Ravenwood(8)

She felt very small and very alone. Her fear started getting the better of her and she imagined the whole world to be as dark as it was around her in the forest, with only the small lantern she held warding off the eternal night. If a creature were to fly high above her, in the sky, it would only see blackness for miles, with her obscure, inconsequential lamp a blip on the ink stain of the earth.

A twig snapped in the woods and Elinore spun toward the sound, her ears straining to hear. The lamp swung in her hand, its glow rippling around the forest.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Silence rested heavily around her and she felt childish. Of course there would be no one skulking about in the woods. This wasn’t a well-travelled path; there would be no sense in a highwayman lying in wait. Who did Elinore imagine would answer her? A fairy king? With a hesitating glance toward the thick trees, she started back on the path.

A wolf howl ululated through the night air and Elinore’s heart beat like a rabbit caught in the chase. It sounded close. She pressed onward, having no other choice than to continue.

Another crack from the forest and again the rustle of leaves had Elinore quickening her step. The lantern bobbed, its dim light jockeying across the pathway. The wolf sounded again, the howl closer this time, and she couldn't stop a small gasp from escaping her lips.

It was pacing her. From her right, in the forest. The wolf was pacing her.

It wasn’t her fanciful imagination. This wasn’t some remnant of ghastly tales she and Charlotte would share while tucked up in bed, their voices low so as not to be heard. Elinore could hear sounds in the forest, but they never got further away nor any closer. It was stalking her. If she kept her eyes forward, she could see the movement out of the corner of her eyes. She shivered, her teeth chattering. She kept moving.

Beside her, so did the wolf.

Elinore broke out into a run.

She could hear slavering behind her now, growling and the slip and slide of paws on mud and she ran even though she knew she was no match for a wolf. No match for a predator.

Her ankle twisted beneath her and the lantern went flying, Elinore pitching after it onto the ground, slipping through the mud with a shriek. The moon broke through the clouds again and she flipped onto her back, skittering away, her cloak tight across her throat as the fabric got caught beneath her. The wolf was there, moving closer. It loomed over her - its grey and white body large and hulking. Its eyes were yellow, seemingly lit from within - a demon wolf or some kind of sorcerer’s beast. It snarled and she flinched as it bared its teeth at her.

She froze as it crept closer, golden eyes intent on her, not blinking, as it moved. Her body tightened with fear and tension. The wolf sniffed the air and then licked its chops with a wet, slick sound. Thistle’s words echoed in her head. The pistol. She had a pistol. She wondered if the beast was yet close enough for her to hit. It took one more step forward and her frozen state broke.

Elinore raised the pistol and shot.

The wolf yelped - not a small cry of pain, but an outraged sound of anger and hurt. Red bloomed at its shoulder and Elinore had only a moment of triumph, thinking, ‘Yes, I did that. I shot the beast,’ before it lunged forward at her. It happened too quick for her to take another shot; she managed only to raise her arm in defense. Its teeth snapped around her forearm and she had a visage in her head of it being torn off. She shrieked again when it bit down, hearing the fabric of her dress tear and dear God, her skin as well, as it clamped its jaws on her arm. She batted out with her fist, hitting it in its wounded shoulder, her other hand scrabbling on the ground to try to pull herself away. Her hand hit something in the folds of her dress. The knife. She gripped the handle and pulled it out before plunging it as hard as she could into the side of the wolf. Her hand was slippery and wet, sliding down the handle as she thrust it into the wolf.

The wolf’s teeth closed even harder on her arm and she cried out. From within the forest came a sound, a roar and something barreled out of the darkness, striking the wolf attacking her. Another wolf. The teeth sunk into her arm ripped away as the first wolf was rammed off her by the second, the two of them rolling in a mass of fur, teeth and snarling. They both flipped to their feet, more interested in each other now than her. They snapped and slavered - one with blood on its maw - her blood, Elinore realized. The other wolf stood between her and the one with the bloody muzzle, as if it was protecting her. She pushed herself backward, her movement drawing the attention of the bloody wolf, who made a move to dart toward her. The other wolf, the more white of the two, growled, pulling its lips back from its teeth. It lunged again for the first wolf and they tumbled into the forest like grey and white puffs of smoke, disappearing into the underbrush. She heard rustling, snarling, and then…. Silence.

Elinore was left lying on the ground, shaking with fear and shock. The pistol was still in her hand and she stared at it dumbly. She raised her injured arm, seeing torn fabric and blood. There was pain, but it was bearable. She was not dead; she couldn’t be while she still felt pain, she told herself. Elinore rolled onto her side and carefully pushed herself to her feet, crying at the pain in her arm. Her breath hitched and stuttered as she stood and she feared if she didn’t keep moving, she’d fall back to the ground and cry until daylight.

Or until the wolves came back.

She turned and hit something, shrieking as she staggered back.

A man stood before her - framed by the darkness of the forest and painted by sliver moonlight on his face. His dark eyebrows gathered in a frown, his sharp features looking dire and grim.