Blood.

It seeps into the newly fallen blanket of snow until everything is crimson. Among the torn trees and scorched earth, the freezing powder cradles the bodies of wolves and humans alike; carrying them to their final rest in the indigo deep of the moonlit sky, where Mai Kamaria, our great mother, will nurture them in the beyond.

Blood.

It soaks my fur, blurs my vision, and fills my mouth. It’s all I can smell, all I can taste...all I can see. It pumps through my restless heart, filling my veins and straining my arteries. Blood within and blood without, but I know they are not the same. I know because I feel no pain...no burning. Because the scent that fills my nostrils is not my own. The taste that drips from my fangs belongs to another--no--many others.

Blood.

I can hear it calling me. There is one left; one drumbeat playing in my ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I missed one. As tears flood my eyes I know it’s far too late to resist. Viscra knows my name now. He is thirsty, ever-thirsty, and now I am among his Reapers. As I approach, I can hear the pace of the drum quicken. They lay still, hoping that I won’t find them. Unable to move, they pray to their gods to spare them. But tonight, all will worship Viscra. Tonight the red wolf walks the mountain. A scream, and the drum stops playing.

Blood.

I really am a monster.

---

“...Robin! ...Robin! Wake up, girl! Robin!”

Sapphire blue eyes sprung open. Released from her death grip at last, a scrawny tabby screeched and yowled unhappily as it scrambled to the safety of his master’s shoulder. The old man had a deep frown on his face and his eyes were cold and dark, but the knots in his frizzy eyebrows betrayed the depth of his concern. Standing a short distance away, his foxhead cane gripped tightly in gnarled fingers, he waited patiently for an explanation.

“I’m sorry, Papa…” The girl, Robin, slid her legs over the edge of the bed. She shivered, rubbing balled fists against her eyes as if to erase the terrors her sleep had brought. “I-It was the nightmare again…”

“Yes, well, Fluffles is sleeping with me until you can get a handle on that anxiety of yours…” He muttered, already turning for the door. “Now get dressed! It’s market day!”

The cat glared at her from his perch on Papa’s shoulder as the old man hobbled from her room. She gave him an apologetic smile, mouthing the word ‘sorry’, but she knew it would take some especially tasty anchovies to earn the trust of her bedmate again. Sighing, she climbed out of her bed and pulled open the door of her wardrobe.

The creaky floorboards announced her presence as she arrived in the living room of the old mansion. Making her way to the coat rack, she took some comfort in seeing Mr. Fluffles enjoying a saucer of cream while the pair of them prepared to leave. She pulled on her usual overcoat and tied the sash around her waist, covering a simple outfit of snug tan trousers, a dark brown belt, and a red turtleneck sweater.

“Blast this winter.” The old man grumbled, blowing air through his thick white moustache to demonstrate his disgust, “Spring can’t come soon enough.” Robin laughed, handing him his hat.

“Papa, it’s always winter here.” She shook her head, grabbing her satchel and a basket before turning to him. “Are you ready to go?”

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” He asked, moving to get his cane and struggling to heft a large pack onto his back. Robin rolled her eyes, setting the basket down and taking the bag from him. She slipped it onto her own shoulders, then lifted the basket once more.

“No, if we hurry, I can get something fresh at the bakery! Let’s go!” She said, leading the way to the front door.

“You’re much too strong for a girl.” Papa remarked gruffly.

“And you’re much too slow for a man!” She called back, earning a hearty chuckle from a few paces behind her. “Bye, Fluffles! I’ll bring you a treat from the market, okay?”

The pair made their way down the cobblestone driveway that led to the large, forsaken-looking building they called home. Snow lapped at the top of her boots as Robin checked to make sure Papa was following along alright. She waited for him to catch up, then walked beside him.

“You’re certain that this...nightmare of yours was the same this night as before?” He asked in his gravelled tone. She nodded, her expression dimming.

“Yes, the scene of a bloody battlefield. Destruction and death caused by a battle between humans and monsters.”

“And no one breathed but you?” He asked.

“No, they were all dead; all but the one. There’s always one that’s still alive.” She said, biting her lip slightly at the painful memory. “At least, until I’m done with them.”

“I see...and do you recognize this person?” Papa asked, holding the brim of his hat as a stiff breeze threatened to take it off of his balding head. Robin paused.

“I guess I never really thought to look…” She said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so?”

“Well look next time. Dreams are the mind’s way of trying to process the things we couldn’t quite sort out the first time. Your mind’s aiming to tell you something, girl, and you’d better figure out what it is before you go and kill my cat.” His tone was serious, but Papa had a smile on his face when Robin looked at him.

“You know I would never hurt Mr. Fluffles!” She said, acting offended, but Papa just laughed. Wispy aspens, steadfast firs, bare cottonwoods and thick pine trees surrounded them while they walked, looming at the edges of the path like sentinels. Their home was a short distance from the rest of the cozy little mountain village of Frostwood, which meant they had to take a little scenic trip through a miniature forest to reach anything they might need. Papa liked to complain about the distance, but Robin always enjoyed seeing the trees change with the seasons, and she had quite the collection of interesting pine cones stashed at home. Despite being called silly by a certain old man, Robin stood by her claim that each and every cone in her possession had a unique smell.

Soon the foliage began to thin, and as they rounded the corner, the familiar chestnut and burgundy-colored buildings of the town appeared.

“Ahahhh! I can smell the pastries already!” Robin cried out, rushing ahead and spinning around in the snow as she breathed in the aroma. Her long, silky white hair sprayed out into the air and wrapped around her. She opened her eyes, their sparkling cerulean shining with excitement, “I hope I’m not too late for a tinberry turnover!”

Papa stopped, trying not to look as winded as he was, “Run along, then! Don’t let this old geezer keep you from your treat.” A weary grin creased his leathery face as he pulled off his hat and rubbed his hand over the skin of his bare scalp. What remained of his hair stuck out wildly from under his hat when he replaced it, “Meet me at the tailor when you’re done, got it?” He called to the girl, who was already dashing away. “And Robin?”

“Yes?” She stopped, bringing herself to turn back to him.

“If he’s got any gooseberry muffins, grab me a couple, will ya?” He asked. She flashed him a smirk, nodded and turned to sprint towards the heart of the town. He shook his head, his cane leaving a trail of dots in the snow with each slow but steady step. “Silly pup...”

Her breath stung her throat by the time Robin reached the bakery. With rosey cheeks and wide eyes, she pulled open the frosted door and let a tidal wave of aromas wash over her. Freshly baked bread, sweet berries, rich brown sugar, and captivating cinnamon greeted her like old friends. Between the scents and the heat of the oven, it truly felt like she was stepping into heaven the moment she crossed the threshold. The bell above the door announced her arrival, and a hefty man soon appeared behind the counter.

“Ah! Well if it isn’t my li’l snowbird! How are ya doin’ this mornin’ Miss Robin?” He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, leaving yet another smudge of flour on his jovial features. His thick black eyebrows were matched only by his long sideburns, which stretched around his round face whenever he smiled. Pulling a hand towel from his pocket, he attempted to clean his hands as she approached.

“Good morning, Rufus!” She greeted, brushing her hair from her face as she gazed in wonder at the various pies, rolls, breads, and, of course, pastries that were on display. All of which were cooked fresh before the sun rolled out of bed that morning. The baker’s shop filled the town with delicious aromas each and every day, and was very popular as a result. You had to wake up pretty early if you wanted a good chance of snagging your favorite pastry. Even now, three more people had come inside since Robin’s arrival. They waited with meted impatience while Rufus greeted them each by name, all of them just as eager as Robin to get their baked delights.

“So! What can I grab for you, Snowbird?” He asked, turning his attention back to her. She bit her lip, second-guessing her original intentions when she saw the plentiful display. Especially tempted by some thick, cream cheese brownies, a cherry pie with a cinnamon crust, and some freshly glazed donuts coated in a hazelnut chocolate frosting, she soon decided that she should stick with her initial craving. Her heart sank when she saw, however, that the tray labeled ‘tinberry turnovers’ was among those that had been picked clean. The crumbs, shards of light purple frosting, and occasional spots of excess jelly were all that remained of her favorite treat.

“Hummm….well, do you have any tinberry turnovers left? I don’t see any…” she lamented, her eyes pleading with him. He rubbed his chin, smiled, and shook his head, before disappearing into the back of the store once more. The customers behind her began to mutter anxiously, even though he was only gone a moment.

“You’re in luck, missy!” The kindly man grinned, lifting a brown pastry bag with an oval-shaped lump inside. “I can't sell it because it broke in half, so I was saving this little beauty for myself, but I know they’re your favorite, so…”

“Oh no! I couldn’t possibly take it! That one was yours!” She protested, but her stomach betrayed her sentiment with an audible growl, causing Rufus to chuckle.

“Don’t be silly, lass! After all, I can always make another later, right?” He gave her a wink, and she reddened sheepishly, finally accepting the bag.

“Oh! Before I forget, Papa wanted me to pick up a couple of gooseberry muffins as well...if you have any left?” With a knowing smirk, the husky chef ducked behind the counter for several seconds, then emerged with two picture-perfect specimens of the confectionary in question. She breathed a sigh of relief, holding open her paper bag so he could put the muffins inside.

Robin reached into her satchel, pulling out a couple of coins, but the baker shook his head. “No no, this one’s on me, girl.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he shut her down before she could, “You just tell that old Harold that he owes me a drink at our next poker game, got it?” Robin hesitated, but nodded and bowed gratefully, moving out of line.

“Thank you so much!” She could already feel her mouth watering, and the bell rang once more as she slipped back into the brisk morning air.

Robin already had two bites of her turnover stuffed into her mouth when she heard the commotion.