In the middle of the night...
Freya gasped, now awake.
She rushed to open her room window, looking out into the snow filled night.
The maiden leaned out of the window, looking from left to right. Her mind settled a bit, as the sense of urgency she felt as she jumped from her bed had petered down to a niggling worry.
Why had she woken up this way?
She felt as if someone had called her name, wrenching her from her beautiful dream on this cold December night. It sounded so real and loud, and it had to have been to summon her consciousness.
Freya bit her lips, eyes wide and brows furrowed, gazing out the window and watching the snow fall.
The vision of drifting snow calmed what was left of her nerves, and she stilled. The night was silent, so still.
A howl made a gasp leave her lips, heart beating faster once more. Wolves. Here?
She shut the window abruptly, hands shaking from the cold and fear, then turning to her bedside and groping for a matchstick. She lit a candle, and took her woollen robe. After she put it on and fastened the ties and buttons, she took up the candle, slowly stepping out of her room, moving through the narrow hallway with the creaking working floors.
Her parents were not around, for they had travelled for deliveries and would not be back for a few days. Thus, she was alone in the empty house, and a fear had set in.
Freya moved to check all the windows and doors, crossing from room to room, ensuring the latches stayed in place. She then proceeded to light up the candles in the living room, as well as the fireplace. When she did so, she settled on her father's armchair, tucking her legs in and placing her favourite woollen blanket over herself.
Soon, the living room was filled with warmth, and she heaved a large sigh of relief. The wolf howled again, driving her heart rate back up. Freya places a hand to her chest, looking towards the direction of the front door. That wolf howl sounded closer than before, or was it all in her mind?
She shook her head, trying to dispel her thoughts, and muttered in her soft voice 'Of course not. Let your fears not get the better of you, Freya. The wolf must be up north, far away from here.'
The raven haired maiden continued to watch the fireplace, seeing the kindling bring up red sparks that danced in the air before disappearing the next moment. She sighed deeply, placing a hand over her mouth to cover up her yawn.
Soon she shut her eyes, unwittingly falling asleep on the armchair to the crackling sounds of the fireplace and the falling snow.
The morning came far too soon for her, and she was cold.
Soon the young woman was up, shaking herself awake and placing the woollen blanket aside. Then down she traipsed to her room, humming a jaunty tune she heard from Leofric, her love.
She thought of him now, as she partook in her morning ablutions, for he was never far from her mind.
She could not help but smile; though he was the Duke of Hertfordshire's son, he did not act all high and mighty. On the contrary, he was gentle, especially to all creatures. He took her to the forest a lot of times, and she would watch him with a smile tugging at her lips, as he talked about the trees and the little animals and insects he came across. He would show her his sketches of them too, and was he skilled at it! She wondered absently as she brushed her hair if he hadn't ever thought to draw her.
She pictured him with a lovesick sigh, laughing to herself as she scolded herself for being a lovesick fool. Oh, but they were both fools for each other. She wanted him to meet her parents and ask for her hand. When she saw him next, she would tell him, her Leofric, that she wanted to be with him forever.
Soon she was dressed in a modest navy blue woollen gown, a shawl over her shoulders and sensible boots on. Her hair was up in a simple bun, bonnet and mittens on as she would be going to the morning market.
She began to open up all the windows, breathing in the chill of the winter morning. Snow was melting off the ground already, and the sun was already shining brightly.
Freya opened the door, about to step out, when she saw something in the snow that made her drop her bag and hit her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Two hours later...
Leofric felt the warmth of a cocoon around him. He was laying somewhere soft, he thought, and felt his limbs heavy and unwilling to move.
An inviting scent was around him, and he picked up layers of cinnamon and spices. And a perfume he found so familiar and inviting.
He sighed, feeling safer than he had in a long time.
All too soon, memories came rushing back, of what he had felt the previous night, of the attack and the monster, and his turning.
Leofric opened his eyes in shock, to come face to face with a wooden ceiling. He tried to calm himself to no avail, raising his hands to his face, to feel his skin. Human, he thought, relieved. He was human.
But what happened last night was real, he knew.
He had heard stories of them, but who could ever think they were real?
Monsters who wore human form during the day and at night, under the light of the full moon, would become something else. Leofric believed now more than ever. For how could he not? He felt his bones twist and reshape themselves last night. He saw the moon call him to turn.
He remembered moments of himself running on all fours, howling, all sense of being but the wolf in him removed. He was not human anymore.
Of that he was certain.
He was also certain, now, that he needed to leave this place, wherever he was. He needed to protect the town, and stay away from humans. If possible, find a way to die.
He thought of the warm inviting scents around him, and unbidden, thoughts of Freya filled his mind. What would she think of him now? He felt a grief deeper than that caused by his mother's death.
Freya would think he had abandoned her. He could not be with her anymore.
All the dreams he had of marrying her were gone, disintegrated into dust.
He ripped the warm blanket and sheets from his body with a strength he didn't know he had in him.
As he sat up, he heard the door open and swivelled his head towards it. The inviting scent intensified and he could not help sniffing deeply, a low growl in his throat.