A Creature in the Darkness

[Naavah]

Beneath the canopy of stars a lone creature moves at a slow shuffle. She moved through the brush awkwardly, favoring one side of her body greatly over the other. If a passerby had been able to glance at the silhouette from among the brush, she would have appeared as a species undetermined: too small to be a grown human, clothed in the fur and smell of a wolf, walking upright with only a slight hunch. But there were no passerbys on their chilly autumn evening, and the creature walked alone, her world reduced to several simple truths. There would be no soon end to the cold weather and snow would soon follow it; there was no way she could live through the winter without new hides, new bones, new meat. This was all she knew, that and the aching all encompassing biting, throbbing pain of her right leg. It was this that drove her towards the society that she shirked so completely. She had learned to hate with great passion the others that lived inhabited these places. They tore down trees to make their structures, scared away game, scarred the land, and defiled the Great Mother and her spirit children. But the Others, the men, the monsters, all that lay between, did have their uses. When they tore up the trees and frightened away all that was natural, they replaced it with new animals, slow, stupid docile creatures who stared at her with confused and trusting eyes before she broke their skulls and slit their throats.

She crouched by the edge of the forest, watching the sheep move lazily across the grass. They would pause and shut their eyes, dozing softly in the cool peace that is Ulster. For Naavah there were no border lines, only forest and Other. There was no animal held as property, only an easy free meal in a wide open pasture. In silence she slipped a stone into her leather sling and knelt on the ground, shifting uncomfortably to keep the weight off her bag leg. The whir of the sling was barely more than silence in the stillness of the night and the thud of stone against skull was not even enough to wake the young shepherd from his dozing. The first strike and the sheep was stunned, a second was enough to ensure death. Naavah dealt the blows with cold calculation, what she saw before her was a meal and a means of existence. This was not lowering the sheep's position in the scheme of things. It was exalting it on high. A few of the other sheep bleated and trotted away as Naavah broke from her forest cover. She had picked one of the smallest of the herd, a summer lamb, and unknown to her, the favorite of the shepherd's daughter. It had been an act of efficiency on her part. She was small and meant to use all of her kill.

Without another moment's hesitation, she pulled from her belt a small silver dagger. It was the one item she owned that post-dated the Stone Age. The blade held the sharpness of a surgeon's tool and she used it to saw off the head of the freshly dead lamb. Blood oozed from the post-mortem wounds and soon covered her hands. With the same pleasure as a child in a candy shop, she licked the warm syrup from her hands, smearing it across her face and she let out a small pleasurable sigh. There would soon be a fine meal to eat, and a hide to begin to cure, but she dare not appear ungrateful to the spirits. Instead she righted the head, arranging the ears as they should be despite the substantial dent she had put in the side of the skull. With the dagger she drew a circle in the dirt around the offering, preparing it for ascent to the heavens. Her voice was quiet, fearful of waking the slumbering shepherd as she thanked Ki Hirca, the furry goat spirit, for the gift of one of its young. The prayer was impromptu and the language was rough and uneven. It was a little like buttering someone up, telling the spirit how wonderful the sheep would taste, how beautiful the coat, how difficult she had been to catch. In truth it had been an easy kill, and the sheep she had chosen was nothing but a runt, but she was here to honor the spirits, not tell the truth. In several sweeping hand waves she sent the sheep's spirit up to the great forest where it would wait until it became a lamb next year. Such was tradition. Every year as the flowers bloomed, the spirits of those who died returned a new. Only humans did not return. They lived forever as spirits in the Great Forest, leaving Naavah all alone in the Dream World below.

This was no time to dwell on those who had passed, there was, instead, a feast to be served. Slowly she hoisted the headless body over her shoulders and managed to stand, teetering a bit uncertainly on her bad leg. Then, without ever waking a soul she stepped back into the forest from which she had ventured out. Deep in the woods, Naavah finally dumped the carcass and began the delightful process of butchering the still-warm body. The knife, still tacky with the sheep’s blood was wetted once more as she ripped open the belly. From simple repetition she had perfected this process of butchering, but each time it was like unwrapping a present. All the parts that were edible or usable would be saved, leaving the rest for scavengers. She peeled back the skin of the lamb, peeling at the fat and film that separated it from the muscle. Quietly she continued the cuts up each of the legs of the rabbit, pulling at the thin threads of tissue that kept the skin attached to the muscle below. The muscle was now lain out on a platter of its own skin. She began the process of cutting the muscle away from the bone, slipping pieces of the still bloody flesh into her mouth as she went. Fires took too long, they drew too much attention, and instead she had grown used to the taste and texture of her meat raw. She discarded most of the digestive tract, cutting out the liver and heart to eat as though they were candy. There was nothing savage to these acts; they were sophisticated skills, the basics of another life from another time. What a sight she was in spite of it, bare-chested and barefoot, her mouth and hands smeared with blood as she dissected and devoured her meal. Soon her stomach began to ache with the fullness of fresh meat. With a soft sigh, Naavah curled up on the ground and allowed herself to fall into the deep dreams that came from a full meal.

In the morning the shepherd would speak of a Wolf-Imp, half wolf, half little person, who had come stolen the lamb and placed a curse on him. To the villagers it was nothing but a big story, meant to cover up having slept through the attack. That was until several other farmers began to complain of missing animals. For each, only the head was found, a circle formed in the dirt and a congealing puddle of blood. There was a demon haunting the forests, killing off the young and casting spells on their property. The tails of beasts with giant fangs and blood red eyes soon flooded the country sides. To the man who caught or killed this demon-marauder there would be a hero's celebration, but most chose simply to lock their doors tight at night and pray for the safety of their flocks outside.

(Unless anyone is wandering around the forests of Ulster, I promise to bring this thread into Emain Macha in the next post)

[Naavah]

Naavah had dwelled in Ulster for the time it took for Lupa, the Brother Moon, to grow from a thin sliver into being large and full with the light he had stolen from Sulna, his Brother Sun. She too was growing full on the plenty of the land. Her face that was so sunken and cruel at times was once more the filled, round face of a child, and her belly bulged slightly from so many nights of thick, fatty meats. Deep in the woods on the edge up Ulster, she had began to make her winter preparations, stretching hides and curing them with fats, but until they were done, she roamed the land in nothing but her worn through leather breeches, her exposed flat brown chest gave her no thoughts of modesty. She would have frozen in so little, were it not for the full wolf pelt she bore as a cloak. No matter what the weather she donned this glorious fur. It was a part of her, the head of the wolf and its empty eyes staring out from above her own. Still, the richness of the land could not heal the greatest of her woes, the knee that she had reinjured falling from a tree almost two moon-cycles ago. She had wrapped it in leather straps, supported it with small animal bones and taken to chewing willow bark for its pain-killing properties, but there was little hope in her eyes of a full recovery. What she needed was a doctor, one of the Others, and this, of course, was one thing she was unwilling to seek.

Still, the spirits, though often tough, had always had always acted with a certain kindness towards Naavah. There was never so little food that she starved, never so little warmth that she froze, and with every breath she thanked the spirits for these small tokens. But on this afternoon it seemed as though the spirits were in a far more generous mood than normal. Directly in her path lay a rabbit, not dead more than twenty-four hours. She could see the plumpness without even prodding the dead rodent, and oh what warm, soft lining that fur would make. She crouched on the ground and plucked up the rabbit never once second guessing it's presence on the forest floor. There was the quick snap of a spring as the metal trap shut tightly around her wrist. It was not made for a human hand, but that of a coyote or perhaps foxes and it dug tightly into her wrist the more Naavah pulled. Her eyes went wide as she attempted to figure out the mechanism that would set her hand free but the device seemed to need some sort of key to prevent other furriers from poaching the trap. She breathed in deeply, trying to come to grips with the situation. She traced the chain to the base of the tree only a foot or two away. One would need to cut the chain or cut down the tree to remove it. The more and more she began to investigate her options, the greater the terror in her began to grow. She pulled hard at the trap until blood seeped from her wrist and it hurt too much to bear. She took a bone carving tool, little more than a sharpened stone, and broke it over the chains. Finally she looked to the tree itself, and sitting at its base she began the slow process of chipping away splinters from the mighty oak. Perhaps she could get through the thing before she starved to death. After all, she had been carrying with her the last remains of last night's goat meat. Perhaps.

Never once did it occur to her that this was anything but an ingenious method of torture, that an Other had lay this trap and bait with the full purpose of returning and claiming what he had caught. Were she not the victim herself, such a concept would have appealed to her greatly. As it was, she never noticed the bell that rang each time she struggled against the chain or took notice to anyone approaching as she methodically slammed the stone into the aged tree, her very fear of the situation fueling her forward. It was enough to muffle the trudging footsteps of the men coming to check the traps. As it was, they spotted her long before she spotted them.

"What in bloody!? Are you alright kid?"

Naavah spun around where she knelt, they were two grown men. One was older, perhaps in his forties, though she was an awful judge of age, heavy set with a thick beard. The second was younger, maybe his late twenties, lanky and awkward appearing with a narrow, face. It had been the older of the two men, Paul, who had spoken as he stepped forward quickly. His intent might have been meritorious, but Naavah did not trust an Other as far as she could throw one, and with a bad knee and a bleeding wrist, that was not very far. She was quicker than him, dropping the digging stone and pulling from her belt the small silver dagger that she used to slaughter so many animals. The man barely had time to jump back to keep from being swiped by the snake-quick response.

"God Dammit, what in Hell's name are you trying to pull you little brat? You want to stay like that?" Paul snarled as he took a step back, carefully examining the new hole in his favorite shirt. He was about to slip into another stream of cursing when he felt his nephew, Marc, tapping him on the shoulder. The boy was a miserable trapper and not too brilliant at anything else in life, but he was his sister's son and family was family. With an exasperated sigh he turned to the wide eyes young man.

"Uncle, that... I think that's not a kid." Marc swallowed hard, and pointed with terror at the vicious little girl. Were he not so damned angry, Paul might have found his nephew's strange remark but as it was, he snapped "Hell are you talking about, boy."

"Look what she's wearing, with the head of a wolf, and you can smell the smell of fresh kill on her. Uncle, I think we've caught ourselves the Wolf Imp, that demon from town. We got to do something with her quick, before she casts a spell on us." He spoke with a soft voice, his eyes never leaving Naavah's form. Naavah stayed crouched on the ground, unable to stand due to the shortness of the chain she was now locked to. Her dark eyes, beneath the heavy shadow of the wolf head seemed to pierce like arrows. Her nostrils were wide and dilated as her heart pumped quickly beneath her bear chest. She was indeed quite a barbaric sight. But who were they kidding? It was a little girl in wolf's clothing, nothing more.

"Marc, you're a fool, it isn't a demon, just a kid. Crazy little sucker though." He frowned. He had a boy that looked to be about Naavah's age. He was not about to hurt the kid for any reason, but he could not just let her go. Marc was right. This must have been who was killing all the livestock in the area. What kind of child spends her nights decapitating helpless little animals? Maybe she was possessed. In any case this was far beyond his realm of expertise. He knelt down at eye level with the girl who still held the dagger ready to strike out were they to get within reach. To this point they had spoken about the girl as though she was not there. He forced a small smile on his face. "Hey there sweet heart, what's your name?" The syrup that coated his voice was almost nauseating but darn it, he was still mad as hell about his shirt.

Naavah was not in any mood to be friendly. She was hurt and captured and, like most animals, this simply worked to make her dangerous and illogical. Perhaps, if the situation had been better she would have told him her name, or let them know that she had understood every word they had said, even if she did not understand the meaning. English was a second language to her, one that only came easily when she was in a situation that she found safe. As it was, she barely managed to do more then let out a low, guttural growl and bare her teeth like an animal. This was enough for either of the furriers. Be it a demon, or merely one possessed by a demon, Naavah had to be brought in.

The two of them were scheming. Naavah knew that much and she let another low growl issue from her lips. Her body was so tense as she watched them that it almost hurt. The minute that Paul was within reach, Naavah struck out like a loaded spring. She was in too poor of a position to be picky about her strikes. Instead, she seemed simply set of drawing blood with the double-edged silver blade. But she was a frightened little girl, and that did not make her the most efficient of fighters. Paul grabbed her wrist tightly and twisted up, forcing Naavah to drop the blade with a yowl of pain and frustration. Without hesitation she bit as hard as she could into Paul’s arms until he managed to shake her off. And then there was darkness. Marc had dropped a burlap bag over her head and was holding it on tight. She could feel Paul’s hands brush over her, removing her wrist expertly from the trap and remaking about how the wound was not as bad as he had expected. He could feel him as he removed the stone tools and weapons from her waist but all she could do was yell and kick. They were robbing her! Of all the injustices! With a swooping movement they pulled the little girl up and all the way into the sack and pulled it tight. Gasping and holding the cuts that that Naavah had managed to get in on his upper arm, Paul surveyed the work that they had done. Both of them had suffered injuries and if anyone were to have seen what they had done, they would certainly be arrested for treating a child as such. He shook his head, it looked as though they were heading to Emain Macha, half a day's journey. Judging from Marc's smile, he obviously thought that they would be greeted as heroes for ridding the forest of such a dangerous criminal, but all Paul could feel was guilt as he hauled his squirming catch up over his shoulder, muttering to his nephew.

"Gather the kid's things, the sooner we are done with this, the better."

[Naavah]

The sun was already setting when the two men arrived at the castle doors. They were country men and had never been inside the castle. Neither of them would have even considered the possibility before today. Suddenly, their work clothes seemed shabby and shameful, their unshaven faces and scuffed boots were almost enough to make them turn back. Who were they to think that they had any right to come to the castle, let alone seek the judgment of the lovely and powerful queen?

"Let me do the talking, Marc. If you make a fool of us in this castle I swear on my mother's grave that not even my sister will be able to save you from a pummeling." That was the only warning Paul had time to give as they were approached by a guard. "What business do you have here?" Paul straightened up tall, still holding the bagged girl over his shoulder. She had struggled against him for the first few hours, nearly giving him a black eye with a good kick of hers, but eventually she had grown tired and hot within the burlap sack. Her head ached dreadfully from having the blood rushing to it and she began to take note that he jostled her far harder whenever she attempted to thrash about. For now, she was still, listening carefully to the ever changing noises around her. While she had seen nothing, she had felt them leave the countryside long ago, and since then, the unexplainable sounds had been almost overwhelming. Carts over cobblestones, merchants selling goods, high heels and flags in the wind were all new to her and seemed heightened by her inability to see. Now there was conversation, perhaps dealing exactly with her fate.

"I brought a criminal... here in this bag. It’s the one that has been killing off the livestock. I caught her, and I brought her here because I figured someone would no what to do with her." Paul attempted to look confident, despite the strangeness of the words he knew he was saying. He had considered taking the kid out of the bag, perhaps tying her wrists and leading the girl here, but he was frightened of what people might think. He still wondered if he and Marc would end up in prison instead of the child for what they had done.

The guard looked the two men over. He had heard the stories, most people had by this point. The farther it traveled from the source point of the attacks, the more dangerous the creature had become. He had heard of the Wolf-Imp, it was half wolf, half goat, with six inch claws and a mouth that spit stones. He was also pretty certain that the entire story was fabricated. Half of him wanted to turn the two men away at the castle gates for being frauds, and the other half wanted to know how a wolf-goat fit in such a small bag, or why it did not use its claws to get out. Still, the matter had already been brought before the queen. Several shepherds were beginning to fear that the attacks would have an economic toll on their families this winter if they were to continue. She had wanted to at least stay updated on the matter.

"The Queen is a very busy woman. You can not expect that just anyone can gain her audience. You can step through into the courtyard and wait there. If she has time and would like to see you, we will find you there." With that he moved aside, letting the two commoners into a place that they could only have dreamed of in the past. It was, in some ways, disappointing. Marc had assumed that the castle would simply glimmer with jewels, that every free space would be gilded in gold leaf or perhaps simply be crafted of solid gold. Instead the garden was beautiful, well kept and in perfect order. Still, it managed to stay livable, natural and normal. "If only Ilsa could see this, she would fall right out of her shoes" Paul murmured as he looked about with a wide grin, thinking back to his own wife who would no doubt have harsh words for him when he returned so late with no new furs. Both men could fill the excitement swell within them, and for the moment, they forgot about the child, slung like potatoes over Paul's back.

[Adam Masou]

Stoic features never wavered, and tired eyes never seemed to blink. He had nearly resigned himself to receiving ill will and disrespect at every turn while he waited vigilantly here for Ashina's return. He had told her he would wait here... he would not break that promise.

No matter how many times he had submitted the desire to be left alone the courtyard that had been 'given' to him for sanctuary was still used day in and day out and no thought was ever given to his privacy. He could not have expected anything more from the humans, really. They could not, and would not ever understand. He sat resting on the thick lower branches of the courtyard's only tree, hearing the guards send yet more people to invade his space. He sighed and lifted a hand to gently stroke the head of the regal red-tailed hawk sitting on the forearm he had propped on his knee. "Human are so foolish." he said softly to the bird, as if speaking in some kind of confidence. "They do not understand you because they do not listen to you. Perhaps if they would open their ears they could hear what you are saying to them." The hawk bobbed its head a few times in concurance and stretched the long talons that were holding its position on his arm.

He was well contented to ignore the hunters, disgusting as he found them, if it had not been for a very familiar smell. His head turned as it hit his canineesque ol-factory, eyes as dark as burnt coals riveting now on the two furriers with their prize in a bag. It was the right size and shape, and still he did not want to believe he was right. Nostrils flared in and out and as if by instinct the hawk walked its way onto his shoulder. He dropped down from the tree with a soft thud and the rustle of dried leaves beneath him. How insulting... the poor girl caught by wretched people as these! They were no true hunters. They were messy, sloppy, they killed excessively and did not understand the balance of the world that needed to be kept. To them, their cattle were a means of wealth, not beings to be brought into the world and taken from it like any other living creature.

His approach was slow, but purposeful. He himself was known in the countryside for the occassional slaughter of a bull or a hiefer, bigger animals but that were always carefully cleaned, buried, and concecrated with strange dark silt that was not found in Ulster anywhere. That was how they knew the beast master had come for their livestock. Many complaints were put forth but fr some reason the queen protected him from them. Looking at him now, it was hard to understand why. Shirtless, shoeless, and covered all over bare skin with a fine layer of dirt and grime, hair all a-muss drooping over eyes like cold iron, the olive skinned native of the mainland barely looked like a human being at all, a far cry from a civilized one to be sure.

"The bag." he said roughly, sitting up on his haunches with a very menacing glare, his dark eyes shifting from one to the other in a very accusatory fashion. "What is in it?"

[Naavah]

Paul looked the stranger over. What on earth was this man doing here. Here he was, worrying that his shoes were too scuffed to be present in this castle and this man looked like he had spent the day roling in the mud. He had heard of the wild man who had been causing the ranchers losses, but as a furrier, it had never much been his problem. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to their complaints, that way he would have known what a dangerous creature he had before him. Instead he stood up straight, a good two inches taller than Adam and stared the man down. "It's for the Queen to see, no one's business but hers." Paul was a strong man, comfortable in his own muscle. He had met with more than his share of bar fights over the years and was pretty certain that he could knock a tooth out of just about any man he came across. Perhaps it was voluntary amnesia that just earlier today, he had been bruised and cut by an injurred little girl who had had so much fight in her, Paul had barely been able to keep one step ahead.

He had asked one thing, and one thing only of his nephew Marc. It seemed that even in that, the young man could not help but be a disapointment. Perhaps something was just wrong in his head but he just could not keep his mouth shut. "It's a demon we caught, so you better watch out!" He seemed to be quite proud of himself, that they had caught such a dangerous creature. Perhaps this man would back off when he heard that. Maybe he would be frightened that they would release her on him. Cocky and stupid could easily be seen as synonyms as the two men eyed Adam.

Inside the bag, Naavah could hear a familiar voice. It seemed impossible for her that Adam would be here, where ever here might be. He had never told anyone where he was going when he left. A part of her believed that he had gone to visit Muna in the Great Forest in the sky. Eventually, she had given up on his return to the Western Woods and had wandered off as well. She was tired and hot, her head ached and she had received rub burns from struggling so hard with in the burlap sack. Still, at the sound of the familiar voice, she started in on her captor once more. She squirmed in the bag, digging her elbow deep into Paul's back with all her weight. Though hse could not see, he grimaced and attempted to reshift the bag, muttering curses as his attention was suddenly split between wild-man and equally wild-child. The child was injured, unarmed and yet she still found the quickest method to cause the most discomfort to those around her. That was skill. After a moment's hesitation there was her voice, soft and uncertain. "Adam?" Though muffled by the sack, there was no confusing what the bag held, the child's voice was easily recognizable. She had always said his name a bit wrong, chosing to accent the second syllable instead of the first. It was a way of showing respect in her native tongue, a habit she had been unwilling to break.

Marc looked to Paul in confusion, had the kid just said something. The two of them had come to the easy conclusion that Naavah was unable to speak. Certainly if she could, she would have done so before now, instead of growling and yelling like an animal. "Did she just?" He pointed to the sack and looked back to Paul, very much confused before looking back to Adam. No, it was impossible, they must have been hearing things. The kid was more animal than human it seemed, and animals did not talk.

[Adam Masou]

Eyes, cold as stone narrowed at the men before him. He could feel their arrogance as if it were a tangible thing. This would be their downfall, he thought to himself. To place oneself before the Source and not be humbled by the creation It had made was to die a quick and foolish death. True warriors did not raise a hand in malice until they had exhausted all other options, and when they did they moved with a grace so singular, for they held the respect and humility needed to gain favor with the Gods during battle. These men were not nearly so poetic. They were crass, loud, more filthy on the inside than Adam was on the skin.

The beastmaster sat up straight, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling, tensing, then relaxing once more with their natural fluidity as he craned his neck to pick up the fresh smells of the thing in the bag and its captors as well. They stank of human recklessness. He snorted, as if disgusted, when the man told him they had caught a demon. "You know nothing of such things." He said in a broken accent. Demons, he knew, were nothing that could fit in bags. They were embodiments of things that humans could not ever begin to comprehend, and certainly, they would never be caught by the likes of these or allow themselves to be confined to burlap sacks. "If it were a demon, it would not have allowed your haughtiness for this long." He said, looking away from them to the hawk perched regally on his shoulder, the bony talons just barely poking through his shoulder's flesh. It was the kindest way he could think to say, 'if it were a demon, you pathetic heaps would already be dead.'

It was when the thing in the bag began to stir, wrestle around and then- called his name- that he looked up again. The dark granite irises set on them, the gray contracting and the pupil constricting to a vertical slat like that of a hungry wild animal. What had they done? Now it was sealed, he knew... he knew his nose would not lie to him. They had captured the she-child... HIS she-child. "Intolerable..." he murmured as he crouched down to the ground like a predator stalking defenseless prey. The hawk sprang to life and screamed its piercing call as it lofted up into the sky's fading light.

A hand thumped hard on the ground, fingers digging into the soft earth. A most unnatural sound rumbled from deep in the man's larynx, like that of an angered tiger, a sound no human's vocal cords could resonate. Pop... pop... pop... came the sound of long retractable claws in his hand being moved by tendons, pushing through muscle, bone grating along bone to force them out from his fingertips. Long, black sickles protruded one at a time from the hand he had so pointedly displayed to them as his upper lip curled in malice, baring a set of elongated eyeteeth. The muscles along his arms and back tensed into tight ridges, quadreceps flexing and ready to strike forwards at any given moment.

Half animal, half man, he could feel the beast in his mind taking control. Anger, bitter resentment at these pathetic whelps, these greedy entrepenuers who so carelessly usurped the pride of the natural world, so brash in their disregard for Her fragility, had dared to lay a hand on the child that had come under his protection. He was a part of the ever turning wheel and believe in things such as fate, but he would not stand idly by disruption of natural events, either. Those who tore off the thin veil protecting Nature's dignity should be punished for the rape they committed. He would see to it that they suffered if she was hurt.

"Let her go."

[Naavah]

Marc watched the hawk take flight with a look of both awe and fright. He had no ability to grasp the seriousness of the situation. For him it was all a show, all a grand adventure that he would be able to brag about to the other young men. The screech of the bird made him wince, an ugly noise, damned loud too. He wondered how anyone could stand to live in such close contact with the raptor if it chose to make such sounds often. Still, the boy could not keep his mouth shut "How can you know so much about demons, huh? This is a little demon, an imp. What do you know about demons unless you are one?" He stood up tall, feeling as though his come back had not only been brave but witty to boot. He had not expected was the roar he received in return. There went all bravery, straight out the window. Marc visually jumped back as he heard Adam growl. "Holy mother of all... he is a demon." Marc turned back to his uncle, expecting some sort of advice on the bad situation they seemed to have walked right into. "He isn't even human Uncle. Let's feed him the brat and get out of here!" There was the tinge of panic in his voice, as if giving him a simple slap would be enough to send the boy wailing off to his mommy. Marc had come to be the conquering hero. He had come to meet the queen. Being attacked and eaten by a man-beast was not something he knew to be part of the bargain.

Thank god that Paul had a little more sense. Perhaps Marc had forgotten but they had been growled and snarled at all day long. Certainly little Naavah had not been as good at it, nor had she grown claws but the kid's uneven fingernails had certainly done some serious damage on his right forearm. No, there was nothing new here at all, and suddenly, everything began to make sense. They were not dealing with some random wild-man, or with a concerned stranger, or even an empathizing animal-man, he was talking to the girl's father. The puzzle pieces fit. Why had he brushed off the idea of the girl having a family so easily? No child would be out surviving in the woods so long. They would have starved or froze to death before a month passed. He had been a moron and had let Marc convince him of it all. Damn the world. He could just imagine what he would do if he found his own little boy had been man handled, snatched up and carted off. It was almost a dizzying comparison. Had it been his boy, he would have killed any person or thing who laid a hand on him. Damn the whole world over, this was more than he had bargained for. He pulled the sack from over his shoulder and laid it gently on the ground. "I didn't realize she was your daughter. I know it looks bad but we never laid a hand on the girl. She was a danger to herself as much to others. Those cuts of hers, she gave herself." He made those points firmly as he worked the knot out of the top of the bag. Perhaps he was trying to keep from losing so much ground on his position here. He didn't want to appear like a complete weakling as he capitulated to Adam's demands. He was speaking truthfully, for what it meant. He was unsure if Adam would believe him, nor if he would have even believed himself.

Naavah clawed herself out from within the bag as soon as the knot was loosened. She looked bewildered and out of place as she stared up at the castle walls. They were enough to cause her to shudder at their sheer size and strength. She did not like being surrounded by that which she could not control or escape from. The last thing she had seen was the seemingly never-ending openness of the forest where she had been caught, and now there was so much stone, so much keeping her in or out. She looked like a mess, her cheeks were red and flushed from being in the bag and she had rubbed bare elbows and chest raw from the coarse texture of the burlap. Her wrist was caked in dry blood and she had picked up several scratches over the day. Her wolf pelt cloak was cock eyed and gave her the look of a stray dog that had gotten into one too many fights.

It didn't look good, while the girl was obviously safe, who knows what she had looked like last time her "father" had seen her. They were going to get killed and if one hair was hurt on his nephew's head, his sister would tear him to pieces as soon as he got home. For the moment, it seemed safer to deal with the beast-man bent on attacking. His voice was flat and hard. He would take no debate on the issue. "Marc, back up slowly. We are leaving." Marc nodded his head and slowly began to back off, holding his hands out in front of him to show that he meant no harm. It was debatable how much harm the awkward young man could have done even if he wanted to. For a moment there was a pause. Paul stood his ground, wanting to make sure that Marc did not say anything else stupid before they were out of Adam's range. The air was pulled tight with the tension between the three men. Perhaps if they acted correctly, they could get out of here unscathed. Then, as though this transfer could not simply go smoothly, Naavah pulled herself to her feet. "NO!" Was the only word she shouted as she rushed after Marc, her gait noticeably uneven as she favored her uninjured leg. With her good hand she grabbed tightly onto his bag and the other arm she hooked tightly into the strap, there she let her dead weight hang, intent on pulling the bag from her shoulder, or if necessary, pulling him to the ground. They may have forgotten of the measly stones and leather that they had relieved her of at the hunting trap, but angst over her "stolen" goods had been eating her up inside almost as much as being captured itself. Marc could leave but hell if anything of hers was going to leave with them.

How was Paul supposed to know that all Naavah wanted was what was hers. All he saw was the girl charging after his nephew. He looked to Marc with exasperation then back to Adam with fear. He had wanted to get out of here without anyone being hurt but he could not simply leave Marc to get pulled down by some rabid little girl. "Hey now! Get off of him!" As far as he could recall, all that was in the sack was their meals and trapping equipment. What had been still and safe a mere moment ago was now active and increasingly dangerous. Neither Marc nor Paul could ever know how little it might take for Adam to slash them to pieces for unknowingly doing him wrong.

[Adam Masou]

From his vantage point high above the group Fuyuki could see where the situation was going to head towards. He did not want to see Adam shed blood again, not here, not in the castle or infront of the courtiers hiding in the background. While Adam waited for Ashina, as long as he was here, he was out of place and in a modicom of danger. The people here, Fuyuki gathered, would rather kill him or ship him off than keep him and feed him. Every now and then, especially since the winter had started to set on Ulster the guards had been leaving shanks of raw meat at the courtyard's edge to stave Adam's hunger and keep him from hunting too many cattle or other bovine. But it wasn't enough for him. They did not understand that his body needed constant exercise, that his stomach and intestines needed raw blood in order to process food. Naavah understood these things. Naavah was as Yuudo as Adam was, in the beast-master's mind.

And in this vein Fuyuki knew that Adam would do anything to protect her. Putting oneself between Adam and Naavah would be like putting oneself between a hungry lioness and her cubs. There was a call again from the hawk's throat as it circled above them both, warning Adam to keep his head on straight and not to do anything rash. Fuyuki, unlike his tiger counterpart, had taken a shine to the girl, and so he started his descent towards her, gripping the belt of her pants with long talons and gently tugged at her to get back from the men who had captured her. He did not want to see the results if Adam was angered again.

Adam watched from his lowered position carefully, keen eyes following Naavah's every move and Paul's every reaction to her. She was without her little sling and her affects. "Give her back her prr.. property." Adam said, trying to sound commanding. Unfortunately his grasp on the common language was failing him more and more each day. He was anything but eloquent and often forgot words or had troubles sounding them out if the sounds were not natural to the Yuudo language. He nodded at the bag and Fuyuki sprang into the air again to make low circles in the sky, protecting Naavah from the men and possibly the men from Adam if the need came for it.

[Naavah]

Naavah felt herself being pulled backwards and landed with a wince back on the ground. Her knee hurt, her wrist hurt and if it weren't for her missing belongings she was about ready to simply curl up and nurse her wounds from the day's excitement. Feeling the kid being pulled off of him, Marc nearly took off running. The castle gates were within sight, if he took off now he could be out of here and away from these people or animals or whatever they were. It was only Paul's strong grip around his arm that kept him there. "The kid's things Marc. Now." There was a strain in his voice. He wanted to leave almost as badly as Marc did. For a moment Paul looked confused trying to remember what he had done with the sling and stones he had taken from the girl to keep her from hurting them. The gears ticked slowly in his head but after a moment he grinned "Oh!" and untied the front pocket of his bag. Unceremoniously he dumped the small collection of belongings on the grass not far from Naavah's feet. "That's it? That's why she tried to gnaw my arm off?" It really didn't look like much, some stones and leather, hand made and primitive. Paul glanced between Naavah and Adam, seeing that the two appeared satisfied he gave Marc a smack upside the head and muttered "Let's go." They might have said they were sorry, or tried to explain the mistake, but it seemed best on all parts if they simply left.

The two men walked home in silence. Both were sore from the day's experience. They had hoped to meet the queen, to bring back a token of their day's adventure but all they had were bruises. Upon returning, Paul let Marc tell the story, watching the kid twist and embroider the events to make them into the heroes they had hoped to become. For once Paul did not yell at his nephew, merely shrugging the whole thing off. As long as the little wolf-girl did not return to tell anyone what had really happened, they were in the clear. Better yet, they were celebrities.

Naavah was on top of her belongings almost as soon as they hit the ground. They were all there, but she picked each one up carefully, making sure it had not been damaged and placing it where it belonged. There were her stone tools, most were indistinguishable from each other, but they had been carved or broken for specific uses, to cut, scrape, bore, carve, and pound. Then there was her sling, worn down to the point of perfecting, the trusty weapon that had served her so well over the years. There was her few little pouches of herbs and plants for medicinal and seasoning purposes. All of these would have been replaceable. She would have been fuming to have lost them, but the damage could have been repaired. It was the gifts that she had received over the years that she had feared she would never see again. Her dagger made of silver and decorated on the hilt with the profile of a wolf had been a gift from the only people she had trusted before Adam. No doubt it had been created with the purpose of werewolf hunting at the time, but Naavah saw the weapon as endowed with the spirit of the wolf, her father's spirit. Then there was her small bag of totems, the stone carving of Muna that her mother had given her and the carving of Luminarii that was made from the bone of the same wolf has her fur cloak. These were irreplaceable, the soul tangible connections she had to her mother and her faith. She kissed each gently before storing them away.

It was not necessary to take so much time on her things, but it was easier to face them than it was to face Adam. He had left the Western Woods without a word to her. She had wondered if he had not told her he was going on purpose or if she had simply slipped his mind. Either way, it was, no doubt, not his idea that she should show up here, where ever here may be, and surprise him. What if he was angry with her? What if he looked at the state that she had come here and was ashamed? He never would have fallen for the trap. The men quaked in their boots when he let out a growl, and for her... they just looked confused. The whole trauma of the day seemed to well up inside her as she began to tremble. Despite all her young bravado, she had been terrified of what they were going to do to her. And she hurt, and she could not deny that any longer. Deep inside her, the tears began to well up but she swallowed them down. She had acted more bravely than most children or even many adults would have in her situation but to cry, that would be nothing but weakness. She didn't want Adam to think of her as a baby. So she sat there, her back to him, worried what he would look like when she worked up the nerve to turn around, worried what he would see when he finally saw her.

[Adam Masou]

Obviously the older of the two males knew what his presence meant. One thing Adam knew about Paul was as a furrier he at least had an innate knowledge of the ways in which animals worked and behaved, especially when protecting something of value to them. By retreating and cutting their losses and trading the little demon for perhaps their lives at the hands of a bigger demon, they made, in Adam's opinion, a wise move. He watched them in stoic silence as they made swift retreat out of the castle grounds and into the night.

Slate gray eyes then shifted to Naavah, watching her without a word as she pounced on top of her things. In truth, he had missed her greatly. She was the closest thing he would ever have to a child of his own, after all, he was of untainted blood and it was forbidden for a Yuudo to reproduce outside of his or her own species, and there were not enough Yuudo left in the world for Adam to be so picky. It was more than allowed in their culture to marry a foreigner, but each and every Maryuudo and Kiryuudp alike understood the importance of keeping the bloodlines pure. When the stakes were survival, it was a burden they were willing to carry for the sake of the greater good.

There was more than a pang of regret in his heart for the thought of how she must have felt when he left her in Ban's care. Surely the great bengal cat had warmed up to her considerably, but it would still have been quite a shocking change, curling up against the belly of the tiger instead of against Adam. Perhaps what mattered was that she was here now, though he did not know if it was coincidence or if she had tracked him, either way, he was very far from angry. Pehraps he ought explain to her why he left without a word, but in truth he had only wished not to trouble her. He had intended to be back before long, however, after Ashina's disappearance things became more complicated. He had been forced to keep an eye on Naavah from a far and through agents like Fuyuki.

He drew up onto his haunches once more, each claw snapping back into its propery place. He was not far from her and cracked his shoulders before ambling on all fours to her position. It would not have been beyond the girl's mind to cringe and await a stiff swat for getting captured, though Adam had never raised a hand to her in anger- not once. When she did something he deemed to be inappropriate or wrong the worst that ever happened was a very disappointed and stony gaze from him, which really he supposed could in some ways sting more than a slap across the face.

However it was no cold glare, no grunt of displeasure, and no swat that she received. Instead he leaned his obdy into her, nearly knocking her over and nuzzled the top of her head. Deep in his belly and throat there was a rumble, but it was not the same kind of menacing growl he voiced when angry or cornered. It was a deep and contented purr. Drapping an arm over her he pressed his nose to her temple, a sign of animalistic affection, as he quickly eyed her over for any signs of injury like a concerned mother bear over a cub. She was not in good shape, but there was still no signs of anger from him, not even at the men who had battered her. Instead he simply cuddled her and rubbed his stubbled cheek against the top of her head, the quiet deep vibrations of his purring a concerted effort to calm her down.

[Naavah]

She winced slightly as he knocked up against her. After all, she was sore enough as it was. She had half-expected her to hit her. It would not matter how long she knew Adam, how gentle he was with her, she would always half-expect such a response. In the unhappy years of her young childhood, when she had lived first with her stepfather, before and continuing after her mother’s death, he had always resorted to violence in an attempt to tame the spirit of his unruly, unwanted stepdaughter. It had been he, who in a drunken rage, had pushed her so hard that she fell and hurt her knee, causing the injury that had been aggravated once more by falling from the tree. Still, under Adams soft touch she let out a small sigh, as though all the stress within her was slowly beginning to dissipate. She leaned back against him, nuzzling up close in their silent reunion.

Still, no matter their deep similarities, Naavah was a human child. Nuzzling was not enough. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly to her. Pressed up against him, she finally felt the dread melt away, the small tremors of fear slowly subsided as she held him close. Despite their time together, Naavah had remained shy around Adam, wishing to appear strong and self reliant. While they had shown their affection from time to time in the smallest of manners, this was one of the rare moments when it became so very obvious how much she cared for him. Ban and Fuyuki were not enough. Neither of them could communicate with the girl and she was often lonely, even in their presence.

Had anyone been watching, they might not have been able to comprehend the sudden change in Adam, or the silence between the two. The two had been separated for months yet in this moment, ‘I missed you’ or ‘are you ok’ or anything else would add nothing to the moment. Perhaps that was how the two of them got along. Neither placed too high of a value on the spoken word when anything else was available. This silence, this moment, was perfection.