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I. The Cell

It was the dampness that woke him. A stark cold radiated from the cobblestone around him. He opened his eyes, catching darkness, and felt a lance of pain on his forehead. He groaned with the fresh memory of it. A crossbow butt, right center to his forehead. He’d surrendered. He wasn’t a fighter by any means. And yet always with the unnecessary force as it were. From somewhere in the cell, a voice called out.

“Groaning over your aches and pains love? I think, by the end of the week you’ll have a lot more to consider worrying about.”

His vision cleared up somewhat, and he was able to make out who was talking. Across from him, in chains just as him was a woman. Resting against the opposite wall in near tatters of clothing, she peered out at him from under messy, short orange hair and stark orange eyes which he was surprised to see, apart from everything else. He simply shrugged, clinking his chains together.

“I do happen to know where I am, thank you very much.”

The woman leaned back against her wall, laughing out.

“Oh but you have to say it! You have to say it to make it mean something. Do you know where you really are?”

He pushed himself upright now that he was awake, letting his hands rest in their bindings against the cold stone floor between his legs.

“Make what count?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

The woman smiled.

“You’re the Red Rider! A lot of stories about you.”

He nodded quietly. She was right. There were a lot of stories.

“I guess I must be faring well even the likes of……whoever you are know me.”

The woman smiled once more.

“So this is your slip up then is it? This is the day when everybody across the land will tell stories of your failure. “Oh, he would have likely pillaged so much more if he weren’t stopped by the brave guards of Canter!” You know the story.”

He chuckled back.

“I do. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Let what happen?”

The woman tilted her head, eyes trained on him as she boasted a smirk. He sighed.

“This isn’t just a jail cell. It’s the execution block. It’s not fortified weakly like a regular cell block.”

Shackles clanked as the woman clapped her hands together slowly.

“Oh so you do know where we are! Very good! I would have been disappointed if a famed man such as yourself had never been exposed to true dirt and squalor before.”

For the first time, he smiled back.

“You’ve been in here longer than I. Do you know when they’ll come for us?”

The woman leaned her head back on the stone wall.

“Seven days and seven nights. They’ll be content to let us rot away in here until then.”

He nodded.

“I’ll take your word for it then. I’ve done this before. I can get you out of here too.”

The woman laughed again loudly, obnoxiously against the reverberating stone walls of the cell.

“I shalln’t go anywhere, not with the likes of you.”

He paused, studying her. Something seemed unhinged about her. He couldn’t quite place it. Maybe she was just delirious from having spent time in here already. Curiosity got the better of him and he took a chance.

“And why not?”

The woman looked back down, smiling at him.

“I’ve got a trick up my sleeves too.”

He sighed, quietly. He should have known better. He didn’t have time to play games. He had to get to work. After all, he had a reputation to live up to.

The grating echo of stone chinked off the cell walls, a repeating pattern of back and forth motions as metal ground against stone. Light filtered in through iron bars high above from the ceiling, giving him something to work with. The woman across from him was apparently a sound sleeper. It was something he silently preferred over the way she watched him while she was awake, like she was now. Chains rattled from across the room as she shifted slightly.

“Such a racket. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you actually drew the attention of the guards.”

He continued grating his iron cuffs into a patch on the wall beside him, paying no mind.

“You’ll notice not even any food’s been dropped down here since I arrived yesterday. I don’t need to guess that it’s probably been the same for you.”

The woman chuckled, jingling the chains on her shackles.

“Quite to our favor then, since we can talk in such free privacy. We could make any noise we felt like.”

She looked at him suggestively, but with a hint of her usual careless demeanor. He chuckled.

“Noise huh? I can think of a time when there’s too much of it.”

The woman watched him back with a smirk.

“Oh but you started it first with your endless grinding. What are you so keen on doing anyway?”

“Escaping.”

“Rubbing your shackles on stone is hardly freeing you any faster than simply waiting for death.”

“You haven’t told me why you’re so content with waiting to get your head lobbed off.”

“And you haven’t told me why the fabled Red Rider is so hated to land himself on the headsman’s block.”

“Steal from the wrong people and you can’t ever live the same way again. You know my name. So you know what I do. But I don’t know yours. And I don’t know why you’re so hated to be in here.”

He paused on his work, looking over to the stark orange eyes that watched him. He raised his eyebrows.

“All this privacy and you won’t even tell me who you are and why you’re here. Hardly appropriate.”

The woman casually swung her arms on her chains.

“Unlike you, I don’t enjoy having a name. I don’t enjoy leaving a wake of cheery roses as I pass and yokels gawking at me. You chose your life. I did not choose mine.”

He snorted.

“Who says I chose mine?”

“Your presumptuous title. The Red Rider, Red Rider, he’s come and stolen all our valuables!”

He looked back to the patch of stone beside himself and started etching into it with the hard edge to his iron shackles once more.

“A lot of presumptions from someone so secretive. You can rot in this cell for all I care.”

“You won’t get out of here you know. This fort is quite…..fortified.”

“That’s why I have a title you know. It started out as a joke with the lads. Red Rider, Red Rider, he got away into the sunset!”

“You won’t with all the guards around here. Doubled shifts and patrols. You can hear them, if you listen carefully. Doubled everything. Even celebrations.”

“Guess I must be bigger news than I thought.”

The woman clapped her hands, snorting.

“They dropped you here while you were out cold so didn’t hear their chatter. You’re just icing on the cake for them. But me? I’m the real excitement.”

He snorted.

“I can see that. You’re half mad.”

“You’d be right about that.”

“I am right about that.”

“Then you know you can’t escape. Not this time. Not with so many eyes watching. You’re not a killer. The tales told of you and your exploits….you’ve never killed before. You’d have to if you wanted to escape this time.”

He shrugged, continuing to work on his carving.

“Watch me.”

Metal ground against stone, unwavering and unwilling to give until finally, something did give, just by a thin line. Stone splintered and split, carved into a delicate sliver. In the silence of the cell, in dim light only barely provided by bars high on the ceiling above them, he worked.

First, the shackles at his feet he picked open slowly with the sliver of stone. He had to be careful not to splinter his key. But finally, they came unlatched. Free space and room to move at last. He sighed. The easy part was done. He looked over to the woman, sleeping against the opposite stone wall.

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Hey. Come on, up you get.”

He clanked the iron cuffs on his wrists against the floor and watched as sharp eyes opened and the woman returned to her full alertness. Orange eyes immediately tracked onto him. With a yawn and a smile she watched him, noting the absence of his leg cuffs. Now was the hard part. One could never enter this line of business unprepared. He managed to pull one stiff leather boot off his foot as he dropped the cold pick of stone between his toes, flexing and raising his leg up to work on the bindings that kept his hands locked so close together. The woman chuckled.

“My, it seems like you’ve got quite a fair number of surprises on you haven’t you?”

He focused in the dim light, twisting his foot slowly, carefully.

“The more there are the better. The body is the tool, as is the environment.”

“You do know, even if you get out of there you’ll just end up back in here right?”

“One does not make a good thief of things by being a pessimist. I’m tempted to leave you here just to prove your pessimism right.”

“Oh, so your idle talks last night were just bravado huffing and puffing?”

With a satisfying clink, the lock came undone, freeing his hands. He looked up to the woman with a smile as he flexed his fingers.

“I’m a thief. Not a murderer. I may be guilty of vanity, but I could use your help.”

With a burst of movement after sliding his boot back on, he walked freely over to the woman, brandishing the stone sliver in his hand.

“What say you?”

The woman, now in better view, wearing scraps of ragged clothes belonging to a commoner, dirty skin and short hair that was ruffled and etched in dirt, looked up at him with a glint in her eyes.

“Oh but I know you, Red Rider. I say no. No to your optimism.”

The woman rattled her shackles together.

“I’m just crazy! I’d be of little use to you.”

He sighed, walking over to the cell door in silence, looking over the lock as he went to work. The room had gone quiet. A still that he couldn’t quite place, beyond the cold stone and the slow dripping of water. The lock on the door was child’s play to him and the door gingerly squealed open on old hinges. And yet all the same here he was. An execution block. He stopped, leaning his head down on the door.

“You’re hiding something.”

Shackles clinked behind him.

“Enlighten me, dear rider.”

“You’ve been in here since I arrived. No food. Not even patrols to check on us. They don’t care if we die in here first, correct? You don’t have the strength to help even if you wanted to.”

The woman smiled, holding her hands out open in defeat.

“How astute of you.”

He turned back, leaning against the door as he closed it.

“If I leave you, I’ll be gone for good, you know that, right?”

“Oh but I’m counting on it, Rider.”

“I’m saying if I leave you here, you’ll be dead. Don’t you even want to try to escape?”

“The guards would have no mercy on me like they would to you. You’re just a thief. A face to punch in and somebody to kick around because they’re angry. I am something worse.”

“Tell me then.”

The woman smiled.

“Why do you steal, dear Rider? What purpose drives you?”

She shook her head.

“These questions are our secrets alone. Not even a thief, the taker of valuables and secrets, not even you should know of the things I’ve done. Go. Prattle off into the sunset. I have my trick to play.”

With a sigh of resignation he turned around, back to the lock on the door. Only a few minutes of work and the lock clinked, and the door opened. He stepped out the door without looking back.

Water trickled on stone. The familiar feeling of being surrounded by residual cold. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he was met with the clapping of hands, the sound of metal on metal ringing into his ears and biting into his head. It was the back. Right in the back, this time. He looked up to the woman across from him, resting against her wall with her token smile.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

He was still woozy. The back of his head stung. But something more stung in his gut, a knot of unease.

“You did. And you played me.”

The woman remained silent.

“There were a lot of guards, you were quite right. I was close, almost gone. But then I stopped and remembered the crazy lady in her cell. You…..you played me like a snake charmer’s flute.”

He chuckled, finally able to smile.

“You’re no stranger to the ways of shadow, are you?”

The woman remained silent, watching him closely with a neutral gaze. With some effort, he reached into the many layers of leather he wore, stretching and contorting in his bindings to reach into his pockets under the ragged red cloak he adorned. From out of the many special assortment of pockets, satchels and pouches he had on him, out slid a small loaf of bread, somewhat crumpled, now stale and dry. He held it up and tossed it across the cell to the woman, who caught it faster than he was expecting.

“I still have a conscience, you know.”

The woman looked over to him.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“Sorry about what?”

“It’s a habit. Lying to people.”

He smiled back.

“Lying is my business. And you make quite a convincing one.”

The woman watched him, smiling back.

“You do what you can to survive, right?”

“That I indeed do.”

“Thank you, again.”

He shrugged back.

“Hard to say no to a pretty face.”

The woman smiled once more, biting into the loaf of bread.

He could tell by the darkening of the light that stretched across the cell bars high on the ceiling, the glow of the day being replaced by the silver light of the moon that nightfall dawned on them again. He counted five nights now. The woman appeared to be sleeping soundly, leaving him alone in the quiet. Time was running out. He knew that. And he himself had the tools to escape now.

Such a heavily constructed and fortified fort and yet the guards were uncharacteristically sloppy. Flexing and contorting, reaching into a hidden pocket, out slipped a keyring. The original key was always the best way to get things done with speed and efficiency. Slipping the ring back into his pocket, he looked over the woman across from him. He could leave at any time now. He’d studied the guards when he’d made it onto the rooftops of the fort. He knew he could escape. But what of her?

She had no name. Her face, her manners, he didn’t recognize her. To be a thief one had to specialize in listening. So why, if the woman were in this cell with him, why would he not know anything about her? People carried names and titles, reputations that preceded them.

Which was mainly how he had ended up in here. On the outskirts, on the abandoned roads out of the way of civilization, he’d been ambushed before even arriving here at Cantor. Somebody knew he was coming. Somebody in the shadows, who was also a listener, had heard of his namesake long before he arrived.

But the woman was right. He was a face to kick around. Somebody people liked to dump their anger into. His air of arrogance and brazenness, the smug lines on his face that came with being prideful of his work, better than his fellow man. It was how he survived.

Nobody ever took killing blows on him because they wanted him on the block first. To see his head roll, to see his smug face suddenly afraid of death. He looked over the woman in the dark. But her…..All these guards were here for her. Why? The nameless one without nary a title and yet everybody here wanted her dead. Maybe even…….feared her.

Reaching into his pockets, he found the keyring he’d swiped, fumbling quietly through keys until he found the right one. A clink in the shackles and his feet were free. Another clink, with some bending and flexing, his hands were free. Leaving him to walk over in muffled steps to stare at a closer view.

Skin that was covered in dirt. Etched in lines. Scratches, no, scars. Some were old. Some were recent. He realized, looking among the tatters of clothes that there were scars everywhere. Stooping down to his knees, he looked over the story. Commoner’s clothes. An attempt to blend in obviously. Torn to near shreds. No. Some of them were tears. Stretched fabric. Some of them were cuts.

Blades and slashes slicing through fabric, going through skin. She had the scars to match. But they were dull now. As if faded with the passage of years. Couldn’t be. Unless…..they healed quickly. He paused in his examinations. For all the dirt and the wear on her, underneath short, dark, unkempt hair was a smooth face. Quaint and soft and maybe even delicate.

Maybe he understood now. There were whispers, out there in the world. The very wide world which one could walk. Of things beyond man. Enduring remnants of ages having long since faded. They were primal remnants of the very first wolves to exist. Man and all of his cousins and relations covered only a very small fraction of the world. In the dark corners of untouched wilderness, these remnants would exist. No, could exist. Maybe she wasn’t entirely human. And there.

On an ornate chain down her neck, hidden under tatters, blended in with the dirt. A long chain that rode down along her chest, passing between it and vanishing under her shirt. Her clothes were just a front. An attempt to keep eyes off of her. That necklace was the only possession she had.

He leaned in close, trying to catch a glimpse of what dangled on the end of her necklace. With one hand pressed forwards, slowly, one finger stuck into a hole in her shirt, he pulled outwards carefully. And there. On her stomach, dangling all the way down from her neck. A singular shard of silver. He nodded, letting the material slide down to rest as he pulled away. And he was suddenly aware of her stark orange eyes watching him. No quaint smile greeted him.

“Peeking, were you?”

He stayed absolutely still, locked onto her eyes. They were unflinching, unmoving. Her eyes were dangerous. Even though bound in chains he felt as if his life were in immediate danger from her. He smiled back.

“Just curious.”

“Not planning on stealing anything, I hope.”

He stood back up to his full height, but kept his eyes on hers. Something told him that right now this was crucial.

“I steal monetary value. Not personal.”

“And what makes you so sure it’s personal?”

“It’s kept close to you so that no others can touch it. People hide their wealth and seal it away. People hide things that are personal to them closest to their heart.”

The woman smiled slowly, yet still her eyes stayed focused on his, unflinchingly remorseless.

“I’m glad we’ve established things.”

“I’m not. It doesn’t answer why you’re here. No name. No reputation. And yet the guards in this fort are here for you.”

The woman closed her eyes, resting her head back on the stone wall.

“Very well. Only under three conditions.”

He nodded. His curiosity needed to be answered.

“Name them.”

“You can unchain me for starters.”

He breathed a low sigh of relief, stepping forwards again and stooping down at her side.

“I’d thought you’d never ask.”

A few quick movements and shackles clinked, opening. The woman sighed heavily, moving her hands and flexing them, brushing over red marks on her wrists. The woman opened her eyes again.

“Now. Come here. Sit down please.”

Slipping his keys away, he moved, if somewhat cautiously, to sit down beside her against the wall. He was surprised when he felt weight on his shoulder, leaning against him. He stayed in place, still and frozen, but watched. Her head rested on his shoulder and one hand had moved to rest on his lap as she kept her eyes closed.

“Tell me Rider, do you trust me?”

“Enough to come back. We’re in this together. It doesn’t matter who we are.”

“Spare me the charming poetry. Do you really trust me?”

He paused. The truth, then. He smiled. Lies would get him nowhere here.

“Not entirely. I don’t know you. My line of work, you can’t afford not to know.”

“Good.”

The woman smiled, reaching out with the hand on his lap to find one of his own and pull it back down to rest. Although she had slender, delicate fingers, he felt the presence of a grip that held uncanny strength.

“I want you to stay. My third condition. Can you do that for me?”

“Stay for what?”

“My trick.”

“You really think you can just walk out of here on your own?”

“I know that I can. But do you? Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know you. I don’t know what to believe.”

“Do you want to?”

He paused. Knowing certain things was dangerous. He needed to consider what he was doing. The woman squeezed his hand.

“Your title begets you. In person, you’re different. Their stories do you no justice. Would you like to hear a story?”

He sat in silence, looking out to the dark cell around them, to the patch of dim silver light splayed across stone in long barred shadows.

“Your story?”

“Perhaps. It was someone’s story once.”

He placed his other hand over hers as it rested on his lap. He nodded as he felt her lean against his shoulder reassuringly.

“Tell me a story then.”

“A child was born far away from here. She was born in an ancient place, one shrouded and hidden. In the groves of Mistwatch Forest. My mother and father told me stories about what happened. Mistwatch is old. The trees are older than man. There are many old things across the land. People, places, creatures, and times. There was a time when an ancient creature came to Mistwatch Glade. A great beast, like the wolves of old. But it was tainted with the blood of man. It was not pure like the wolves of old.

The beast was pursued by a man, somebody equally as ancient. A man in shining silver armor. He followed the beast to the village, where he killed it. He saved a young couple in love from its claws. The silver man was not a man, for he was able to keep up with the beast, able to withstand its blows, before he triumphed. His silver armor was painted in red, and the young couple, being so close to the battle were also bathed in red.

It must have changed the little girl while she was still inside. She was born cursed. On the first light of the fully exposed moon, even as a baby, she turned. But her mother and father kept her safe. They told her stories about the man in silver. He was relentless. And cursed or not, the little girl was their daughter.

They raised her in secret. They trained her to control it. They told her she had to be careful. They didn’t say that it was a gift, or a curse. Just that she had to be careful. They learned a lot about the Old Wolves after she was born. They gave her a special pendant of silver as a coming of age gift when they knew that they could not hold her any longer.

The silver light of the moon is the strength and weakness of the beast who carries even a fraction of the old blood. Her blood was not as pure as others, but affected by the metal that houses moonlight all the same. It soothed the beast in her, allowing her to remain human even after she had turned. So off she went, out into the world. And she wasn’t careful enough.”

Silence filled the cell as he sat against the wall.

“May I ask what it was you did?”

“There was a man, in this town. She killed him. I didn’t mean to…..but he took what was mine….and Hers.”

“The shard.”

“It’s all I have left.”

“Parents?”

The woman chuckled with a smile, barely able to hold off what he could tell was an old sadness that lingered.

“Old age. You’d think maybe it would have been Her to do something terrible to them. But, no. No, they went peacefully.”

“Why didn’t you stay where you knew it was safe to live?”

“Fire. A dry season. Everything burned to the ground a few years later. I was young and foolish and wanted to see the world.”

“So your shard. That’s it, then?”

“All I have.”

Silence filled the cell as he pondered things briefly.

“The man, in town.”

“The one She mauled?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it was him because he’d been asking me about it all day. Said the price of silver would fetch good coin. I could make a good profit. He stole it from me while I slept.”

“How’d you find him?”

She smiled lightly.

“Better senses than you regular men. I tracked him down during the night. I was angry. And then……there was the moon.”

“I take it the rest is history.”

“They found me at dawn. I’d already turned back. I was just a freakish murderer who’d somehow torn apart a man twice my size and bathed in his blood. If they really knew what I was, they’d have had my head first on the spot.”

Dirty, smaller hands that held his own clenched tight.

“I never wanted to kill him. I just…….wanted what was mine…….”

Silence filled the cell before he chuckled softly.

“I didn’t exactly choose this line of work either, if that’s worth anything.”

The woman hung her head.

“I’ve never wanted to kill any that I have. She killed them. Not me.”

He nodded back. Perhaps more to himself.

“You do what it takes, right?”

He squeezed her hand back.

“I’ll stay. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Rider.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“For what?”

“When you get free.”

The woman pushed closer against his shoulder before closing her eyes.

“She can cover ground quickly. Faster than a horse. She’ll run.”

“To where?”

“Wherever the wind takes her.”

“Fair enough.”

The cell grew still for the night. Both closed their eyes in silence. He didn’t completely trust her. But she was more honest than most. Now, he needed to plan things. She couldn’t just break free of this place and go running in any direction. Especially if she killed to do so. He was going to help her see this through. Maybe she was playing him. Maybe she just couldn’t ask for help up front. Maybe he really did like that pretty face.

The entirety of the day was quiet. Things were slowing down now, for the both of them. He’d run out of scavenged food to share. His lips were dry and his throat hoarse. His strength was declining. The slow trickle of water that slid down the stone walls was no longer worth the effort to collect. The both of them shared no words.

This was a quiet moment. Still and calm, compared to the coming calamity the two would soon inflict. He stayed next to her during the day, leaning against the wall, propped up in a tired display that would have made any passerby inspecting the cell think that both him and her were too tired to fight.

He didn’t know much about her. But he was thinking. He knew what she was now. Although he had never seen one of her kind in person before now, he had heard the stories. Raw strength and power. Primal, remorseless. If she turned in the cell with him, who was to say that she wouldn’t outright kill him then and there?

And what if he got lucky? What if they both escaped? He knew the layout of the barracks outside. He’d been up on the rooftops. It was well reinforced. There was even a drawbridge and a gate to go through. This place was fortified well. Both to keep people out and to keep them in. If she felt trapped in here, she would have no choice. It’d be a bloodbath.

He mulled that thought over. He never had it in him to kill. Steal, cheat, lie, absolutely yes. But he couldn’t stomach the thought of going beyond that. And he couldn’t just let her run free with abandon in this yard. She’d never get away if their escape turned into a bloodbath. The last thing she wanted was to be known. Or, more than likely, hunted.

He’d have to find a way to get her attention on him. He hadn’t really noticed it until now. But he’d have to really push himself when the time came. He spoke, hoarse and dry.

“I want a promise from you.”

Nothing stirred beside him. But, she was still there, awake.

“What?”

“Let me open the gates for you. All you have to do is distract them. Please don’t kill them. Think you can do that?”

The woman smiled.

“I’ll give them something to talk about. It won’t be easy. When She gets hurt, rage takes over. Even with the pendant on.”

He nodded quietly. He understood then. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall once more.

The day crawled onwards, passing along agonizingly. The wait was grueling. And as much as he cared to admit, this was only the easy part. Rest. Sleep. Planning. He ran the plan over in his head soundlessly again and again. He must have been crazy. His plan only really worked up until they escaped. Then what? He pushed it aside. Part of the business was taking chances. Risks. This was a big one. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The sun lowered over the hills, the last rays of light clinging to the sky stubbornly before finally, dark fell across the landscape. He could hear them, outside through the cell bars on the ceiling. Celebrations were being had. The noise of loud drunkards and people relaxing, putting their boots up to the end of another long week. Tomorrow at the beginning of next week, two heads would roll.

He smiled, pushing himself up slowly, wearily walking to the only patch of light in the cell. Barred silver moonlight. He looked back over to the woman. She was at the end of her rope too.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Help me up, please?”

He strode over to her, holding a hand out. A small hand, but one containing a wiry strength gripped his back as he pulled her up to her feet. He looked into her stark orange eyes. Always alert. Always dangerous.

“You step into the light and it’ll just start?”

She nodded quietly. His heart pumped. What he was about to do? This could be his last great exploit. Maybe one of his more stupid mistakes. He sighed, readying himself. It was now or never.

“Okay then. I’ll get the door.”

The woman took one last look into his eyes, smiling.

“I’ll do what I can.”

The woman held out her hand. He smiled. Her weak spot. Far too much honesty. Easily too accepting of him. Her mistake. Or maybe his. He took her hand to shake it, grasping firmly before pulling her close. He had to admit, the reaction wasn’t what he expected.

Under normal circumstances other woman would have been surprised. But she wasn’t. The moment he pushed his face close to hers, pressed lips to hers, just quick enough to surprise her, she chased. Her eyes didn’t hold surprise to them, but instead that danger under their orange inhuman gaze. Something primal remained, even when human.

But he still had the advantage. Her unexpected welcoming of the kiss gave him the time he needed. One hand, over her shoulder. Quickly, gently. She chased him back in heated breath. Find the knot, the little ties of stiff and sturdy hide rope that bound the silver to her. He was tempted to stop and run a hand through her short hair. And finally, it slipped free.

Her senses where better than his. He knew that now. Something welled up in her chest as he broke the kiss, pulling her around and into the moonlight streaked bars of light across the stone floor. He pushed himself away quickly, the silver shard in hand as he unlocked the door with deft hands around the keyring he still held.

There was a thump on the floor as she fell over behind him, letting out an agonized scream to the stone walls. He didn’t look back as he stepped beyond the door, pushing everything that was left in him to move. The painful yells of the woman behind him changed, growing louder in volume and stronger in tone. He sprinted down a long stone hallway filled with cell doors, making for the exit door, readying the next key. One slip and he’d be dead for sure.

A tremendous howl reverberated on stone as he reached the door. Celebrations were over.

II. Midnight Massacre

If the men gathered in the fort’s courtyard went from casual celebrations into a mad scramble for their weapons when he came bursting out from behind a door into full view of the courtyard, he didn’t see it. The lock on the door behind him clinked, the sound of the latch ringing in his ears reminding him that perhaps what he was doing was in vain.

Maybe it would slow her down. But as he turned to face a group of men already making way towards him with shouts and swords drawn, another howl rung out through the entire fort. It was pure rage, that one. The guards paused, frozen over what they’d just heard, this time loud enough to verify that they’d indeed heard what they thought they had. The pause was his chance.

Heart hammering as he moved, the first man that came into his grasp was disarmed, sword dropped from a sprained and now broken wrist as his hands did their work, catching the sword out of the air as it dropped, dancing around in a blur to bring the blade up to the man’s neck as he pulled the guard close to him, a shield towards the other men facing him. He spoke quickly.

“Everyone here needs to listen to me. If you don’t run………right now, you’re not getting out of this fort alive. Open the gates if you want to live. She’s right behind me.”

Before any of them could react, stunned either from their drunken stupor, or his assured mocking voice, and the howl that was still fresh on everybody’s mind, behind all of them wood splintered and cracked as something large collided with the door, once to shake the hinges and rip them from stone, twice to smash what was left into pieces.

Weapons from the guards clattered to the ground, as he spun on the spot, reacting on instinct, throwing the man he held as an insurance policy away from him as he discarded the blade in his hand to the ground in the wake of what stood a few meters away from him on the stone steps.

Taller than a full grown man, a wiry nimble frame visible under dirty patches of short, orangish fur and tattered clothing scraps, under predatory orange eyes and a short snarling muzzle filled with rows of sharpened canines, she watched him. A still descended over the courtyard.

In the background, he could hear the shouts of men. The scramble of boots on the ground, the clank of armor. An alarm was sounded, a great resounding bell in the night. But they were in the background now. His hand, the one still clutching the silver shard was frozen stiff as he locked eyes with her.

His breath slowed as he stayed rooted to the spot, staring directly into the eyes of a predator. The color was the same as hers. Stark orange. But he saw and felt no human left in them, as her elongated jaw trembled, snarling at him, daring him. No human left. But something intelligent remained, waiting for him, goading him on to even try and move.

The background commotion trickled back to him. A shout in the distance. He recognized the tone. A command. A sharp crack as something discharged, wind in the night ruffled. The wolf before him staggered momentarily, snarl breaking into a tremendous howl as a crossbow bolt lodged itself in her shoulder. He only had seconds to move as her orange eyes narrowed, flooded with rage, as she exploded forwards onto all fours.

Barely managing to move himself aside, he was bashed over as she pushed past him completely, a large four legged blur of fur and muscle charging the oncoming volley of bolts in the night. He rolled over onto his back, catching his breath as he held his arm up close to himself. Hurt, but not broken.

From on high across the fort’s stone walls, as moonlight shone brightly over them, the first of many screams to be heard tonight sounded out, followed by another howl. He swore under his breath, pushing himself back up to his feet. This was his fault now.

The longer the night wore on, the more the fort and town around it descended into chaos, as he desperately followed in the wake of bodies and injured she’d left behind. It didn’t take him long to find her, garnering her attention with the flash of silver he held in his hand. If he wasn’t encountering bewildered guards on his own path as he tried to make a beeline to freedom, or if she wasn’t battering into whole groups of them, he was always playing a dangerous game with her.

A struggle to try and lure her after him to the silver pendant he’d stolen, broken by the continuous interference of the guards. It took a tremendous effort, but he’d finally managed it. He’d worked his way to the far end of the fort and managed to open the draw gate, while partaking in a dangerous cat and mouse game with her to try and keep her away from guards, soldiers, and now investigating townsfolk. But he had to admit it rationally. There were too many, even for him to avoid. In some way, she had helped him, although he hated to admit it. He was no stranger to seeing men die. But all the same tonight was his fault.

He put the events of earlier in the night behind him as he sped along an old trail into the deep woods beyond the quiet town of Cantor on foot, listening for the howls that echoed far in the night. She wasn’t far behind him, stalking his trail as she crashed through the forest on all fours.

He had no plans now. He didn’t get a chance to think this far into it. But he pushed himself as fast as he could under the moonlit forest. Even as he ran for his life, something tickled at the back of his spine. She was faster than him. But he could hear her, crashing through brush. Occasionally the woods would echo with a tremendous howl that scattered birds from the treetops.

Something didn’t add up. She could have easily outpaced him. And to his sudden shock, as he pushed through brush and trees, tripping on an incline of mud as he broke strides and fell onto the shoreline of a lake, it became clear. He’d boxed himself right into a trap. She’d herded him here. His chest heaved as he looked across the silver lit waters of the lake. He’d never make it. He couldn’t hope to outswim her even on a good day. He was exhausted.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the crashing of brush and snapping branches sounded out behind him. He let out a breath into the chilled night air, turning slowly as her towering frame emerged from the forest, orange eyes fixed on his as she snarled. Her hands, reformed into powerful claws, were still coated in red, vaguely silver hued under sharp moonlight.

But she held fast, standing up to her true height, easily towering over even the largest man, testing him, baiting him to try it. He took a slow breath, carefully moving one hand outwards with the silver pendant wrapped around it. He held eye contact with her, staying as still as he could. He’d stared death in the face before. Be it men out for his blood, or even like tonight, escaping from the platform of a guillotine. But this was something else. He took one slow breath as she stood, watching him and waiting as he held out the pendant slowly.

“Listen….you know me. I made you a promise that I’d stay with you. I didn’t break that.”

The towering wolf took a step forward, lowering herself down to all fours with a snarl. He pushed the pendant closer.

“I didn’t steal this……This belongs to you. I’m giving it back now. Just take it, and we can part ways.”

Her snarling deepened as she let out a curdling howl and charged him. He closed his eyes as she closed the gap in large strides, claws outstretched as she overtook him, knocking him to the ground with ease. He felt the breath leave him as he was winded, felt her weight press down on him, and the cold of the lake shoreline on his back.

But the end didn’t come like he had been expecting it to. Her orange eyes stared him down in the moonlight, and for the first time he noticed how heavy her breathing was. Even in such a form, she had limits. With a snarl that ended up turning to a low yawn, she collapsed on top of him.

He laid there, unable to move her form from overtop of himself. He felt the rise and fall of her chest on his, and couldn’t help but laugh openly in relief. It would be a great irony if they were found after tonight like this in the morning. But if that were the case, he had no more fight to give either.

He let his head lay back on the shoreline, exhaustion running its course.

III. Stranger Shores

With the warmth of the rising sun overhead, the lake took on a deeply foggy haze across its waters. The Rider woke to a naked woman sleeping overtop himself. It was hardly the first time in recent memory. But it was one for the story books. She was even dirtier than before. And remnants of last night’s problems persisted. Several crossbow bolts remained lodged in her backside. But he confirmed that she was very much alive with the rise and fall of her chest. How she was able to sleep so soundly was beyond him. He thought to himself that it was a problem for later. He was able to easily slide her much smaller form off himself this time, making note to wrap her in the red travel cloak he so favored. Now it was so dingy and faded he had little to worry about it being spotted.

In daylight, the lake appeared secluded. In retrospect, last night his mind had filled in the gaps despite the frenzied nature of the evening. He’d taken no normal footpath into the woods. He was probably a few miles from Canter. And the citizens and ruling Lord were likely preoccupied with matters concerning the injured or dead.

He hated that thought. But it bought them time. No more than a day at the most. If he could find food and rest for a while, it would be enough to get him through until he started travelling again. Absently he started rifling through his many pockets. It was always better to be prepared.

He couldn’t pack a fishing pole, but he had some thread and something shiny. With some persuasion, some of the lighter keys on the ring he’d swiped could be bent into a sharp hook. With his tools prepared, he set out along the lake shoreline. The body of water stretched for perhaps a mile in any given direction. His chances were good, if only he could find a better spot to cast his line.

After a few prodding attempts along the shoreline, after an hour’s work he managed to hook himself something. It was no prized catch, but it would be enough to get himself started at least. Back along the shoreline where the woman still rested, he worked to scavenge branches and moss from the trees to start something small.

When the flame was lit from some work with a solid enough stone and sparks from the metal keychain he still carried, he fed larger branches to it. The fish impaled on a stick in the sand nearby, he watched her sleep soundly in between long looks at the scenery. It wasn’t until after some time that he noted her orange eyes watching him steadily through the hole she peeked from in his tattered red cloak.

He made no motions towards her, but spoke from where he sat. It was too early in the morning for this. But it needed to be said and done with. He didn’t know how things ended now. But something had to be said before he got onto the road.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

She spoke quietly back,

“She could have killed you last night. She was going to.”

He nodded.

“The fort was a deathtrap. I couldn’t let you just run free penned up in there. I thought maybe if I had that shard of yours, you’d follow….better than you did.”

She shifted under his cloak.

“No. You were right to. You are blameless. It was m- her. She killed them.”

He nodded back with a long sigh. He wasn’t sure if it was a release or something else. The fish still wasn’t ready yet. His brows raised lightly.

“You know…you’re wounded, right?”

She partially emerged out from under his cloak with a smile.

“I know.”

With a push off the sand she emerged fully. He kindly averted his eyes elsewhere, anywhere he could. The cooking fish on the stick. For the first time he heard laughter from her. Not like the cynical laughter in the cell, but true laughter.

“Oh you’re such a kind gentlemen, trying to play like you wouldn’t look.”

She stepped across the sand towards him spritely.

“Please. I know what attraction smells like on a man. It’s okay. You have my permission to watch. I suspect it’s something you wouldn’t want to miss anyway.”

His eyes turned upward in curiosity. She was still impaled by several bolts, mostly in her backside. But she held her figure with a grace that showed little hint of any pain. Like a mirror image of the wolf last night, her form was lithe and wiry, well suited to a harsh life. But it was not without the telltale grace of a woman if he looked carefully.

Her muscles shuddered and tensed, and as best as he could describe, she shook herself like a dog. One by one each bolt dislodged itself from her body, falling to the sand without even a hint of blood. Her arms raised above her head, she stretched in a long sigh of relief, vibrant eyes opening to study his bewildered face as she smiled down at him before sitting in the sand next to him.

“I’m not pure blooded like some of the others. Mother and Father thought my blood was diluted by half. I don’t heal as fast as a pureblood. But in a week they’ll just be faded scars.”

He chuckled.

“You’re a strange woman. I hope you know that.”

She smiled back.

“And back to you, sir gentleman, he who likes strange exotic women.”

She leaned in, kissing him on the cheek briefly. He blinked, smiling. It was a genuine smile, but underneath it there was something else. Something looming. And then he posed the question, looking out at the lake.

“So that’s it then. We part ways?”

She looked out to the lake now, thoughtful.

“Perhaps it would be best. We’re both wanted for different crimes. Two of us together, we’d be easy to spot.”

He absently took the fish from the small smoldering fire. Some work with a small blade split through the scales and into the meat to make a portion that he passed along to the woman. He hesitated starting on his portion.

“World’s a big place you know. Just because they know us in Canter, a little backwater village out in nowhere, doesn’t mean they’ll know us elsewhere. What about the port city up in the north? Coldshore Harbor?”

The woman shook her head, chewing on fish.

“Too cold. Too far.”

“We could take a boat when we got there. Sail across the ocean. Start somewhere new.”

The woman chuckled.

“You make it sound like we’re married.”

It was his turn to chuckle now.

“I can only imagine what you’d be like with grey hair.”

“Like I’d ever let myself grow to be feeble. That blood in mine would have me go out fighting. You on the other hand…”

She looked at him with a smirk.

“Think you’ll be able to do that trick on the cuffs with your feet when you’re old and grey?”

He nodded out towards the lake.

“Hopefully by then I’ll have enough wealth to just pay somebody to do it for me.”

He laughed.

“Who am I kidding? I’d rather die on the job.”

Her eyes narrowed on him suddenly.

“Where are you from Rider? Why do you steal? If we are to part ways, I’d like to know.”

He took a bite out of his fish for the first time.

“Doesn’t matter where I came from. What made me who I am now is that red cloak over there. And that all started as a joke one night. Some lads wanted me to swipe something from the man who called himself a Lord over our home village. I found out then that I had a knack for it.”

“So you’re a nobody then?”

He smiled, tossing bones out to the water beyond the shoreline.

“Funny isn’t that? Being nobody is a godsend if you’re a thief. But without that red cloak, nobody would remember me. It’s kind of hard to give up.”

“Would it have been worth it if your head rolled off that block today at sunrise?”

He ate his portion of fish quietly, picking out bones absently. He’d never given that one much thought until just now.

“That’s a strange question coming from somebody who doesn’t have a choice about how their life is going to end. You ever think about how yours will end? With that blood of yours?”

The woman nodded back.

“All the time. How am I supposed to live a normal life if I turn into something out of a nightmare for a few nights every month?”

He smirked suddenly.

“Add an extra day onto that for the time of the month.”

She gaped open mouthed briefly.

“Gods, and I thought I had you figured out as a charming gentleman! You troglodyte!”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Never claimed I wasn’t.”

She let out a long sigh, leaning her head against his shoulder as she tossed the remnants of her fish out to the lake. He said nothing this time. For a moment he thought perhaps he’d actually offended her. But he realized she was made from sterner stuff than most men. What was really bothering her was the same thing that was bothering him.

Goodbye was coming. It had to be. There was no point in lying to himself that he didn’t fancy her. He’d known her only for a week after being stuck in an execution cell with her, but she was something beyond any other person he’d ever met in his life thus far. And he doubted that her senses were wrong. If she said she could smell it on him, he believed her.

But it couldn’t possibly work, could it? Their lives where always going to be headed in completely different directions. Unless of course….one of theirs changed directions. He stared out towards the lake, watching birds take flight from the water.

If he hadn’t escaped last night his head would have been rolling today. That was sobering to think about. He would have died a living legend. The Red Rider, the robber of Lords and Kings, caught at long last. His story would have ended this morning.

Would it be better to die while he still had the fire in his body for his practice? Or would it be better to fade into legend? And then, suddenly, he had his answer. It was twisted, inspired. It was devious. But it was all optional. He decided it here. The answer he received would determine his future.

Thieves often ascribed to the virtue of luck. Or pleaded with fate. Whatever the course, he left it open with a question to the woman leaning on his shoulder.

“What about Mistwatch?”

Her eyes turned upwards to his.

“What about Mistwatch?”

“How far away are those lands from here?”

“Far. South of here. Why?”

He smiled. He couldn’t explain why. He was actually nervous for once.

“Would you go back there?”

“Mother and Father left their title to me. There’s nothing there but ash, and, probably trees by now.”

“But would you go back there?”

It was her turn to think about it. But she arrived at a faster conclusion.

“It’s home. It’s where I belong, in the end.”

Now it was up to fate’s deciding hand.

“Would you go back there with me?”

She pushed off his shoulder, orange eyes studying him as her brows furrowed.

“What’s gotten into you?”

For a moment, he believed that the matter was decided. Her nose flared with the intake of air and she looked at him as if he were the strange creature.

“You’re serious. You actually mean that.”

He nodded silently in confirmation even though he knew he didn’t have to. She looked at him, puzzled.

“What about what you do?”

“I can’t do it forever. One day I’ll slip. All people do. And then I won’t have any more glory days. And it’ll be too late for me to choose any other direction.”

“What about me? Her, I mean?”

“What did your parents do?”

“They just…let her run free. The only chains that could hold her are silver, and they couldn’t afford that. So they just took a chance. She never killed anybody from the Glade. I think they always knew what I was and left well enough alone.”

“Then maybe we can try it that way.”

She looked out to the lake once more. The primal eyes he was already used to seeing seemed shaken. He waited silently, tossing the last of his fish out to the lake until she was ready to speak.

“I didn’t think it was possible.”

“What was?”

“Have you ever smelled attraction? No, you haven’t. I have. You smell like it…but differently. I’ve never smelled that from anybody before. Except…..”

He filled it in for her.

“Parents?”

Her head leaned back onto his shoulder once more. He could see it plain as day. It was like she’d just been struck with a hammer. And in some manner he felt that way too. She made an astute truth detector. But she was showing him things before even he knew what they were.

“You don’t even know my name.”

He shrugged.

“I didn’t for most of the women I slept with either.”

She sighed under her breath.

“Oh gods why is it you of all people….”

He threw all of it out onto the table now.

“I need your help with something.”

“If this is a joke about your manhood, I’ll kill you myself without help from the moon.”

He stared out to the lake waters with a slight smile.

“I need to finish what I came here for.”

They both spoke simultaneously.

““The Lord of Canton.””

The utterance of the title as if it were some finality seemed to cast a still over the lake as they sat along the shoreline. She spoke quietly after some time pondering things alongside him.

“Why Lords and Kings, Rider? Stories all claim those are the men you’ve only ever taken from.”

His gaze wandered far across the lake. It was a vow he’d made once. The joke that had granted him the old red cloak also granted death to the “conspirators” that spawned it. Over a simple joke the fury of a man unbefitting of power erased lives without consequence. He considered his answer.

“Some men with power need to be reminded that they actually have none.”

She might have chosen to voice her opinion on that. The Rider’s response was token. He couldn’t possibly be so genuine. The thief with a heart of gold was just a story. But, no. He smelled of something different when he spoke the words. She couldn’t define what it was exactly. But she had her answer one way or another.

“What help would you need from me?”

He bit his lip, a fish bone picking through his teeth.

“Actually I’d need help from Her. Just a distraction to buy time to slip into the Lord’s residence.”

“You aren’t serious….Just after a massacre…”

“I don’t need or want anybody killed. I just need you to keep them focused. You’ll have your pendant this time. It helps you, right?”

“Yes, it does. But I mean, is this worth it? What does the Lord of Cantor hold that’s so valuable to be stolen? You just got out of a death cell and now you risk going back. They won’t be so kind this time.”

“A knick-knack.”

She looked at him again like he was the strange creature. He nodded.

“It’s more than just that. But I know that it exists now. I wouldn’t have been ambushed on the roads if it wasn’t real and my threat of stealing it wasn’t real.”

“Well what is it then?”

“It’s a relic. From eons ago when mankind was still young, and knew how to harness the old forces that gave birth to everything. If you believe that, that is.”

“You mean what they call magic, right?”

He nodded.

“It’s just a bag. But whoever created it infused it with something. It’s bottomless. I did research on its history and whereabouts it traveled through all the recorded ages of history. One of my contacts must have tipped off the Lord’s network of eyes and ears.”

“But if that’s true, if it’s even real, why would any man choose to live out here? Why not go somewhere better?”

Rider chuckled.

“The creator had a streak of the poet in him. Legend says there’s writing on the straps that seal the bag. The rough translation is “Those whom hold infinity hold infinite avarice.” Cantor’s Lord is a smart man. He knows the folly of flaunting something like the bag. Imagine what somebody like myself could do with it.”

“You could steal anything couldn’t you?”

“Or hoard anything. It doesn’t look it, but stealing gold by yourself isn’t easy. I’ve made off with what I could carry in the past. Imagine what I could do if I had that bag.”

“Or what a king could do with an army.”

He squinted momentarily.

“A sword may be slim enough to slide into the bag. How about an army’s worth of steel?”

“Clever.”

She smiled at him, but her expression soured quickly.

“Don’t do it, Rider. It’s not worth it.”

He didn’t have to ask why it wasn’t. All he did was sigh. This was his fate then. To choose. Out of the corner of his vision he noted her animalistic eyes bearing concern on them, and it almost made up his mind there.

“My parents studied everything they could find about….my condition. All the old texts, history that happened so long ago, nobody knows if it’s just a story or anything at all. But it’s dangerous. History should be left buried.”

He could only nod and listen. She was living proof, should he ever doubt that. And there were many things in the world that rung true to that. In his travels he’d been privy to see some of the ruins of civilizations that came before. The stories, passed down either through text or by tradition told fragments of what the world once was.

“I know. It’s my choice to make.”

What use would the bag be to him now anyways? If he did manage to claim it, he would be hounded forever. He doubted even a place as obscure as Mistwatch could hide him if he provoked too much ire. And if he did claim it, what would he use it for? Certainly not for more theft, if he were to put his foot down and call that life to an end. A delicate hand gripped his leather shoulder pad.

“I should…clean up.”

“Wait.”

He extended a hand forwards, the silver shard resting in his palm. She took it soundlessly with gentle care, returning it to its rightful place around her neck. His gaze traveled downwards momentarily as he nodded. She wasn’t spotless from last night. Blood and dirt still happened to remain. He watched her go farther out into the waters of the lake. Where had she been all his life? He stared absently at the small flickering fire at his feet before dousing it with sand. No need to draw attention to themselves if they could avoid it.

He studied her figure in the distance before his eyes wandered to the old red cloak laying on the beach. If he claimed the bag, he would live on in history. That would be his mark on the world. The undefeated Red Rider who rode off one last time, with the greatest prize of all.

But it dawned on him suddenly. If the legend was true, and the old language forever burned into the bag was there….infinite avarice. He teetered over an edge at this very moment. Would he be able to stop himself in possession of the relic? He smiled. Absolutely not. He had gotten into the trade from a joke. And carried it with him as a vow. But he was so damn good at it because he loved it, at heart.

In possession of a relic with that much potential, he would always be in love. That’s how the bag had exchanged hands throughout history. Man or woman, they all eventually slipped as greed overwhelmed them. They paid the price, and the bag found a new caretaker. He understood now. The choice was made.

IV. Legacy

The sleepy nowhere that was the village of Cantor finally had something to talk about if they already hadn’t. At the beginning of the month of Fall, the village experienced tragedy and terror in the wake of an encounter with a Lycanthromorph that resulted in the death of over dozen men, and the crippling of many more. The day after, scholars always noted that Cantor’s defenses were down. Guards combed the surrounding area outside the township, and the remainder of their forces worked to repair the damage of the garrison fort.

It was no surprise then that a thief of some renown chose to appear the night after, and succeeded in raiding the ruling Lord’s private vaults. Surprisingly, among the collection of artifacts and prestigious wealth, only one thing was taken. At first word of its loss was kept at bay, for the Lord wished not to draw the lure of eyes to him. But eventually, word found a way out.

The legendary Bag of Avarice had been taken from a hidden resting place where it had been placed decades ago after being acquired by a new owner. The myths of old said that it came from a time early in man’s infancy. Whether or not it was true mattered little, as the Red Rider now held possession of it, having cunningly breached a network of traps and vaults that a Lord had thought un-breachable. Infinite Avarice inspired infinite cleverness, apparently.

The Lord’s rage spurned him to search, to no avail. Weeks after the theft, as the Lord scoured the woods personally with a troop of soldiers, he found the final calling card of the Rider. Pinned to an old tree with a hatchet along the winding roads, lay a tattered red cloak.

At once the Lord knew what it meant. No matter how many contacts and lines he trudged up, the Rider was gone now. A thief who had succeeded in stealing the greatest prize worthy of all of them had retired from the world. The trail ended there.

Cantor’s Lord had a reputation for bearing a pride that did not match the humble demeanor of the citizens of Cantor. It was he who ordered the construction of the garrison fortress. He who had to have the largest palace. He who had to have it all, and to show it all.

On the day of the discovery of the Rider’s final confession in the woods, for years after, the Lord would writhe in his sleep, and torment in the back of his mind. With the bag gone, his financial network crumbled. Despite this he remained the Lord of Cantor for many years, but his power and authority dissolved until the man himself, the man that he was before, dissolved with it, reborn to be replaced by a quieter and thoughtful man.

Cantor’s people would heal from their encounter with the old monster from bygone days. And it would enjoy many prosperous years under the rule of a notably kind Lord. It was common every year at the beginning of the Fall harvest season for the village to throw two festive nights with the rising of the full moon.

One of mourning and a quiet reminder about the perils that existed out in the world, prayers for peace and prosperity, and one of celebration where the townsfolk dawned red cloaks and enjoyed what mattered in life. The aging Lord was privy always to be there for both days. One to mourn for the man that he was. And one to celebrate the man that he had become.

And for the Red Rider, the unknown man’s name would live on in annals and stories as one the greatest thieves in the era. Not only for the prize he had captured, but for the prize he retained. Even many centuries and perhaps eons after a mortal man would have long since died, the aptly named Relic of Avarice was never found again. And with the passage of time and the destruction of even the most safeguarded history, in the end, the Relic became forgotten.

The Red Rider had stolen it from time and memory.

V. Separate Paths

On winding dirt paths, a man trekked alone. It was not wise to travel by night, especially in the company of no one but oneself. But he feared not the dark. It was intentional of him that he walked these roads at such a late hour. A full moon shone down at his backside high above the pines, illuminating his path. Ever alert, he heard the crashing of brush and snaps of branches in the night. It was the telltale sound of a being of notable strength and speed. Claws scraped on tree bark, and a dirty orange furred creature landed on powerful legs in front of him, standing to full height above him.

He stopped in the moonlight, greeting Her with a smile.

“I thought you’d come looking.”

Those bright orange eyes tracked him closely. But he saw, or felt the human presence behind them. The silver shard still hung on its chain safely. As a regular woman her stature was short and small, but in this form, she was a head taller than he was. Before now, he’d never had the opportunity to look at her in detail.

Texts had described and visualized Lycanthromorphs as beastly, savagely powerful creatures in rippling muscle. Hers was not lacking strength. But her diluted blood must’ve meant the severity of her transformation was lessened. There was less wolf, more Human. It was raw power, but remained shapely and lithe.

He hadn’t known what to expect when she found him. But he knew either one of them would come hunting for him. Their departure on the lakeshore had not felt as final as it should have. He was powerless to move himself to safety as she exploded forwards without so much as a whisper.

He was dragged through the undergrowth one handedly, and before he knew what his fate was going to be, her claws made short work of the tired leather trappings that he adorned. In a clearing among the trees, she mounted him. Always keeping him pressed to the ground, the savagery of her blood kept her riding him repeatedly, long after he himself gave into carnal pleasure he’d never experienced before.

It was one thing to experience sex with those who wanted it. But people were complex creatures, who had other motivations in the background of their minds. Or perhaps time was the deciding factor of the scandalous affair during the hours of night or day.

In her form, she was raw emotion with little thought to distract it. Once focused on something, the emotion poured into it like an unending tide. So strong was her desire for him then and there, to repeatedly graze her form to his, to press against, to pin and dominate. She rode him to exhaustion, ground her hips to the hilt every time she sensed his release coming, and finally collapsed on top of him long after he’d passed out to some other world of content bliss he’d not thought possible.

Once again he woke to a naked woman atop of him. But this time he was content to stay as he was until she woke. When she finally did rouse, she was met with a smirk from him.

“I didn’t happen to catch your name.”

Only briefly did her features take on a scowl before she kissed him. In the early hours of the dawn in the still of the forest, they remained coupled. No words had to be exchanged between the two, even though the previous parting had been one of grief.

His mind had been settled on his task. She had decided not go with him to retrieve the relic. But she had stayed behind, angrily asking why. Why choose it over her. Why risk his life once more. Why not just let it go. It took fortitude not to fall into her arms and simply leave. Her anger only confirmed to him that for whatever reasons they may be, she felt as he did towards her.

He could not force her to go with him. And perhaps it was for the better. He didn’t want to see any more lives cost for this. But he had to finish it. Just to see if he could, one final time. But she wouldn’t accept his answer, and so he left quietly, leaving her to her fate.

When he was inevitably successful, he had planned to begin making his way to the forests of Mistwatch, far to the south, in the hopes that perhaps he would find her someday. He’d been on the road for nearly a month now. As luck or fate would have it for him, she had unfinished business with him. And now, so too did he have unfinished business with her.

Around a small campfire, at the footing of another lake, he revealed it to her. Such a small, ordinary thing. A tough and weathered leather pouch, sealed shut by two equally ancient straps of leather. Inscribed into the strips, burning like fading embers was an ancient, primal runic language almost forgotten to time.

She had laughed in amazement when he opened it and dumped handful after handful of sand into it to watch how it never swelled or overflowed, or weighed any more than it had. Her eyes went wide as he quickly caught her before she turned the bag upside down while it remained open. She squinted at it in puzzlement as she smelled it. Her eyes never looked quite human. But he saw the light of a child return to them as she laughed. He could only give silent thanks to the people who devoted their lives to take care of her as a child.

And then came the moment. The choice he had made when he set out to finish his task. His grip lingered on the bag, his muscles frozen at the contemplation of what he was about to do. At what he held in his fingertips. The cryptic writing had eased its way into the back of his mind like a whisper. Infinite Avarice.

And then it was done. He threw with all of his strength, and watched the little curiosity tumble through the air until it landed on the waters far out beyond the shore. The bag treaded and bobbed on the water for a moment, before sinking below into the darkened depths.

The puzzling creature that he was to her, she slapped him so very gently as he admitted it to her. He needed to hold that power, and relinquish it to truly know what he valued most. The being sitting beside him had been his choice. If it had been a question of infinite wealth or an infinite lifetime with her, now she too knew his true answer.

It had moved her to tears not since shed since the passing of her parents. Always the loner, always the wanderer she had been. And from out of nowhere had come this man who placed so much faith in her, such goodwill and heart that it smashed her defenses and pierced so deeply that not even the metal touched by moonlight could go so deep.

It was on the shores of a nameless lake that she also decided that the claim of eternity was to be spent with this man. The two exchanged vows, an oath granted and spoken that bound their souls in writ. No force alive, dead, or beyond would be allowed to interfere with their union.

And so they parted the shores of the nameless lake, bound south to where the trees knew of a time when man did not exist.

VI. Homely Years

An orange sunlit sky began to darken over ancient green treetops that stretched high above the ground. Mistwatch was a shaded land, the trees so high that much of the ground below was often coated in a layer of shadow even during the height of the day. A small rocky formation jutted out like an intruder among the forest’s combined onslaught of plant life, providing a small clearing for those brazen enough to scale its modest height.

It was often jokingly referred to as “Lover’s Arrowhead” among the people of Mistwatch Glade, due to the formation of the rock and the obvious use it had seen in the past. This evening, a middle aged woman dressed in simple rugged leathers and a woven shirt made from unique vines and mosses native to the area was joined by a man dressed in similar garb.

The woman had a fiery splash of orange hair that stood out compared to the dull browns and blacks of most people in the area. Her face bore many oddities in the form of faded scars, but retained a pleasant shape to it despite the creeping of the odd wrinkle here or there.

The man beside her was aging gracefully, dark hair braided into a long knot in the back showing specks of silver. Onlookers tended to imagine that in his youth he had been bestowed with generous looks. With a long sigh of content, he sat down beside her to watch the orange sunset that matched her eyes with an underlying hint of danger in them.

“So, how was work?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“The mill was busy today. They’re preparing a caravan to haul wood to some of the other settlements near the forest. My bones are getting a little creaky. I think I might be getting old.”

She smiled, watching the sunset momentarily as she began sliding her boots off.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of going with them like last time. I need you here you know.”

“Worried I’ll try out my skills out there to see how sharp I am?”

“No dearest, I need you here for very important reasons.”

A naked chest pressed against the back of his shirt, arms wrapped around him, beginning on unbuttoning his shirt. She still retained the quietness of an expert hunter which allowed her to surprise him on some occasions. Then again, her skills as a hunter were still sharp. He smirked at a fond memory. She was the only woman on a hunting team in charge of supplying game to the community.

When she first announced her intentions of joining, the hardened men of the forest were keen to laugh her off. It was a battle he had been keen to sit back and watch. The poor sods had no idea the extent of her ire. In a contest of skill she made any who doubted her look as children.

Away vanished his shirt, instantly relaxing him as her bare skin found his. He worked on his boots and slid his trousers off quickly as she held him from the backside, humming quietly. Normally, they preferred to have their evenings in more private places in the forest. Long walks and discovered locations that only they knew of. But the Arrowhead would do for this month’s end. To him, and likely to her, there was always something charming about the rocky formation. The raised elevation provided something unique to their evenings. Vulnerable nakedness exposed to the environment in complete freedom, the sharp contrast of stone on bare skin.

He felt her breath on the back of his neck, her slightly larger than usual canines brushing against one of his shoulders in a bite that harmed nothing. One of her idle hands already found their way around to his member, stroking softly.

She whispered something quiet into his ear, her other free hand cradling his balls with a precise grip that jolted everything. “I’ve waited all month for this,” she had said. He could already tell by the eagerness to everything she did. This was their little ritual several times a month. A very unique solution to a very unique problem.

Like a ghost she appeared in front of him with a smile that bore intimidating teeth and eyes that locked onto his with an intent that would’ve made him wary in the past. She insistently pressed her naked skin to his and he followed suite. Hands gripping her firm hips as her legs wrapped around his waist, he sat down onto the cold contrasting rock.

She barely managed an inaudible whisper before her lips overtook his in a demanding hunger. He didn’t even need to guess what had been spoken. She was asking for him to give it to her. All of the hairs on her body stood up and her skin went rigid with goosebumps as he slapped her ass, other hand pressing her collarbone to pull her inescapably close to him.

Her own arms snaked round his neck, locking them firmly together. There was always a unique quality to her skin he adored. It was marked with dozens of scars, and should have been rough and sandpapery and misshapen, but like her angular face, it retained a quality of rigid toughness and finesse.

He slipped into her folds with practiced ease, the lust heavy moan and the subtle way her nails pressed to his skin drove him all the way into her as her hardened leg muscles tensed. He felt sharp toenails brush against his spine which incited a shiver from him as she curled her toes in ecstasy.

Her lips parted from his momentarily in a gasp for air, followed by another uttering in heated breath. She loved it when he went hard. He was eager to oblige, two hands gripping the supple flesh of her ass firmly as he began to lift her, sliding nearly all the way out before he pulled her down with a force that incited a wet slap as skin met skin and triggered a flustered little gasp from her.

He repeated the action, her own hips picking up the rhythm, her muscles flexing intensely as she pulled with her arms and legs, hunger overtaking her. Pent up for roughly a month, he couldn’t hold back a near divine release as wave after wave of a burning tide filled her core. She kept her mouth over his, stifling what would have been an uncontrolled shout from him.

They both took a moment to stop, catching heated breath together from merely the first in a long line of pent up releases to come. Long ago he would have considered this an ungentlemanly thing to do to her, for risk of child, and for his own rules of intimacy. The lady must come first, literally and figuratively. He smirked briefly. She would come last. Her stamina far outmatched his. But she loved it. A finger pressed into her tight ring straightened her back and furrowed her brows, and they continued onwards.

The orange haze of the sun faded and darkness descended onto the forest. Only a temporary darkness as another beacon of light rose high into the sky to cast silver-blue light onto the forest floor. Both slick in sweat, her folds burnt hotter, her breath grew strained, he continued hammering into her as she parted lips with him to speak quickly.

“Honey please do be careful.”

He smacked her ass again.

“Will do, love.”

The moon rose above the trees and she was bathed in silver light. This little trick of his had taken years to master. But he had once been a master. Timing was everything and he still had it. Her forehead pressed against his, her orange eyes locked with his deep browns, he felt her heart rate spike to a level that might have worried him at one time.

Her muscles tensed, locked around him in an embrace of ecstasy, and now pain. He continued pumping his arms, hammering his hips to hers as her body began its transformation. She became heavier as her bones elongated and her muscle mass increased.

Throughout the process he locked his eyes to hers, making sure to keep his lips to hers as they parted into a scream of agony. The forever wild streak of orange short orange hair began to replicate itself across parts of her body into short scruffy patches. Upper back and shoulders, forearms, lower legs. Her jaw shifted, skull following suite as it was replaced with something less round and more angular like that of an actual wolf.

He parted lips but maintained eye contact as she let out a tremendous howl that sent birds fleeing from treetops. Her skin darkened and toughened where there was no fur, and finally, he could lift her no more. As agonizing as this was for her, it was brief. As her body shifted, nearing the end of the transformation, he slapped her ass yet again.

He’d grown to enjoy this other side to her over time. It had its “differences.” The silver shard that always dangled between her chest was engulfed and vanished into cleavage as her breasts grew significantly heavier. Likewise with her shapely hips and backside, larger, firmer.

He could never help this part. Her claws dug into his shoulder blades. They’d tried protective gear in the past to little avail. It was okay. His own hide had toughened up for the abuse. She hilted on top of him, the final stages of her form filling out as the last details of the wolf emerged.

Every time he watched her eyes like this, he could swear there was a moment when the person he knew and loved disappeared. It was almost like watching somebody die. But she was still in there, just scattered into a million pieces that had little control.

Now came the part with timing. Her insides sweltered and clenched down on him through the entire process, and he had to fight to keep himself from climaxing to early. The pain in his shoulder blades helped. But at last, as the wolf emerged, he let loose with hard thrusts, gripping tightly onto the weightier flesh of her newly filled out ass.

Seed overflowed in hot splashes, and all he could do was smirk at Her as she snarled.

“Hello sweetie.”

She pulled away forcefully, sliding out of him to leave small rivulets flowing before he was aggressively pushed onto his back by her powerful form. The smooth stone was also nicer on his skin for these parts. Long ago she had asked him about flexibility in his legs. He still had it.

Her arms lifted his legs up and pushed them down to the ground past his shoulders, pinning his arms as well. His erect member was practically flaunted out in the open in a brief moment of worry to him before she slid her hips down onto it and proceeded to hammer away.

Her necklace hung all the way down to his chest as she leered over him, as did her breasts, hefty and smooth despite the tougher skin. With some work and twisting to the side, her powerful jaws encompassed his mouth and her tongue invaded in a telling of gentle intimacy despite her rough treatment of him.

Until dawn arrived, she would use him like this. No matter how many times he let loose into her sweltering insides, she would not be satisfied or filled. Her stamina enabled her to grind her hips down to his almost endlessly in a moment of intoxicating lust. It was this primal sort of raw emotional focus that he had also grown to enjoy quite fondly. It was pure unfiltered intoxication to have so much attention poured into him that he was treated to such sensation until he was absolutely exhausted. It was also the solution to his wife’s problem. She couldn’t go on a potential killing spree if she was involved in intimacy like this.

By now, he was absolutely sure the people of Mistwatch Grove knew what they were about. There was too much coincidence in the timing. The bestial howls with the arrival of the moon. The fact that the two of them always remained at home for a few days of rest after and during the passage of a full moon.

At one time, the Chieftain of the people of the Glade had approached him with questions. With humility and discretion, he had answered. The Chieftain was an experienced and wise man. He remembered the husband and wife who were saved long ago by a silver armored stranger. And things were left be.

He didn’t live in the village with his wife. Her parents had a property outside the village hold. The occasional stares from the occupants could be avoided mostly. But over time, those too had faded. They were a part of the community. They were home.

A full moon phase lasted two to four days. It was bliss incarnate. Before he passed out for the night, falling into a well-earned rest, his thoughts always went back to the prison cell in Cantor. To the lake. To the Bag. He smiled to himself with only a joke that he knew. Infinite wealth was nothing compared to infinite lust. Or perhaps infinite lust was infinite wealth?

Whatever the answer, he would always love her as the dearest valuable thing to his life. More than the old red mantle he once assumed. More than gold, and more than silver. He had stolen all of it and gotten away with it.

VII. The White Wolf, The last Moon

The Red Rider had earned his fabled mark on history. But there was another who lived on in immortalized story. Though never so widely known, she held a place in the hearts of many lives to come to those who called the ancient forests of Mistwatch home. For many years, a woman had lived with her husband in her cottage on the bordering edges to the Glade. Where had her husband come from? Nobody would ever know. But the whispers knew where she had come from, and what she was. She had always been one of their own.

It was at the cottage the two built together that they remained for all of their long years. Her husband had become somewhat of a local legend to the men, both young and old. One night, in his old age, when being intimate with his wife, he had simply passed on peacefully. Whispers would forever abound at the insatiable fire in his wife that could never be dulled, very much like her vibrant hair, and her threatening eyes.

He passed in peace, and had left her as fondly as he could in death. The mention of his passing would always bring a surprising blush to his wife. But she became the widow. And then in her old age, Grandma Wolf. For with age, time seemed not to dull the fire inside of her.

From her husband’s passing, she would forever dawn a red traveling cloak that marked her. As she became too aged to hunt, her title became her. With no children born from her, or perhaps her husband, she was keen to tend to the children of the Glade. And she did so for many years after.

But, peace can never last. In the world of man and beyond, peace is a fragile state. The village of Mistwatch Glade was never keen to war or conflict. And so when conflict inevitably came, the village was helpless not to surrender to an invading force from an outside kingdom bent on claiming more territory under its thumb.

Despite peaceful surrender, the village was subjected to the trials of living under the boot of soldiers and people who cared not for any of them or their values. The horrid occupation and desecration of the ancient forest by the invading kingdom lasted precisely a month alone.

On the dawning of the first month of Summer, with the rising of the full moon, the White Wolf appeared. A silver furred monster of inhuman strength and an insatiable untempered rage. The occupying force of the invading kingdom was subject to a bloody massacre in one night. Not a soul who called Mistwatch native soil perished.

On the second night, the retreating forces of the kingdom were ambushed on the roads leading out of Mistwatch forest. Every last soul was massacred save for one. He brought back a message to the kingdom by dawn of the third day. The ire of a force older than man had been provoked, and judgement had manifest itself, and it was coming.

On the third night, judgement descended upon the kingdom. A path of bloodshed, through the walled gates and a small army whom quickly scattered in utter bewilderment as their foe came alone with no aid, all the way to the throne of which a man who deemed himself worthy of the title of Lord sat. In one blow the Lord was beheaded. Blood was used to write across the floor of the throne room a message that would linger in the minds, hearts, and whispers of people.

“Some men must be reminded that they have no power.”

And on the morning of the fourth day, at the walled wooden gates to the Glade, Grandma Wolf appeared in her red travelling cloak. From her grip tumbled the head of a kingdom’s leader. From then on, the people of the Glade truly knew in their hearts what she was.

An unbroken beast, whose fire could not be put out. But the years had not been kind. Once, her hair had been a fiery orange. Now it had faded to white. The inhuman eyes that peered out at the world had gone dull with cataracts. In memory, long ago she envisioned her husband as he had watched her on a distant lakeshore with a look of bewilderment as the weapons of killing fell away from her graceful form. Now her body could no longer perform such a feat.

There she had stood at the gates, and there she fell. A smile remained on her weathered face. Nobody would ever know what would make her smile so, at the ragged end it had come to. Only she remembered.

One day the blood in her veins would have her die on her feet, facing her adversary head on. It was not the soldiers or the Lord that had been her adversary. Death was coming and she would not allow it to take her on its terms. Not in bed or in in failing health.

She had charged into the void that awaited all with eternal patience. Her husband had a head start on her, yet again. But she would find him again. The people of the Glade would honor her name for time immemorial, until the ancient trees withered and died, and all became dust.

The Red Rider had stolen it all and gotten away with it. The White Wolf had beaten the looming fate deigned to so many of her kin that were bound by the blood they held. Her husband would have found the humor in that, and she would have given him the look she always gave to him, the strange creature that he was. They really had bickered like husband and wife.

And so she passed in contentment. She had been the only one to truly know the man under the red rood. That was what she had stolen away for herself. The greatest prize worthy of them all.