d like that stone for my garden”, which, considering the number of gardens in the area, was quite remarkable. It seemed as if every cottage on the lane had a rock wall or a garden lined with stones pulled from nearby woods and fields. That THIS stone had gone untouched said much. She lay down and rested her chin upon the unremarkable slab. Laying in the knee-high grass amongst the dappled shadows cast by the old pear tree, no one would see River unless they stumbled directly into her. In this form she could blend in as she pleased, in woods or field.

River closed her eyes and tried to remember her mate- every detail, every movement, scent, and sound. In his human form, he had been lovely, with curly black hair, green-grey eyes, and an infectious smile. The smile was what she remembered best. It could light up a room and was what had drawn her to him to begin with all those years ago. Kinley could be brooding, brow furrowed, and deep in thoughts that he rarely shared with anyone, and then he would look up and smile. That look changed what may have been construed as an unapproachable and unsociable demeanor into something approachable, trustworthy, and innocent. Not that he was ever innocent, thought River, with a touch of humor. Werewolves rarely are.

But, “innocent” or not, she had loved him, deeply, and in the many decades and more that they had been together he had been there for her at her own less-than-innocent moments. Touchy by nature and prone to a quick temper, River could rage with the best of them. Kinley, on the other hand, had always been her voice of reason, her calm center of the storm, and her anchor. When her anger was about to make her do something she would regret, he was able to pull her back from the brink and turn her attention elsewhere. She wouldn’t even realize what he’d done until later when she was calm, and then it was all she could do not to howl with laughter aft how deftly and sneakily he had averted disaster. Werewolves might be testy, but they generally had a good sense of humor when it came to cleverness. Clever was to be commended and given its proper due, and Kinley had been very clever. Right up until he wasn’t clever enough.

River remembered that fateful day all too well. They had been not far from this place, and what had started out as a game with the local hunters had turned into a messy and deadly altercation. They had been having great fun in the previous weeks, stealing animals from hunters’ traps and sneaking away their kills, leaving the locals bewildered at first, and then furious. River and Kinley never took all their animals- just enough to tease and taunt. A shot deer that had time to run a half-mile would vanish. A busy and productive trap line would suddenly not produce anything for a week. The handy part about being what they were was the fact that a wolf can cover a lot of ground and stay out in almost any weather, and the human has nimble fingers to disarm or empty traps or carry away spoils of the hunt. The local villagers were not amused by their cleverness nearly as much as they were.

River squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shut out the snap and clang of metal, and the howl of pain that instantly had followed. Her last days with her beloved had not been pleasant. Some hunter had finally gotten wise to what they were, apparently listening to and believing the old stories, set up a trap for the pair, and had waited with almost werewolf-like patience for the trap to be sprung. Regular wolf and bear traps caused no alarm for werewolves- the steel jaws were easily dismantled, traps were always set along an animal’s path, and werewolves healed too quickly for the nasty things to cause much damage. However, this hunter had been, like her lost mate, clever. He laid his regular trapping line, and then next to one of the traps in the middle he set another, second trap, just to the side of the path. Only this trap was silver and not steel and he had muddled the scent in the area with musk from the ermines he was supposed to be catching. The trap itself, beyond being the bane that silver is to werewolves, had been adjusted to have a tighter hold and filed to have sharp, jagged teeth that would make slipping from it near impossible. A werewolf cannot bite through silver, nor can their human hands stand the touch of it long enough to work the trap open. This one was set to jam as it snapped shut. Clever indeed.

Kinley had suffered in the evil trap for two days, ill from silver-sickness, blood loss, and a broken back leg. River had been unable to free him from the trap, or free the trap from its anchor to the base of the huge oak tree. In the end, the sound and smell of approaching humans made the decision for them. River, as quickly and cleanly as she could, had used her werewolf strength and razor-sharp teeth to remove Kinley’s leg above the blasted trap. The wound then healed quickly enough, but only to cover the now stump just below the knee, and he’d still lost a lot of blood and silver was not yet out of his system. He was weak and too slow in the deep, fresh snow. A hunter managed to get off a shot before they disappeared into the dusk.

River didn’t know that Kinley had been hit by the bullet until it was too late. Many miles behind them now, and it being dawn, as she slowed down she finally smelled the fresh blood. Turning she saw the wet, red patch on his silvery grey side, dripping on the gravel they now stood upon. She inspected it further, cleaned the blood away with her soft tongue, and growled. Silver. They had shot her mate with silver. Had they been able to stop where she could change she might have been able to dig the bullet out so that he could heal properly, but their all-night run had prevented any stops. Now it seemed that the bullet had worked its way too deep, had been in too long. Kinley collapsed onto the road.

River had panicked. They were far too exposed here, and yet with her love unconscious she knew she would not be able to go far. She changed quickly to her human self. At five-foot, nine-inches, she was tall for a woman, and being a werewolf had its perks, even in human form. Her flaming red hair would attract attention, probably even before her nudity or the fact that she was carrying a large man, and she knew she had to get away from the road, quickly. Picking up her mate, she started an exhausted lope towards the trees. An hour or so later, she could run no more. Even a werewolf only has so much stamina, and she had been running all night, hadn’t eaten in two days, and needed water even more urgently. She was crossing the field when she had seen the tree. Shade and soft grass were welcoming as she collapsed among its roots.

River didn’t know how much time had passed before she awoke, but she knew that she was too late. Kinley had, at some point, shifted back to his human self and she could barely hear his breath. The smell of death was close at hand. She shook him, trying to wake her mate. Kinley finally opened his eyes, bright with fever and the knowledge that death was near. He smiled faintly and lifted a shaking hand to touch her face. “I love you”, he mouthed silently. The hand fell, and the brightness faded from his eyes. The shallow, raspy breathing slowed, and stopped. His feverish, hot body started to cool.

Her mate was gone.

River could remember all that had happened with a clarity she wasn’t used to these days. She was old now, older than everyone who lived here, than everyone alive in the world. Many people believed that werewolves live forever, but that is just not true. What is true is that they live long, long lives. The men who had trapped and murdered her beloved Kinley were long since dead- she had killed them herself. Her rage had been a terrible thing to witness, and those who had did not live to tell tales about it. Without Kinley, no one had been able to tame her rage.

She lay with her chin on the cool stone, thinking back on those days, and letting out an amused huff and what she imagined the expression on his face would have been if Kinley had seen what she had done to his killers. He wouldn’t have approved, just shaken his head and given her a reproving, arched eyebrow. She, however, licked her lips at the thought of the clever hunter’s blood in her jaws and smiled a toothy grin.

A while later, a light, fresh breeze ruffled her fur and she stirred awake. She had dozed off again without meaning to and chided herself. When she was to die, she would die when she was ready. And she was ready, now. She would let herself slip into the long sleep of death in her old age, atop the tome of her one and only love. Let someone find her body, she thought with amusement. Once she died, she would revert to her human self, and if anyone stumbled upon her they would only see an old, dead, naked woman.

What a clever trick, was her last thought, as she slipped away under the pear tree.