"Fianna, Wolves in Ireland, Part Twelve" by Anne M. Leath

Heaven’s ebon vault
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon’s unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world.

--Queen Mab. iv., Percy Bysshe Shelley

“I am scared to sleep sometimes.”  This she had spoken to Angus, clutching his arm as they walked to the baths.  They had come, separately, from the Ordeal.  Fiona still had the taste of blood in her mouth. She felt weak, dizzy, and was not sure what prompted this comment as she caught up with the other feine.  Her lameness was slightly pronounced in her exhaustion and she took his offered arm as a kindness. 

She looked into his face for some reassurance, that this was the right thing to do, even though she knew that it was.  He merely looked into her eyes and squeezed her elbow, “You need rest.” 

She nodded and closed her eyes. 

The rest she remembered vaguely—the bath, scented oil and incense.  Chants?  The ceremony itself was a blur, and if pressed, she could not say confidently that she remembered any of it. 

Was it autumn? She felt sure that it was cold now, and black, the blackest part of night.

Fiona sighed into the velvet darkness, watching her breath catch the icy air and drift off ever so slowly.  She blinked at the tiniest twinkles of stars above, trying to count them, make them coalesce into a familiar shape.  She knew from the cold shapes littering the forest floor and pressed into her back that she must be elven at the moment, not that it surprised her, When am I supposed to shift again? When is the full moon? She let her gaze flit from star to star until it rested on her silver sister…only half full. 

She heard a small bubbling laugh escape her throat, which did surprise her.  What’s so funny about half a moon?  “Half a moon…have no wolf.  Whole moon, whole wolf.” She shook her head, must be delirious. 

A quiet noise near her feet, a rising, leaves rustling, stirring noise brought her back around.  Fiona let her head nod to the side as she opened one eye first and then the other, focusing on the dark headed shape crouched there.  Sitting with one leg drawn up, leaning to the side and staring with the most curious yellow gold eyes was a man.  Or wolf?  Fiona shut her eyes again and inhaled.  Mountain air.  Snow. Ever the slightest hint of smoke from a natural fire.  Leather?  She knew this scent, it was familiar to her, it comforted her.  “I have been waiting for you for a long time.” She heard herself say quietly.

He’s unsure.  She hoped that she had not said this out loud as well as she pushed herself up with her hands.  She saw his eyes flicker in the darkness, look to her face, then lower, finally at her scars.  He said nothing.  She wished, for a moment, that it had been her lupine form that she had awakened in.  Her head was only starting to clear and she realized with a start that her words earlier must have seemed silly to the feoil now sitting across from her.  Why should they seem silly to HIM?  She blinked again.  Nope, still there.  She leaned in a bit and reached out, half expecting to feel fur under her fingertips instead of warm skin.  He has to be one, he feels like one.  She narrowed her eyes in the metaplane, viewing his elven self and his aspect.  He was a Were. But he had not shifted…in quite a long time.  Could not shift? 

She was pondering this in her half-muddled state of mind when he drew his arm back from her touch and leaned back on his arms, resuming his own narrowed gaze.  “What did you mean by ‘have no wolf’?” He asked plainly, the set of his jaw seeming all the more sharp in the scant light of the moon.

She left off wondering about his ability to shift or not and realized that he was offended by her remark, thinking it referred to him.  “Oh…I..I am easily amused by word play, I was just thinking about the moon phase and..” She swallowed thinking about how awkward this all was for their first interaction.  Great job Fee, way to make your feoil feel comfortable.  “Look. There is probably something you should know right off.”  She shivered slightly as a gust of wind caught against her bare skin.  She bit her lip while she tried to formulate the sentence that would tell him, prepare him for their partnership, their future as feine and feoil, with no secrets. 

Niall stared at the shivering, naked feine and was confused.  She behaved strangely, first laughing at the moon and babbling about wolves, a subject that he was prickly about to begin with.  But now staring me down and playing that other comment off as if she didn’t know.

He tried not to glower at her.  He was not so sure about this now.  He knew that whatever feine he was paired with would be able to tell that he was a Were.  He also knew they would be able to tell he couldn’t shift any longer, that he was not magically active, hence his relegation to the part of feoil.  He hadn’t expected they’d put him with someone this flippant in her expression.  Maybe I am jumping to conclusions.  He forced himself to slow his breathing and wait on her reply.  He was most uncomfortable about the fact that despite his conscious inclination to dislike her, he did not.  He did not deny that he appreciated her curves, though he also noted her tone, confident even in her muddled explanation.  Her eyes were quiet grey, full of knowledge; her laugh was familiar and easy.  And most of all, her face spoke to him from so many dreams before. 

He could tell she struggled now with something in her mind.  He felt what seemed to be a rush of fear and anxiety from her.   

He looked her over again.  Goose bumps had appeared on the skin of her shoulders and upper arms, strands of white hair whipped around her neck and framed her face.  She was completely unaware of her circumstances.  There were no pretenses, no offenses, she had not meant anything by her comment other than a quirky self-talk.  He was keenly aware that she thought he would react badly to whatever she was about to say.

He stood in a fluid motion and reached down, offering his hand to the feine, still sitting awkwardly in the cold wind.  She extended her arm simultaneously, almost without thought it seemed and took his hand.  As he pulled her to a standing position, he brought his other hand down naturally to the small of her back, feeling a pucker of scar tissue there underneath his fingertips.  It will take her half a step to steady, he thought as he braced for the slight wobble which came.  He saw her stiffen and straighten her back in stubborn defiance of the weakness then relax slightly as she seemed to realize it was alright.  It is ok to show that here.   I will not exploit it. 

She looked up into his face and opened her mouth, finally ready to come forth with whatever it was that she had built up to, “I feel you should know now that I—“

“You wear the skin of a wolf as well.”  He heard himself say.

She nodded and continued in a soft tone, almost to herself, “But not as you do—“ It was her use of the present tense in this that pricked his ear further, “I cannot control it, it happens once a moon cycle…I can still see on the metaplane and have some abilities in that regard, but I am unable to shift back until the height of the moon passes.  I do not know if it has always been this way or..” her voice trailed off. 

He felt a tug inside his stomach as she seemed perplexed, trying to think about the past.  It seemed to him she reached for something that was not there. 

Niall felt her fingertips gently trace across the base of his throat and he stifled the urge to grab her wrist away.  His heartbeat slowed gradually and his back relaxed as she examined his skin. He felt a warmth circling his throat.  “You have a crescent moon there.”  He looked down, realizing this made him slightly cross-eyed, he turned slightly to the side and angled his chin to look for himself.  She withdrew her hand just as suddenly and seemed to be slightly embarrassed at the gesture.  “Sorry, I—remembered they said we’d have them.”  He saw her raise her hand to her face, to the outer edge of each eyelid where her own tattoos were placed.  The feine always had their tattoos on their face, the feoil’s could be elsewhere, as he was discovering.

He turned around and quickly scanned his arms and legs, unable to see the spiral which should also have appeared. 

“It’s at the base of your spine.” She pointed. Thankfully not touching this time. 

He covered the area with the open palm of his hand, unable to visualize it, he stood with arm bent, in this position and nodded, uncomfortable for the moment. 

She tried not to smile.  She knew it had made him uncomfortable, touching his throat, which was not proffered  to her first.  Still, there it was.  The tattoo.  She was smiling more at this new awkward dance like contortion he went through to find the other one, ending with merely a false-confident nod.  He’s a tough one.  And a handsome one at that.  She tucked one leg behind the other and turned herself around to walk off through the woods. 

Twigs snapping underfoot told her that he was following, though she could sense it too, a reading of physical distance almost, as they walked.  She hardly noticed the tightness at the base of her spine as she usually did, and the scar did not tug as deeply for once.  It was a welcome respite, she smiled as she took each unhindered step through the leaves.

“Fiona.” She heard his voice clear and calm. 

“Yes?” She turned and raised her eyes to meet his.   

“It’s a long walk back.  We should find someplace to rest for the night.”  He looked around momentarily and moved forward wrapping his arm around her shoulder and rubbing his hand quickly up and down her arm. 

Niall felt her fit to his side perfectly, the skin of her hip against his thigh as they walked.  He ducked his head underneath an oak branch and held it up as she passed as well.  They walked this way, silently, for some time.  He wondered that her own steps were as quiet as his, she did not tromp through the underbrush like so many did. 

Coming to a small stand of trees which made a cul de sac with a slate rock formation he pointed ahead and lead her up to the spot.  “This larger rock should do fine to keep the wind off.”  He frowned at the words even as he spoke them.  That was obvious, she knows a good place to sleep as well as I, fool. 

For her part, he saw that she merely nodded and began to push the loose pile of dry leaves around with her feet, then knelt and shoved them back further against the rock wall.  He half-smiled as she turned one way and then the other before lying down on her side and awkwardly drawing her knees up to her chest.  Niall crouched and pushed the leaf-pile around a little more before curling up around his feine and drawing his leg and arm over her.  He felt her shift slightly and nervously laugh as she said, “Know any good stories?”

He relaxed and rather enjoyed the feel of her warm flesh against his, “Why? Don’t like to sleep?” He hadn’t meant anything by it, well, not quite.  But he certainly hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, and strangely, it wasn’t because she had been uncomfortable with his implied meaning that she shook her head.  He realized as a fear drifted into his awareness that she did not want to sleep because she feared forgetting.  She fears losing something. 

Niall found himself taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze, “It’s alright. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

She nodded and closed her eyes.  It occurred to him as he felt her settle back against his chest that this was how it was to be.  And for once in his life, he did not feel the need to go to ground, to fight, or to stalk off alone.  He felt he needed to be right there, and he was strangely comforted by that thought as he dozed off in the night.