A Hunger of Leeches and Wolves

Leech and Wolf

Mist. Lonesome and bitter. The peculiar tides spiraled through the reddened pines. Whistling a keening tune as it followed the babbling brook and jackdaw's cry. I breathed in deeply, feeling it bite against my lungs and rustle my hair. I didn't really need to breathe anymore. It had been years since it actually did anything . . . but something in the act of pretending it would, pretending I could, helped steady my nerves.

I sat on a mossy outcropping of cobblestone and rotten wood. The carcass of a chapel that had once overlooked the woodland vale, back in those days before the rails and fog. Where rows of granite names sprawled on either side, now cracked by wildflowers and rain. Forgotten epitaphs, not unlike me, I supposed; As I fiddled with the thumb sized bottle tied round my nape. As often on such nights, I lay under the pale moon, away from the noise and folk of the town. The gentle silence my only company as I sat. Watching. Watching the mist of early morning spread through the valley and over the rail line, as an engine whistled like a loon in the distance. And waiting. Waiting for dawn to come, and for her to return.

The coyotes called over the ridge, and a moment later replied a low wail. A familiar lilting tune. Too musical for a beast. Too guttural for a melody. My neck pricked as the howling neared. Snapping branches and crashing ferns, followed by low and panting rasps. My nose twitched as I caught a faint scent. A taste of sweet iron, fur, and . . . rosemary?

I was nearly knocked over, as her chest crashed into me with all the grace of a freight train. "Guess who." Long arms, blistering warm against my skin, wrapped around my bare shoulders. Painful for only a moment, my flesh ate at her warmth. Like a leech to her olive skin. Without looking, I could smell the smile on her lips, red and sweet.

My still heart fluttered, and my stomach growled.
My tastes really have grown strange, haven't they? I mused for a moment, as I looked up into a pair of eyes. Green and sharp. Like a yearning wolf. Hungry. And only half fed.

"But who else," I crooned, as my hands cupped Roe's freckled cheeks. Round and wide, they were cut only by her wolfish grin. "My dearest Rosemary. Catch any rabbits?" My back turned to the pale lavender haze, as it crept over the eastern hills.

"Fuck," She growled as I felt her clawed hands at my back and cotton skirt. "Martyrs' damned summer." Her claws snagged the faded fabric, yet no blood was drawn. As with a lurch of my atrophied stomach, I was hoisted upwards. I won't deny it. I blushed. Blushed like the blubbering teen I hadn't been for decades.
Or well, I guess, would always be.

"Roe!" Her intensity, in the moment, caused a giggle to escape my lips. "You don't have to carry me. I am fully capable of running on my own." I held tightly to her chest, apprehensive of my own touch. Roe crashed between the ferns, as small critters scattered underfoot. She leapt over fallen logs and twisting roots, loose clothes fluttering, as she cut a path through the fog. Towards a rising sound.

"Faster this way," I lurched forward and her grip tightened. "Plus you'd just sink." Over the grassy ledge ran a current of dark water. Bottomless in the pale. Corbhon Creek, a cute name for such a river. Her eddies bit at the clay and rocky bank. Inviting in the coming heat, she was a siren of gnashing teeth.

"There's a bridge a mi—" I yelped as frigid water splashed against my skin. Roe seemed unbothered by the thrashing meltwater, if anything she seemed damn near exhilarated. Half swimming, her feet clawed against the cragged stones. Her ruddy fur and tunic sodden as she shielded me from the cresting sun. While my heels only skimmed the dark surface, the water seemed determined to pull me down, grasping at my hem. Leaving my muscles clenched and grip unsteady as the fabric clung to my skin.

Trudging onto the far bank, Roe's soft chest began to tense. "You're face!" She made an odd barking sound, low and rapid, as she placed me below a shady oak. "You looked so damn scared!"

"Don't laugh like that!"

"Agnes," She shook her fur, neck and shoulders twisting, as her face became more . . . human. "It's not like you can drown." Dark hazel eyes, sharp teeth, and a main of auburn hair. Completing the transformation with a coat of dull blue and a pair of luggage cases she had stashed under a rosemary bush.

"I also can't swim." I hissed, struggling to keep my creeping smile hidden. "But more importantly . . . you smell . . ."

Pain. Squirming heat. It crept through my veins and twisted up my throat.

Black and lightless, my pupils dilated. Roe stepped back. Until a barrier, thin and golden, separated us. She looked at home under the morning sun. Hair like fire, and eyes like a deep forest.

I did not. My lips peeled back.

My arm flashed with pain. I shrieked as my fingers sputtered and smoked; driftwood skin cracked and peeled like aging parchment. My hand clasped around metallic bones and blacked flesh, oozing. Roe's face seemed tinged with concern, as she entered the hardening shade. Her eyes followed mine to the station's old belltower peeking over the dappled woods. A train whistled near.

"Hungry?"

"Always." I half heartedly laughed, as my stomach, once more, growled.