Clogs for Paws

[Brian and Roger are whisked away by the] Fairy Feller's Master Stroke

"I've got you, Rog, hang in there," Freddie consoled.

Brian rushed to Roger and Freddie and demanded, "Tell me what happened!"

"He was clawed by one of them!" Freddie answered, "He's bleeding bad!"

Red leaked from between Roger's fingers and he squeezed his eyes in pain.

"Go help John," Brian said, "I've got him."

Brian knelt down beside Roger and cupped his face in his hand. He trailed his fingers down to Roger's side and gently lifted up his hand. Four deep claw marks sliced through Roger's shirt and his skin. Blood trickled steadily onto the floor. Brian gently pulled back some of the torn fabric to expose the cuts and Roger winced. The room slowed around them and Brian felt like he was dreaming.

Freddie stepped away off of Roger and paused in his tracks.

"Erhm, darling," he whispered.

Deep violet mist filtered through the air in coarse clouds. The stench of wolfsbane tickled Brian's nose and he sneezed. A soft sizzle crept away from him and a werewolf shrieked in pain. Flashing lights shone behind Brian like an electrical storm was creeping up on his back. The Alpha cried and John let out a grunt of confusion.

"Bri, sweetie, I think we've got company," Freddie murmured under his breath.

The purple cloud trickled through the air in deeper saturation and Brian heard the nails of the werewolves squeal against the floorboards as they crawled away. He continued to peel away the torn fabric of Roger's shirt. The claw marks deep enough that Brian was sure he could see Roger's white ribs peaking out against the torn flesh. As Roger started to pant, more of his life dripped out of him. Brian's eyes felt like someone blew campfire smoke into them and tears welled up in them. Roger gave him a worried look.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Roger wheezed.

Brian squeezed Roger's hand as he worked and replied, "Everything is going to be alright, Roger. Don't worry."

Freddie poked at Brian's shoulder with the end of his mic stand and said, "Uh, Brian, there's someone—"

Brian's fingertips gently brushed over the surface of Roger's wounds and Roger's breathing hitched. The Lycan squeezed his eyes shut in remorse.

The room fell silent save for the sound of a few songbirds flying overhead.

"Brian?" Roger asked.

Brian ignored him and kept his eyes shut. He was fearful of what he would see next.

"Brian?" Roger asked again, "Where are we?"

Brian furrowed his eyebrows and grazed his fingers over the ground beneath him. Instead of the old wooden floorboards of the abandoned bakery he felt grass and cold soil.

He opened his eyes and saw Roger on the ground in front of him. Roger had rolled up into a sitting position from laying helpless on the ground. His face was completely clean and Brian's eyes trailed down his friend and widened in surprise. Roger was wearing a toga.

They were seated in a grassy meadow hill underneath a hot and humid sun. About two hundred feet behind them stood a tall forest that smelled of citrus. Brian held up his hand to his brow to block out the bright sun and squinted at the land in front of him. A humble farm about half a kilometer away met his eyes. This farm was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its barn house was in the ancient in style but its newly placed red shingled roof led Brian to the conclusion that the building was new. A few rows of grape vines stretched out in front of the barn house like welcoming arms.