Savage Wildlands
#2 of A Werewolf's Touch
Adela lurched quietly among the woods. She had ran, walked, and ran for nearly hours in her state of panic and denial. But now, she could trek no further. It was dusk, her legs sore and the flesh above her collarbone still oozing blood. Today had been a long day. The estranged queen collapsed right there. Her eyes were half shut as she lay on her chest, against the floor. The dirt was cold and filthy, the sensation of lying against it causing a chill to run up her spine. How could anyone live among these savage wildlands? Her position was uncomfortable, so she mustered up the last of her energy to turn over, and drag herself, lying her back against a tree trunk.
The young lady huddled herself together, wrapping arms around the knees she kept close to her chest. It wasn't cold, but freezing. Her eyes scanned herself, making certain she was still... Human, if only for now. She was, as much as a coat of fur may have proved useful to her right now. The woman took in her surroundings: and all she could see were trees. They towered feet above any she had seen near her homeland, their trunks knotted, some half-decayed. These woods were ancient. She couldn't help but speculate that these were the proving grounds of the first werewolves. Then she stopped herself. She was thinking about werewolves too much. The girl rubbed her aching forehead, and continued to stare about. There was a relatively gentle breeze that swayed a few blades of grass about, but otherwise nothing else. It was truly becoming dark now, the sun having long forsaken this place. There was only the glow of the moon. She looked up. It was a full moon!
The woman cringed and covered herself with pathetic hands. She wasn't sure if it was to protect herself from being pounced by one of the lupine beasts, or bracing herself to become one. She had heard that the full moon was their favorite time to hunt, even if they were able to transform at any time. The accounts of first time transformations were horrific. Some changed within minutes, their bones snapping and crackling, the agony and ecstacy unbeatable. Then there were those who slowly deformed over the course of days into their half-manhalf-beast forms. But these were just legends. Until now. Adela wept. Woe was her, damned to an uncontrollable curse, one that would slowly turn her mind into jelly. Taking pity on herself, she wept as she should have hours ago.
Then she became angry, upset not at the world as much as herself. What a fool she had been. There was a reason her parents wanted nothing to do with that vile, decrepit old witch. Yet, not only did she beg the woman for peace, but sat in her lap, like some sort of child! She had failed not only herself, but her people. Adela was their sworn queen. What ever would they do without her assistance? The girl sighed and tried to calm herself. She was confident of how resourceful she was, how wise. Her wound, meanwhile, began to throb and burn. The two puncture wounds felt deeper than they probably were. Never before had she felt such a stab, two small daggers freeing her droplets of life. Maybe they would get infected. The girl sighed. Not that she knew how to treat the puncture, anyway.
She slept, ignoring her newfound trembling. She wanted to be warm; cozy on an actual bed. And then she was. She awoke from the bed, believing all recent events to be part of some bizarre dream. But this isn't a sitcom. The sheets, while warm enough, were not the luxurious silk or cotton she had been accustomed to. The bed was ragged, and petite. The same dress still clung to her, the loose teal fabric torn by the thorns and branches of the thick foliage that caught it. In retrospect, it seemed silly to desperately flee from a werewolf that wasn't even chasing her. She looked toward her right shoulder. The wound was coated in wrappings. It no longer stung quite as much. The young queen sighed. She had been rescued. The woman looked about the tiny cottage. No one was home, but she decided to stay nonetheless. She had to thank him. It was the honorable course of action. The girl sat on a chair, waiting for what was probably a kindly old woodsman to arrive. Instead, a sturdy farmhand came.
He was tanned only by the sun, probably only indoors during the few hours he had to sleep. He didn't seem to get much sleep, either, darkness below his eyes. He had bushy hair, yet a well-maintained beard. Of course, he had a muscular body, white shirt barely concealing the sculpted form underneath, as well as his noticeably broad chest. He carried a crossbow with him, the other arm dragging along a fresh kill: deer. The man had a certain swagger that he communicated with his footsteps, one that impressed and intimidated her. The man and the deer he lugged made her mouth water. Guess she was simply hungry. The man waved after spotting her, perhaps having just noticed her, wrapped in his own thoughts. He left the carcass a few steps from the door, then walked in and placed his crossbow atop the table. "Good morn', mi'lady. Care to have a meal?"
Though she planned to just thank and leave, her only response was a nod. Maybe she could stay for a tad.
Breakfast was served. They both sat at the cramped table, the queen somewhat embarassed of being kept as company by a commoner. But it was in the name of being polite, and nothing else. She also needed a meal before her travel. Desperate for conversation, she inquired. "What manner of poultry are these eggs bred by?"
The woodsman gave a congenial, well-meant smile, looking at the cracked, leathery eggshells. "Poultry?"
The woman smiled sheepishly. Did he not know what poultry was? She decided to press on. "So, where's your father?"
He shrugged. "The man passed away a while ago. Couldn't handle the life."
The girl remained quiet. She couldn't relate. "The life of an outdoorsman must be difficult, yes?"
"Yea, sure. Name's Geoffrey, by the way. Yours?"
The queen thought before giving an answer. She needn't complicate the situation by revealing herself as a queen. "Amelia." Retorted she, convinced a woodsman in the middle of nowhere did not know the faces of royalty.
"Pretty name." Said Geoffrey, who also gave a sheepish smile.
She began to dine on the commoner's food. It was not the feasts she was readily accustomed to, but proved satisfying on an empty stomach. The eggs were decent, yet the deer was even better. So tender... So meaty...
Meanwhile, in a place now far away, stood a half a woman, half a beast. Mirabel stared out the opening in her tower, a 'window'. The portal looked onto the ancient forest far away. The day seared her eyes. She found the view more comfortable during the night, and gazed especially last night. Stars are gorgeous things, especially when glued to a black sky. A human of distinguishment marched in. He had a handsome smile, which deflated, replaced by concern upon seeing her. "Mother? It's daylight, yet-"
The woman spoke matter-of-factly. "I felt especially ill this morning. I needed the respite."
Sympathetic, the prince approached, placing his hands atop her bare shoulders. "I apologize for disturbing."
Mirabel pondered, still gazing out and onto the woods. She could only wonder. "...I cannot reign much longer. Each day I grow less fit... As a queen."
She gave a slight shake of her head, and turned around. "She fled, by the way. You must retrieve her before she gets into much trouble. I do not believe she knows the full extent of her condition, yet."
The man nodded, about to exit. Before he could, however, he stopped himself. "Perhaps a farewell kiss, first?"
"You are a raunchy one." She replied, a bit more joyful now. The man held out his delicate hands, his lupine mother embracing him. "I'm addicted." He added, before his lips pressed to her muzzle, his tongue probing past both their pairs of lips. His hands gingerly caressed her fuzzy back, fingers shifting through the shades of gray, black, and some white. The sensation was ecstacy. The young man could hardly withhold his desire, the crotch of his dress pants tenting. His tongue flailed against her exotic rows of pearly white teeth, her maw agape and letting him delve further. She hardly resisted. Perhaps she was particularly lustful this morning? He thought nothing of it. The werewolf eased herself away from his lips. Her acute, beastial muzzle that he so enjoyed dragged down his clothed form, nose nuzzling against the tent his erection pitched.
The deft paws unclasped his fashionable clothing, then lowered the pants to his ankles. His thighs were consistent with the rest of his slender, almost effeminate form. Scattered about his normally concealed flesh were scars from many, many fang bites, each older than the next. Mirabel granted them no attention; instead, her lupine tongue rolled across the underside of the male's engorged manhood, base to tip. He sighed, and leaned further against the wall. The flexible muscle allowed it's tapered tip to trace the rim of his shafthead, tending to the sensitive region. More of her tongue's dark red lolled out, curling partially about the masculine meat, giving it a loose strangle. His tip pulsed pre, excited by her teases, the lupine proceeding, softly clamping jaws down on his length.
More than half of the length was engulfed, the were beginning to bob. He watched, his hand petting one of her perky ears. How skillful she was, paws clinging to his waist, supporting herself while using smooth, even motions. He thought himself blessed. But maybe he was cursed. She took her time, slowly driving him closer with bobs of her slender snout, tips of her fangs harmlessly raking across his girth. Her firm breasts and short tail swayed leisurely with her motions, the slowing pace of her thrusts further torturing him. He bit his lip, both of his hands stroking canine ears, relieving some of his anxiety. He came, releasing a spray of his seed, the hot gush crashing against the roof of her mouth. Her fuzzy tail wagged twice, and so his member began to reappear, withdrawn from her warmth.
She finally returned the stare with her copper eyes. Her throat tensed with a swallow before she flicked her tongue across her lips. Then, she stood. "Do not draw attention." Were her parting words, her son raising dropped pants and fully clothing himself. He nodded, and left, the door swinging closed behind him. She sat herself on the ledge of the window, glancing down the immense height of her elevation without fear. She closed her eyes. The light was irritating, but the wind pleasurable.