Hairwolf

Foster takes a pocket Fire Steel and scratches the striker creating a shooting spark. The Old Man’s Beard catches fire and ignites the other fuels. He pushes the larger deadwood into place, something he’ll have to do the rest of the night.

The Creature-Stef is mesmerized by the fire and him. He’s different. He’s a protector. Her protector. She’s hungry again. She starts clawing at the earth, searching for roots. She pulls up a clump. Foster notices and reaches over for some. She hands him half and they eat. Foster knows he has nothing to worry about now. She trusts him and considers him part of her group now.

He locates other roots, shrubs and bark and returns to her. He lays them down in a pile.

She’s curious why he isn’t having any and makes a pile for each of them. She notices their hands are different. He’s different, but the same. He moves differently. She looks at his face, absent of

fur. It’s the same all over his body.

She draws her legs up to her stomach and tucks her hands in between them, still watching him. He stands next to the fire and looks back at her. He’s hesitant about something.

She watches him, curious. Is he leaving? She tries to move but the pain is too great. She can’t move. All she can do is watch but then he leaves.

She reaches for him but retreats back from the pain in her side. She starts to whine softly. She wants him back but he’s not coming back. She looks at her fur covered hand. Maybe that’s why. Maybe he’s too different. She watches the fire, lost in its beauty.

Foster returns carrying a bundle of wood for the fire. She props up with her hand extended. He drops the wood and crosses over to her, again, covering her back up.

“Thought I left you, ah? No. You ain’t getting rid of me that easy. You owe me a dinner. I mean, I’ll buy – or maybe I’ll just let you buy. But we will be having dinner.”

She’s drawn in by his voice. He looks at her and sweeps the hair away from her eyes, wondering what she’s thinking. The longer and closer he looks the more she appears vulnerable. It’s a curious

thing for him for sure. He turns his focus back on her wound and unsnaps the fanny pack. The bleeding has stopped.

He’s now curious over the contents of the fanny pack and unzips the pocket. He pulls out trail bars, crackers, small packets of peanut butter. She’s just as surprised as he is at the contents. She watches perplexedly as he lays them down, making those strange sounds from his mouth . . .

“Snack bars … water. What else you got in here, Stef?”

He retrieves a flat item, covered in electrical tape. He peels off just enough to identify what it is.

“Now why would you have a make-up mirror covered in tape?” It doesn’t take long for him to figure it out. He reclines back, somewhat sympathetic...

“You have no idea what you are. Do you? You keep this for afterward. The next morning.”

She reaches up and touches his lips, mesmerized by his voice. She then takes his hand and rubs it against his face and then hers. She holds it out, poised, curious to the difference. There’s no way Foster could explain the mirror to her. He pulls her hand up to his lips and kisses the back side of it. He then leans over and kisses the top of her forehead again.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, more to himself than her.

She reaches for the mirror but he puts it back in the fanny pack... “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stef. You taped over it for a reason.”

His voice takes her attention away from the mirror. She tries to duplicate the sound. She positions her lips like his and tries making the sound but it doesn’t come. All she can do is growl in different lower octaves. She tries tilting her head but it doesn’t help; The same sound escapes.

“You really don’t know what you are, do you?”

Brizzbee sits with Lillian, his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the chair. She’s on the cot, sleeping soundly, covered under all the blankets. He has a small fire going inside the cage and a stockpile of wood ready to go. He’s antsy, concerned about the others. But he can’t leave Lillian. There’s little he can do at this point. It’s a waiting game now. He looks at Foster’s

radio, laying on the ground. He removes his radio from his belt and throws it next to Foster’s. He rests his head, waiting on the sunrise.

Morning, and awakened by a choir of passerines, Stef opens her eyes to a silhouetted forest, backlit by a glow of yellow sunlight. She’s fully human but unable to move. It’s the paralysis. Foster’s behind her in a spooning posture with pine needle branches covering them both.

“Are you awake, Stef?”

She doesn’t answer. She can’t answer. He notices a slight glow around her. It looks like her aura. He rubs his eyes and looks again. Although faint in brightness, it’s still there. He pulls his arm out

from under the pines to check himself but it’s only coming from her. He lays his arm gently across her and waits for her to wake.

Stef lays with eyes open, listening to the songbirds, or passerines as she likes to call them. Birds don’t have words, they have sounds. Sounds that form songs which they’ve turned into a voice. Nature’s voice. Nature is awesome.

Mist rises from the lake, evaporating into the heated morning sun. Mountain squirrels navigate the

upper branches like an aerial highway, causing nuts to fall as they brush by. One such nut meets

the heal of a hiking boot, punching it deep into the soil as it hurries out of the forest. It’s Foster, carrying Stef in his arms. He enters the edge of the lake exhausted and looks around.

It’s been a long night and now he’s got to get her out of there. He can see their camp on the other side, about a quarter-mile away.

He lays Stef down on the gravel bank in need of a break. Her eyes are open but she’s still unable to move. He looks at her, curiously. “Must still be in that trance you talked about.”

He removes his shirt, ringing it out in the lake and returns to her. He opens the tear in her dress even wider for a better look at the wound. It’s closed completely. He’s surprised. He wipes away the dried blood as she slowly breaks from the paralysis.

“My, God. What happened?” she asks holding her side. “My side is on fire.”

“You had an injury last night. Can you move?”

“Yeah. What injury?”

He’s surprised she doesn’t remember.

“I’m a little slow remembering things the morning after. The paralysis doesn’t help. What happened?” she asks.

“You’re what happened. Scariest night of my life. You got stabbed by a pine tree, although you wouldn’t know it by looking at it now.”

“I heal fast. A benefit of the condition. But I still feel the pain. Oh, that’s sore.” She notices the large tear in her dress. “How big was the branch?”

“Relax,” he says, regarding the tear. “I did that. The branch was much smaller.”

“So, why such a big hole? You couldn’t work around it? I don’t know if I could fix that.”

“Fix what, the dress?”

“Yes. Lillian said this was a very expensive dress and the last one. She bought it for me. Oh my God, look at this. Couldn’t you have just slid it up a little? We’re all adults here.”

“Yesterday you were worried about being seen in your underwear.”

“Yesterday I didn’t have a hole in my side. I’m not one of those that say, damn the stuff, save yourself. My stuff’s coming with me or I ain’t goin’.”

“There was an inch-wide branch, embedded in your side, two-inches deep.”

“Inch wide? I could have fixed that with bubble gum.”

“I’ll find you another one. Now can we . . . ”

“What are you doing here, anyway? Where’d you find me?”

He drops back surprised she doesn’t remember. But then it all comes rushing back to her. “You stayed with me?” she says. “Are you crazy? You stayed with me. You could have gotten killed.”

As far as he’s concerned, this whole thing is crazy. “You know, you really are a piece of work.”

She grabs him, giving him a big hug. “You didn’t leave me. I’m remembering bits and pieces now. You protected me. Pretty badass, ah?” Stef says, smiling. “I’m glad she didn’t hurt you. But you’re in trouble now. She likes you.”