Willow Redmane's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Willow Redmane had until dark to find a den, or the cold would kill her. She crouched in a hollow of frozen roots, red and white fur matted with snow. Her breath fogged the air. She was a werewolf, but she looked more like a lost husky than a hunter. She had left the last valley for the same reason she left every place. No one had wanted her there. She wanted a home. She had never found one. The hollow was too shallow. Wind cut through it and stole her warmth. She dug at the earth with her claws, but the ground was iron-hard. Night came fast in these hills. Somewhere behind her, a branch snapped. Willow froze. A black hound broke through the brush, ears up, eyes locked on her. It did not bark. It stood between her and the trees, still as stone, waiting. Then it lifted its nose and howled once, sharp and low. A man followed the sound. He was old and broad, with salt-and-pepper hair and braids twisted into his beard. A long fur coat hung to his boots. He carried a crossbow, and the arrows in it gleamed silver. Willow knew what silver meant for her kind. She pressed low against the roots. "Easy, Shadow," the man said. The hound stopped growling but did not move. The man raised the crossbow. He studied Willow down the shaft. Her legs shook. She could run, but the hound would catch her, and the silver would find her back. She did the only thing left. She let the change take her. Fur pulled back into skin. Bone shifted. In seconds a girl knelt in the snow where the wolf had been, shivering, bare arms wrapped around her knees. The man went still. He lowered the crossbow an inch. "Well," he said. "You're a long way from anywhere." "I don't have anywhere," Willow said. Her voice cracked. "I was only looking for shelter. That's all." He watched her a long moment. The wind screamed through the roots beside her. He looked at the failing light, then back at the shaking girl. "You'll die out here tonight," he said. It was not a threat. It was a fact. He eased the crossbow down. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it across the gap between them. It landed in the snow at her feet, heavy and warm. "Name's Philip," he said. "I've got a cabin over the ridge. It's warm. There's a fire." He paused. "I hunt things like you. Remember that." Willow pulled the coat around her shoulders. She stood on unsteady legs. The hound fell in beside its master and watched her every step. She had a roof for the night. But she was walking into the home of a man who killed werewolves, and he knew exactly what she was.