We always knew our wolves were not just wolves.
I think anyone could have seen it if they looked closely, but most chose not to. I didn’t blame them. There was a depth and a darkness to our wolves gaze that no natural creature could bear to meet. There was something terrible inside of them-- but it was not something I could bring myself to hate or fear, for the wraith wolves were entirely natural creatures. The world was always shifting to maintain a precarious balance; there were angels in the world, and as every light casts a shadow, so too there were demons. And I loved it all! Light and darkness, beauty and terror, each emphasizing and deepening the other.
But I digress… I think perhaps I wish to soften the shock of what followed-- for as soon as I opened the door and Furfur saw me, standing square and unwavering in the long shadow of the throne beast, he began to change. He grew almost double in size, and quickly stood taller than little Maeve. His skin gone (whether shed or consumed, I’m not sure) and replaced with chunks of ice and snow threaded with blue knots of muscle. And his eyes- I looked at them only for a moment- his eyes were that of endless fire.
There was fire, blessed fire, and I was suddenly grateful for Morrighan and Bram- for I had been preparing myself for this encounter, and I was ready to face whatever I found behind that door, but Maeve’s presence changed everything. I was admittedly reckless with my own life, but I could not bear to see another harmed, especially a friend of mine.
“Maeve, run.” There was that calm again, the same calm that struck me the first time the island tried to keep me for its own. When I leapt forward to meet the beast, I did not scream or shout or grunt-- I’m not even sure I exhaled, for in hindsight the whole event unraveled in the space of a single held breath. I was a puppet to instinct, which ran through my veins like fire.
Furfur leapt on the throne beast’s back and hindquarters as soon as it was distracted by Bram. When it shook loose one wolf and twisted its head to strike at the other, I went for its heart. My horn found its target--
(it was easy, so easy! The flesh resisted only a moment before yielding to me with a soft, wet sound.)
My horn found its target but I did not stop there. I ran through the beast, pressing forward until the tip of my horn struck the gilded wall of the throne room with a dull thunk. I could feel it weakening as I held it there. When I finally thought “this is what a dying thing feels like” I drew back. Darkness spewed from the open wound, covering me with something thick as tar and stinking of rotting flesh. (It was the single most disgusting moment of my life)
I stepped back, never turning away from the horrific beast. “Burn it,” I said to Morrighan, and I stood there staring into those wide white eyes as the spark of life began to flicker and fade.
@Morrighan <3
