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In the peaceful quiet of the Druids' Domain, a keening howl rose, as a lone wolf cried out for its lost pack.
The wolf did not remember how she came to be in the midst of this two legged pack, but they were of no matter now.
She had the scent. She would know the eyes. Pale blue eyes, dead eyes. Dead, even for a two-legs. The rest of him would join them in death when she could sink her fangs into his throat.
He had her cubs.
Children... not cubs.
The wolf blinked the odd thought away, and threw back her head once more to beckon to her pack, so they might help with the hunt.
But something was holding her neck down... one of the two-legs, the one with the odd headgear, was hugging her neck - not painfully, exactly - a wetness on his cheek that was not from the rain. Something about that man.... his scent.... he smelled like home. She gazed at him in mild confusion.
She was not a violent creature, being a wolf, and the rage over her cubs kept her from tearing this one's throat out. He did not have them. He smelled of them though, but that seemed... right, somehow.
"Annie! Don't you leave me now!" The despair in the voice did not touch the wolf, although oddly, the leather scrap on his head-
Hat. It's a hat, for crying out loud!
- tickled some memory. Growling at the voice in her head, the wolf shook herself as if to rid her coat of dust.
Then another of the two-legs spoke, the one who smelled of forest. Spoke in the melodious growls of the Pack. It held her attention for a while.
"Lady Wiltenholm, you are human. We need you here, your husband needs you. Do you know who took the children?"
The wolf growled back irritably. The words did not register. Her cubs were gone, and she must find them. Nothing else mattered. She imparted images of an annoying starling flapping about her nose, and the two-legs said no more.
"Let her go, Osclow. There's nothing you can do."
"No!" The man protested. "You realize that she might lose herself forever! I can't lose her."
"She loves you. She will return to you."
"But what if she doesn't remember?"
The man, weeping, released her neck. She was free to go. Shaking herself, she put her nose to the ground once more. How could a scent just disappear?
He teleported out. Focus, dammit, focus.
Inside the animal's mind, the struggle went on - a losing struggle in the face of the raw emotion that was the loss of her beloved children. More and more the wolf, the Beast, was taking over. Soon, not even stray thoughts would penetrate its being.
And then the man began to sing.
Memories flooded her mind, threatened to overwhelm her.
A balmy night by a stream. A picnic. That song, sung by the man she knew she wanted to marry. That deep, full voice raised in song. For her. Her... Annie. Annie Wiltenholm. She was Annie. His wife.
Growling in confusion, the wolf shook her head.
Osclow...
And then she was licking his face, showing him that she did indeed remember. He hugged her in relief, and for once she had not care for the discomfort it caused her or those around her as she resumed her human form, never moving away from the bard, her arms around him.
"I'm sorry. So sorry."
"Don't be, " he said, his voice unsteady. "Consider it payback for the stupid things I've done."
She stood there holding him, relief and horror and rage drowning her chagrin over the stupid argument they had earlier,what seemed ages ago.
"I will kill him."
The shift had gotten the attention of the others, whom she now recognized, blessedly - Maia, Peridan, Bullseye, Lillian - what was she doing up here? And another kind of memory had come flooding back. It made her want to curl up and die.
Her babies... gone.
If only she could remember where she had seen those emotionless, pale blue eyes before.
But she knew she would recognize them when she saw them again. And she had the memory of his scent, like a persistent stench in her nose. Oh, she would know him again! He would know pain.
Growling once again, she set her jaw, pushing her fears and despair firmly away until she had time for them.
The she-wolf was on the hunt.
The wolf did not remember how she came to be in the midst of this two legged pack, but they were of no matter now.
She had the scent. She would know the eyes. Pale blue eyes, dead eyes. Dead, even for a two-legs. The rest of him would join them in death when she could sink her fangs into his throat.
He had her cubs.
Children... not cubs.
The wolf blinked the odd thought away, and threw back her head once more to beckon to her pack, so they might help with the hunt.
But something was holding her neck down... one of the two-legs, the one with the odd headgear, was hugging her neck - not painfully, exactly - a wetness on his cheek that was not from the rain. Something about that man.... his scent.... he smelled like home. She gazed at him in mild confusion.
She was not a violent creature, being a wolf, and the rage over her cubs kept her from tearing this one's throat out. He did not have them. He smelled of them though, but that seemed... right, somehow.
"Annie! Don't you leave me now!" The despair in the voice did not touch the wolf, although oddly, the leather scrap on his head-
Hat. It's a hat, for crying out loud!
- tickled some memory. Growling at the voice in her head, the wolf shook herself as if to rid her coat of dust.
Then another of the two-legs spoke, the one who smelled of forest. Spoke in the melodious growls of the Pack. It held her attention for a while.
"Lady Wiltenholm, you are human. We need you here, your husband needs you. Do you know who took the children?"
The wolf growled back irritably. The words did not register. Her cubs were gone, and she must find them. Nothing else mattered. She imparted images of an annoying starling flapping about her nose, and the two-legs said no more.
"Let her go, Osclow. There's nothing you can do."
"No!" The man protested. "You realize that she might lose herself forever! I can't lose her."
"She loves you. She will return to you."
"But what if she doesn't remember?"
The man, weeping, released her neck. She was free to go. Shaking herself, she put her nose to the ground once more. How could a scent just disappear?
He teleported out. Focus, dammit, focus.
Inside the animal's mind, the struggle went on - a losing struggle in the face of the raw emotion that was the loss of her beloved children. More and more the wolf, the Beast, was taking over. Soon, not even stray thoughts would penetrate its being.
And then the man began to sing.
Memories flooded her mind, threatened to overwhelm her.
A balmy night by a stream. A picnic. That song, sung by the man she knew she wanted to marry. That deep, full voice raised in song. For her. Her... Annie. Annie Wiltenholm. She was Annie. His wife.
Growling in confusion, the wolf shook her head.
Osclow...
And then she was licking his face, showing him that she did indeed remember. He hugged her in relief, and for once she had not care for the discomfort it caused her or those around her as she resumed her human form, never moving away from the bard, her arms around him.
"I'm sorry. So sorry."
"Don't be, " he said, his voice unsteady. "Consider it payback for the stupid things I've done."
She stood there holding him, relief and horror and rage drowning her chagrin over the stupid argument they had earlier,what seemed ages ago.
"I will kill him."
The shift had gotten the attention of the others, whom she now recognized, blessedly - Maia, Peridan, Bullseye, Lillian - what was she doing up here? And another kind of memory had come flooding back. It made her want to curl up and die.
Her babies... gone.
If only she could remember where she had seen those emotionless, pale blue eyes before.
But she knew she would recognize them when she saw them again. And she had the memory of his scent, like a persistent stench in her nose. Oh, she would know him again! He would know pain.
Growling once again, she set her jaw, pushing her fears and despair firmly away until she had time for them.
The she-wolf was on the hunt.