Bella

Ian leads me back to his shop and looks at me expectantly, "What type of blade do you want? I mostly make farming tools, but I've got some things I could fashion into decent weapons if you like."

I look around, "If all goes well, I shouldn't need the weapons at all, but for added safety I think a hunting knife will work."

He nods, "I've got some decent sized ones, I’ll be right back."

He disappears into one of the storage rooms, returning with some bone handled blades. The smallest has a six inch blade, the largest is as long as my forearm and hand. I pick up the largest; the handle is a little large for my hand, making it awkward for me to hold. I wrinkle my nose and put it down.

I grab the next knife and it fits perfectly in my palm, the blade curves slightly and ends in a wicked point. Carefully, I press my thumb to the blade, it cuts through the pad of my finger with ease. Placing my thumb in my mouth, I turn the blade at a couple angles, with a deft flip it so the point is facing down and away from me.

I look over at Ian and he smiles, "Good to see Fae are good with blades as well as bows."

I sheathe the blade, "How much do I owe you?"

He shakes his head and puts a hand over mine, "Get rid of that beast. Please." He glances at the window, "It's almost dark. Are you sure about this?"

I grin at the big man, "See you in the morning." I slip out of the shop. The last vestiges of sunlight are fading as I make my way to the edge of town. As the sun disappears a howl echoes through the night; I turn toward the sound and start walking.

The Beast

Rage. So much rage. It's all consuming. It's maddening. I race away from my den, the anger spurring me along. The new snow chills my paws, but it quickly melts away. My breaths cloud the air, making it smell faintly of smoke. I see small animals fleeing me and hear other predators coming to life in the stillness. I ignore them all. Needing to escape the fury that consumes me, I run.

I race through the night, fleeing demons I can't remember. I near one of the outlying farmsteads and slow, a sweet scent clings to the air. I try to trace it around the building but it’s faint and I can’t find a good trail. I howl again, my cry rippling through the night.

In the distance a responding howl rings back to me. I turn my head to the sound and feel my ears flick trying to figure out where it is. I howl again. The other voice responds. A combination of fear and hope fills me, momentarily washing out the rage. I cry again, another response. I run toward the sound, leaving the farm behind me.

Periodically I call again, fearing that the other hound will stop replying. Convinced that if I find them, they'll disappear. But hope is stronger than fear and it spurs me along despite my misgivings.