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Tell Me A Story
Prince Harlin, resplendent in his embroidered silk jacket, wraps his strong arms around me, tucks my head beneath his chin and farts.
My eyelids flutter open to the release of a soft sigh. That would be me, not the fart. I immediately splutter and spit out a mouthful of grubby grey fur with a graceful bleurgh. Apparently, there’s been some serious movement in the night, as I’m now facing the wet snout of a wolf, arms wrapped around his bulk, one leg wresting on top of his thigh muscle, thankfully not the injured one. His paws are equally entangled with my body and the blankets.
Yellow eyes struggle to focus, meet mine and widen to comic hugeness. His snout whips up, showering my face with snot, as he staggers to his paws. Jaws open wide, a rancid wind whistles in my face and a chilling howl echoes around the cave, making my ears ring and my heartrate rise through the roof.
“You gggoing to eat me?” I stutter, like an idiot. My brain might be pleasantly warm, but it’s struggling to process.
He grumbles and groans and the fur shoots back inside his flesh, absorbed into the returning human. There he stands, large as life and twice as naked, staring at me. He takes a step towards me, his gait swaying with the limp and his... Nope, not going there again.
“Eating another person is cannibalism,” he states, staring down his nose. “No changer would ever eat another changer. Not even if I was starving.”
“I’m not...”
“You’re not a changer, I know, but I’m not going to eat you, alright? You’d likely be gristly and fatty anyway.”
“I’ll have you know...” I can’t believe I was about to argue that I’d be tasty. “Fine. Wonderful,” I continue, slapping a palm over my eyes. “Can you please cover your bits.”
Peeping between my fingers, I spot his eyebrows crushing together, but he makes no move to find any clothes.
“Do you have a problem with all bodies, or just mine?” he asks, a tinge of insult colouring his tone.
“No.” Hell, yes. “It’s just my people don’t tend to wander around naked with strangers. Well, maybe in nudist... We just don’t, alright?”
Musclebound arms cross again and his biceps ripple. “So, you don’t wear enough layers when it’s cold and you’d rather sit in damp clothes than be warm?”
That analysis does make me sound like an idiot. Instead of conceding, as a mature woman of older years might, I take umbrage and unleash my inner teenager.
“That’s good coming from scruffy wolves that fought a war with smelly bears.” A lightbulb pings on in my mind. “Oh, are the bears shapeshifters too?”
“Shape what?”
“Shifters. It’s what we call changers where I come from.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have any?” His eyes narrow with suspicion.
“We don’t, but we do in stories.”
“You tell stories about us? Why?”
“Not you, specifically. We just tell stories for fun.” I can sense this is getting out of hand. Thank the Lord, he’s putting his long underpants on.
“Stories for children?” he asks, grasping his hip as a wave of pain shoots through his leg.
“Not just for kids,” I reply, a little insulted, to tell the truth. “Fantasy tales are for all ages.”
He moves on to the first layer of jumpers, mumbling, “Don’t you people work?”
Don’t you start, I think, hearing the echoing dulcet sniping of Krystal and Precious.
“At least we don’t kill each other on sight.” That’s a flat out lie, of course, but he’s not to know.
“You’re lying,” he announces. I must look offended because he continues, “And don’t give me that look. You’re human, changer or no, and people always hurt each other.”
“That’s bitter,” remarks the Queen of Cynics.
“Besides, we don’t kill each other on sight.” A boot goes on the left foot easily enough, but he swallows a whimper as he rests his weight solely on his left leg and steps into the right boot. “We barely see each other at all. Well, til today.”
“Does it hurt when you change?” I ask, raising my voice above a sudden shrieking gust of wind. That storm’s still going strong.
“Changing doesn’t hurt. Mostly just get a tingle.” Curt scrunches up his nose and snuffles. “But my hip and leg bones crack and shift every time I change.” He limps towards the cart. “I’ll get the fire going again. Storm’s not ending anytime soon.” He throws over his shoulder, “And I’ll thaw out a squirrel.”
Oh. Goody.
* * *
Actually, Sammy didn’t taste that bad and my clothes are finally drying out. I smell a bit juicy, but not as bad as Wally the Wolf over there. Really need to floss my teeth. Those furry rodent thingamy types get stuck in the gaps. At least I’m post menopause and don’t have to worry about sitting on a pile of frozen leaves in place of hygiene. Although a hot flush would solve the heating problem.
“Where do you come from?”
His question flies out of left field, making me jump.
“Er, Clapham.”
“Clap Ham?”
“Sort of.”
“Where’s that?”
“A very long way from here. I think. Where exactly is here?”
Another snotty snort. “You don’t know? Wandering around up a mountain and you don’t know where you are?”
“I’ll get to that. Maybe.” No way he’ll believe me. “What country are we in? You’re speaking English, so America maybe?”
“I’m speaking Turenian. As are you,” he states, a confused expression clamped on his face. “I’ve never heard it called Engleesh.”
“And your country?”
“Turea, of course.”
Never heard of it. I didn’t want to believe it, but that book seems to have brought me to another world.
“And you’re hearing me talking your native language?”
He stares at me for a long moment. “I’m not going to like this, am I? Alright, let me have it. Who are you and where do you come from?”
“Another world,” I rasp, throat dry.
He holds out a cup of water which I gratefully down in one gulp, as though it’s gin.
“Haven’t been further than the Coleeyne Range, so you’re from beyond the mountains?”
“No,” I wheeze, “I mean another world, planet, parallel kingdom. How the hell do I know?”
His theatrical eyeroll winds me up further.
“Riiiight,” he whines, drawing out the vowel until I consider poking him up the nose with a squirrel bone. “So, how did you get here, then? Answer that one.”
He reminds me of a teenager forced into his parents’ team in a pub quiz, although it’s a logical question. I’m a writer of fantasy books in my spare time (albeit not very successful ones), but I’m blowed if I can conjure up a decent cover story at short notice.
“You won’t believe me if I tell you,” is my answer. I might just as well challenge him to a duel.
“Tell me anyway,” comes his predictable response.
“I was given a weird book that told me to tell a story over a spot on a map. I did and I was brought here in a flash.”
“Uh huh.” He pokes the fire again. “What was the story?”
“It began, ‘Once upon a time there was a land, riven by snow and conflict...’ and pooft I was here.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Not for me,” I grumble.
“Where’s the book?”
“Still at home, I assume. It didn’t come with me.”
“Convenient.”
“Stop saying that. I’m not lying, or mad. Believe me, if I could figure out how to get back, I’d have gone already.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Can I stop you?”
“Why would you do what some weird book tells you to do?”
Good point. A massive sigh shakes my shoulders.
“Wanted to get away, I suppose.” Urgh, that makes me sound pathetic.
His stony expression softens just a little. It’s those soulful eyes. “Was your life so bad?”
I look away as my mind trawls through the catalogue of miserable years. It always makes me slump in on myself, as though life’s being sucked out of my spirit. He waits a long time for my answer. Interesting. Every other man I’ve known would be giving me a lecture by now.
“I had shelter, food, clothes,” I admit. “Most people wouldn’t say it was that bad.”
“What do you say?”
I shuffle, moving a leg that’s gone to sleep beneath me.
“Disappointing. I was so hopeful when I was young. It was all going to be so... different. I was going to be an actor and write wonderful stories. Suddenly all the years have gone and I’ve ended up with nothing I thought was a given. Lately, I don’t recognise myself at all. Sorry. Don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” I stare at the fire to avoid looking at him. I don’t care to see judgement or pity.
“When you don’t have anyone to tell things to, it all festers in your head,” he says.
I’m stunned by that and glance up sharply. He gives me a wry smile.
“Didn’t think a scruffy old wolf could understand, eh?”
“Yes. I mean no. I’m not sure what I mean.” He’s got me flustered, blasted wolf.
“Not that I believe in magic books,” he adds, just in case I think he’s a soft touch. “But what do you want that you didn’t get?”
“Destiny.” No, don’t say that. Every time you say that people laugh, or change the subject to reality TV programmes, or look at you like you’re a nutter.
“Oh, destiny, that’s a slippery thing,” Curt says, leaning back on his elbow. There’s a look on his face that reminds me of... sorrow.
“Didn’t start out as a wolf hermit then?” I venture.
He laughs, quietly. “No, indeed.”
In the ensuing silence, we both stare at the flames, watching our dreams turn to ash.
* * *
Night rolls around again and the storm is still raging. Despite sitting in a cave all day, I’m fighting not to close my eyes. I must have zoned out for a moment as my head drooping forward makes me jump.
Curt coughs. “If I change again, you won’t start screaming? It hurts my ears.”
“You already said that. No. Promise. No screaming.”
He limps over to the blankets and I turn my head while he disrobes. “You said you write stories,” he says. “What sort?”
“Fantasy. I’d just started one about cat people.” The irony makes me laugh. “Do cats here...?
“No,” he interrupts. “We did have cat changers, once, but not anymore.
“What happened to them?”
He shrugs. “They disappeared overnight. No-one knows where. Long before my time.”
“Do any other animals change?” I ask, hugging my knees to my chest.
“None,” he replies over the rustle of trousers at half mast. “Though there’s rumour of blood sucking bats in the far north, but I think it’s a story to scare children.”
“Did it scare you?”
“Yes,” he laughs.
Clutching my knees just makes my back ache, so I stretch out. “Why do only wolves and bears change?”
“And snakes,” he growls. “Don’t know that either. Anyway, I’ll change now and you can get warm. If you want. Like before.” He clears his throat and scratches his hip.
It all goes quiet, so I glance behind me. He’s just standing there, naked. I don’t know if I’m getting used to it, but I don’t snap back around.
“Tell me the cat story,” he suggests. “I haven’t heard a story in a long time. I can still understand you as a wolf.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“Alright,” I agree. “Though I might not get very far.”
When the wolf appears, I hear the crack of his damaged hip and smother my own groan, waiting for his gentle whining to subside. Since I’ve not broken out in bites or itching since last night, I risk cuddling up to his back again, letting the warmth take my body while my mind fills with images of another far away world. The howling wind leads neatly into my prologue.
“Lusan, Jirus and Lorelei grew up together, each raised by very different parents, but always drawing on their trio for strength and support. But too many secrets lurk in the past and are about to tear them apart.”
A low growl rumbles through Curt’s body as he relaxes against me and nibbles at a paw.
