Fera Bestia

[Sale Bête]

 

[The Wolf and the Builder's Son]

[x]

 

Once upon a time there was an isle. And on that isle there was a Grave. And beside that Grave, there was a Gate. And beside that Gate, there was a Tower.

 
And in that Tower lived the Son of the Builder.
 
One day a Wolf came to this isle. A wild beast, a monster which hunted the woods and ate the hearts of good men.
 
The Son of the Builder found the Wolf upon the isle. He did not strike, but he spoke unto her:
 
"O' Wolf. Why have you come to this isle? Your kind are not welcome, those that serve the King of Beasts."
 

And 'lo, because the Son of the Builder spoke softly and moved slowly the beast did not bite. Instead she spoke in kind unto the Son of the Builder:
 
"I came to see the Gate of Death. I came to see the Grave of the Hare.
 
I have spoken with your Mother, that Highest of Masons, that Greatest of Builders.
 
I asked her how she could love My Sire. The Great Wolf of the Empty Heart - He who brings glory to the King of Beasts, who seeks ruin and despair of men."
 

The Son of the Builder stayed his hand. He asked again unto her:
 
"Can a Wolf feel love?"
 

Then the Wolf spoke:
 
"My Sire cannot, that greatest of Beasts who gave me many gifts, to whom I owe my life.

But I do."
 

But Wolves are careful, wary creatures. They are not so quick to trust, if they ever do at all. How could she tell the Son of the Builder of all that she had cared for once and still?
 
Of the once Lamb, so soft and sweet.
How he had shared laughter and the taste of cinnamon and the single seed of Oak.
How he had been slain by hunters, his blood staining snow, his last bleating breath carrying her name.
Of the once Golden Knight, determined and hopeful.
How he kept her words as a balm against the cold.
How kind he had been before he left to never return, how he had never learned that she'd devoured greedily the heart of his brother.
Of the once Tender Hare, so meek and mild.
How she had been so soft to the wolf, her words so sweet and rich with honey.
How she had led the Wolf on such a chase, driving her to cruel thorns before being taken by the hunter's snare.
And of that Prince of the Sun, who held her heart in his hands.
How she had gone mad in the hunt for him when he was lost. How she brought to him jewels and riches, her love for him so vast. How he brought her flowers and tender words and in the night embraced her.
And how he returned each day to the hunters that paid great coin for the hides of Wolves.
And how he would not speak that most sacred name.
The Son of the Builder spoke a query, now thrice, unto the Wolf:
 
"Could you not live with the world as it is? To join in its harmonies and to learn its dance? 

Leave behind your hide and claws and go to it."
 

Then the Wolf beheld her teeth and her claws and her hide, all the things that made her whole and safe and strong; these were the things that the Wolf had known for so long, that which was part of her. Then the Wolf beheld all that she had loved and did love that was left to her.

The Wolf wept.

[Sale Bête]

 

[The Wolf and the Cat]

[x]

 

Once upon a time, in the age before the King of Beast's death when his shadow still haunted the land, there was a marsh. And in that marsh, there was a graveyard.

And in this graveyard lie a tombstone. But beneath this tombstone lie no body or ash or flesh or bone. The grave of a Silver Prince lie empty.

A Wolf came to haunt his grave, a Beast of the long diluted line. How she howled to the empty hole in the ground! The skies rang with her grief and drove away the birds and small things all around. All save for a Cat. The Cat slunk forth to the grieving Wolf, and spoke unto her:

"You grieve here, for the Silver Prince. He who slew your Father, the Wolf of the Empty Heart, and in turn was slain by him."


At this the Wolf howled only louder, consumed by loss. This did not deter the Cat.

"This dearest Silver Prince, General of Men, has left you. You are a thing undone.

But in time, I can see him returned."


At these words, the grief subsided. Still, the Cat spoke.

"He can be given a Gift of new life, to know joy and peace and comfort as he had not before."


The Wolf set aside her tears long enough to ask in kind, for she knew the ways of the world. The shrewd Beast knew that all things came with a cost.

"To see the Silver Prince given this greatest Gift. Tell me the price I must pay, and it will be done."


The Cat, in her own time, replied there perched upon the Prince's empty grave.

"Time is the cost of your Prince's Gift. For you must wait until I can see him returned. There is naught for you to do besides. But know that if my home among the largest trees, or my home among the golden grasses is destroyed? I cannot see this done."


And with the Cat's Silver Tongued Promise, the Wolf left her prized den among the other Beasts. With her children to safeguard, she waited in the lands of Men. Time went on.

She tried to learn their harmonies and their dances. She hid her hide beneath their trappings, her claws beneath their gloves. She spoke soft words, so that they might not see her teeth.

Years passed.

She endured the traps of hunters, lain in the Houses of their Gods, and the strokes of blades as they watched from their thresholds. She watched from afar as they celebrated in green, resplendent groves that did not brook the likes of Wolves.

Still more years passed.

She watched their Lands forget the names of their Heroes and Servants and Generals and even their Princes. Her sons grew, and left their den to find in the world their opportunity.

And The Wolf Waited.

[Sale Bête]

  

[The Wolf and the Warden]

[x] 

Once upon a time, in the age after the fall of the King of Beasts, there was a forest. In that forest was a Den. And in that Den waited a Wolf. 
Black was her hide, marked by the hands of others in blood and white ash and coal, and dark and bitter was her Bleeding Heart.

She waited there for a Promise. At times, as she waited, she would leave to walk among the Realms of Men with a young woman’s face - concealing her hide, her claws, and her teeth beneath glamour, under a face that had once been hers but was no longer. The Wolf walked among the edges of their streets, skulked at the edges of their squares.

It came that one day a Great Commander of Men held celebration in the City of the Golden Grasses. All across the Realms of Men they came to gather at the City’s keep; fey, noble faces from the Griever’s Glade; the Fiery General’s soldiers from the eastern, snowy peaks; fair shepherds from Winged Mother’s Plain; even the Scholars of the Shaded Grove were in attendance.

As was the Wolf. 

Her claws beneath gloves, her hide beneath polished armor, and her teeth behind that young woman’s face she wore. She came to give honor to that Great Commander of Men, but spied among the ranks of the celebration prey to suit her amusement - for along the wall stood a Warden. A Warden of the Ways Between, so well appointed and among the Nobility of Men.

And so the Wolf took to her sport, to approach this Warden, extend her hand, and offer him a dance. To cunningly play the part of one of their kind. He accepted, and the two wove among the other dancers. As their swaying ceased the Warden moved to kiss her hand, as Nobles of Men often do. Thus did the Wolf’s guise slip; she bore her teeth at him in threat, in wild warning.

The Warden was moved to apology. There was no fear, nor indignation to see the flash of fangs. Thus did the Wolf part in confusion, her sport so spoiled.

---

The Wolf returned to her Den, but this was not the last she saw of the Warden. The Hunter became Hunted as he sought her among the wilds. He did not seek her in her lonely Den to bring ruin. Unto her he brought offerings. Gifts of flesh from bested beasts, wreaths of the brightest flowers in rich reds and golds. For many days he returned, leaving these offerings, and one day he stood at the opening to her Burrow to speak:


“O’ Great Wolf! I know you do not care for the Realms of Men, but I would join your Hunt! Would you allow me this Honor?”


Yet there was only an echo. 
The Wolf made no reply. 


The Warden, not dissuaded by silence, continued to return. With offerings, with gifts. To speak, and to give companionship.


As she withdrew further from the Realms of Men, he returned.

As ill hands fettered her, and as those hands then grew slack in death, he returned.

As she succumbed to fits of bile and wroth bitterness, still he returned.


Then it came to pass that the Warden had to make his leave. A dangerous journey to the Realms Beyond, but he swore that he would return as he had in times before. To her he said:

“Though I must go now, I will return. When I do I will help to see your last fetters broken.”


How often that she had been asked to wait!

How often she had been promised returns and reunions!

 

How often she had been promised her Freedom! 

But so the Wolf did wait.


Time did pass, and the seasons changed, but no sooner did the Warden hold true to his word. He returned, as he promised, and stood once more at the entrance to her Den. Battered and injured so grievously he knelt there into a pool of his own blood, and it was there he called out:


“O’, Great Wolf of the Bleeding Heart! I have returned. I have returned, and we will see the last of your fetters broken as I so swore.”


From the Den she did emerge to stand before the Warden, a predator before kneeling prey. Her jaws open, the horrid flash of teeth, the fetid breath of prey’s end!

She did not bite. She did not devour.

Instead, the Wolf lowered her head before him and opened her jaws to speak her reply:


“Warden of the Realm Beyond, you who have kept your Oath. You who have Returned, time and time again. You who have not sought to fetter me, nor to cast me in your Shadow."

"I would be honored for you to join my Hunt, and that I would join yours.”


The Wolf did not forget the Oaths made to her.

The Wolf did not forget the hands that had sought to fetter her.

The Wolf did not forget that all that which come to pass as she waited.

But she left the darkness of the Den. 

The Warden departed.

And The Wolf Went Beside Him.

[Sale Bête]

 

[The Wolf and Her Fetters]

[x] 

Once upon a time, in the age after the fall of the King of Beasts, there was a forest. And in that forest, was a Den. And just outside of that Den, having stepped from its shadows, was a Wolf.

From that Den the Wolf paced alongside the Warden, but her stride was so slow. To rest in that Den so long had made her stiff, and weary, and wary of so many. When she emerged, the heft of so many fetters hung about her shoulders.

Though these things were heavy, and though the light stung her eyes, she kept faithfully her stride at his flank:

To flash her teeth at those that might threaten him.

To offer him the Wisdom of Beasts and all that she knew. Dark magics he bid her to ply, though the world looked on them with scorn.

She wove forgotten things into his garments, and made them to look like the skins of her people.

She took his blade and gave it her Blessings, etching it with that language which Wolves so covet.

She made for him gifts in silver and steel, tokens of her adoration.

She offered unto him her strength. She offered unto him her Black and Bleeding Heart - a thing which few had witnessed and even fewer had ever held.

And for a time, it was good.

In that time after they had joined their Hunts together, the Warden spoke many Oaths. He promised to her all that she craved.

The Wolf did naught but believe him. She believed the Oaths so dearly, and those words became a silken fetter around her neck.

Yet what was one more binding if it was so soft and beautiful, and if it tied her to the Warden? 

What was another binding if all the others would be gone? For he had promised to aid in her Freedom, and surely it would come soon.

Then it came to pass that the Warden left. 

Without word. 

Without warning.


With the weight about her neck, she searched and searched and searched for him. Wherever she went, she called in mourning:

“O’ Warden! Warden for whom I have waited! Whence have you gone?

Would you not return to me?

Would you not return to the children you called yours?

Would you not return for this wretched, Bleeding Heart I have given you?

What will become of what has been Promised? Of the great Home you swore, and the Freedom there?”


But there was no answer. 

And as time went on, the fetters around her neck grew heavier.

And heavier.

And heavier still.

The Beast knew no succor, no peace. She fell to Despair, knowing only the growing wound in her Heart.
So it was then that she looked down upon all the fetters which held her fast.

Some of sweetest silk and wildflowers. Some of the Dead King’s coldest iron. Others still of woven Prophecy, of the Redeemed Beast’s Fire and a Cunning Cat’s Blessings.

But all of them were so painful.

And all of them were so heavy.

How she howled! The forests echoed with grief, boughs shook with her anguish. Abandoned by the Warden. Lost.

Forgotten.

Her grief became anger. Anguish turned to rage, but Despair still rang through her very bones. One by one, she turned her fangs upon her fetters. 

One after another, they crumpled in her jaws. She devoured them, and with each that she sundered her strength grew. Yet the stronger the Wolf grew, the more that her Heart wept with fresh blood.


For the Wolf would heed not the call of Horn nor Master’s voice.

The Wolf would know no King.

The Wolf would know no God.

The Wolf, by her own Power - began to break Free.

And soon, Man would know their Folly.