Chapter 2: I Picked Up a Stray Cat

The noise started around dawn—

I was having a perfectly good dream about a library where all the books were blank and I didn’t have to read anything— then something outside started screaming, high-pitched and desperate, the kind of sound that meant my peaceful mountain retirement was officially over—

I rolled out of bed and stared at the ceiling— holes in the roof showed stars fading into morning gray— somewhere out there, something was dying loudly, and it was ruining my sleep schedule—

“Are you kidding me right now?”

The screaming continued— mixed with growling now, deep and wet, the sound of something with too many teeth— I dragged myself upright and shuffled toward the door, still wearing my sleeping clothes, loose cotton pants and a shirt that had seen better days—

My feet found the wooden sandals by the door— geta, the kind that clacked obnoxiously with every step— perfect for letting monsters know I was coming and deeply annoyed about it—

The morning air hit cold and sharp— dew covered everything, making the grass sparkle like someone had dumped glitter across my yard— the screaming came from the tree line, maybe fifty yards out, accompanied by crashing sounds and more of that wet growling—

I grabbed a stick from the woodpile— about as thick as my wrist, probably meant for kindling— it would do—

The forest was darker than the clearing, all twisted roots and low-hanging branches that seemed designed to smack people in the face— I ducked under one and followed the noise, sandals clacking against stones and dirt—

“If this is bandits again, I’m moving to a desert.”

The clearing opened up suddenly— and there it was, the source of my interrupted sleep—

A Dire Wolf— because of course it was— easily the size of a horse, all matted black fur and muscles that rippled under scarred skin— its eyes glowed yellow in the dim light, focused entirely on the small figure backed against a boulder—

The girl looked maybe sixteen, seventeen— hard to tell with all the dirt and blood— blonde hair tangled with leaves and mud, falling past her shoulders in messy waves— her dress was torn, simple brown fabric that might have been a peasant’s work clothes before something shredded it— blood soaked through the left side, dark and wet—

She held a broken branch in both hands, pointing it at the wolf like it would do anything— her arms shook so badly the branch vibrated—

The wolf took a step forward— saliva dripped from jaws that could probably swallow her head whole—

She whimpered, pressing harder against the boulder— nowhere left to run, no one coming to help, just her and the monster and about thirty seconds before things got really messy—

I sighed—

“My, my, so noisy this early?”

The wolf’s head snapped toward me— those yellow eyes locked onto my face, considering this new target— its lips pulled back, showing teeth the length of my fingers, stained with something’s blood—

The girl’s eyes found me too— wide and red-rimmed from crying, filled with the kind of hope that comes right before crushing disappointment— she looked at my pajamas, my ridiculous sandals, my stick—

Her face fell— not the rescue she was hoping for—

The wolf growled, low and rumbling, a sound that rattled in my chest— it shifted its weight, deciding whether I was worth the effort or if it should finish the girl first—

I scratched my head with my free hand— morning bedhead was real, my hair probably looked like a bird’s nest—

“Look, I get it— you’re hungry, she’s convenient, it’s the circle of life— but could you do this literally anywhere else? I just got this place cleaned up.”

The wolf lunged—

Fast, faster than something that big should move— claws extended, jaws open wide enough to fit my entire torso—

I swung the stick—

One motion, lazy and unhurried, like I was swatting a particularly large fly—

The stick connected with the wolf’s skull— there was a sound like a watermelon hitting pavement— the beast’s momentum reversed instantly, its body ragdolling backward through the air— it crashed into a tree twenty feet away, the trunk cracking on impact—

The wolf slid down the tree and lay still— very still— the kind of still that meant its brain had just been redistributed inside its skull—

Silence—

I looked at the stick— still intact, not even a scratch— good quality wood—

The girl made a sound, something between a gasp and a choke— I glanced over— she was staring at me, then at the wolf, then back at me, her mouth opening and closing without sound—

“You’re bleeding on my grass.”

She looked down at herself, at the blood soaking through her dress, dripping onto the ground— her face went pale, paler than it already was—

“I— I’m—”

Her knees buckled— I moved without thinking, catching her before she face-planted into the dirt— she weighed almost nothing, all bones and torn fabric— her skin felt cold, shock probably, or blood loss, or both—

Her eyes rolled up to look at me— red eyes, deep crimson like someone had stolen the color from rubies— unusual, the kind of unusual that meant magic or curse or something complicated I didn’t want to deal with—

“Am I dead?”

Her voice came out small and broken— I shifted my grip, getting one arm under her knees—

“Not yet— give it a few hours though.”

That probably wasn’t comforting— her face crumpled anyway, fresh tears cutting tracks through the dirt on her cheeks—

I started walking back toward the cabin, carrying her like she was a bag of groceries— the wolf stayed dead behind us, already attracting flies— nature was efficient like that—

“What’s your name?”

She blinked slowly, struggling to focus— “Elara.”

“Okay, Elara— I’m Dorian— try not to die before we get inside, it would be really inconvenient.”

The cabin looked worse in daylight— all the flaws I’d been ignoring became obvious— the sagging porch, the broken shutters, the fact that half the roof was more holes than shingles—

I kicked the door open and carried Elara inside— set her down on my chair, the only piece of furniture worth sitting on— she slumped immediately, head lolling to one side—

Blood dripped onto the cushion— I’d just cleaned that yesterday—

“Stay conscious— I need you to tell me where it hurts.”

Her hand moved weakly to her left side— I pulled the torn fabric aside, wincing at what I found— three deep gashes running from her ribs to her hip, like someone had tried to peel her open— claw marks, definitely from the wolf—

“On a scale of one to ten, how attached are you to this dress?”

She blinked at me— “What?”

“The dress— do you care if I ruin it more than it’s already ruined?”

“I— no?”

I grabbed the fabric and tore it, ripping a strip away to expose the wounds fully— she gasped but didn’t pull away— shock was good for something at least, kept people still—

The cuts were deep but clean— no sign of infection yet, though that would change fast if I didn’t do something— I held my hand over the wounds, fingers spread wide—

“This is going to feel weird.”

Green light bloomed from my palm, warm and steady— healing magic wasn’t my specialty but I knew enough to close wounds and stop bleeding— the light sank into her skin, and the gashes started knitting together, flesh reconnecting, blood flow stopping—

Elara’s eyes went wide— “You’re— you’re a mage?”

“Retired mage— there’s a difference.”

The wounds closed completely, leaving behind pink scars that would fade in a few days— I pulled my hand back and examined my work— not bad for someone who hadn’t used healing magic in three years—

She touched her side, fingers trembling— “You saved me.”

“I saved my grass— you were a side effect.”

That made her laugh, or try to— it came out as a wet cough that turned into sobbing— her shoulders shook as everything caught up to her at once— the wolf, the wounds, the near-death experience—

I stood there awkwardly, holding the bloody strip of fabric— comforting people wasn’t in my skill set—

“Do you want tea?”

She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face— “Tea?”

“It helps— probably— I don’t know, I’m not a therapist.”

That got another laugh-sob— she nodded, wiping her eyes with dirty hands—

I moved to the kettle, filling it with water from the bucket I’d hauled up yesterday— magic heated it faster than any fire— I dropped in two tea bags, chamomile again, the universal solution to emotional trauma—

“Where are you from?”

Her voice came out small— “Millbrook— the village down the mountain.”

“Long way from home.”

“I was gathering herbs— my mother, she’s sick— I went too far into the forest and got lost.”

I poured tea into two chipped cups— handed one to her— she took it with both hands, like it was the most precious thing she’d ever held—

“The wolf found me yesterday— I’ve been running since then.”

“Yesterday— you’ve been out there for a full day?”

She nodded— “I thought I was going to die— I prayed to every god I know— then you showed up in your pajamas and killed it with a stick.”

I took a sip of my tea— still too hot— “The stick was very sturdy.”

She laughed again, real laughter this time— it changed her face completely, made her look younger— the fear drained away, replaced by something like relief mixed with exhaustion—

“Thank you— I know you said it was about the grass but— thank you.”

I waved it off— “The wolf was being loud— couldn’t sleep anyway.”

We sat in silence for a while— her drinking tea, me wondering if this meant I had to escort her back to her village— that would take half a day at least, maybe longer if she couldn’t walk—

She finished her tea and set the cup down carefully— “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you live up here alone?”

I looked around the cabin— the broken furniture, the holes in the roof, the general atmosphere of decay and abandonment—

“My ex said I lacked ambition.”

Elara tilted her head— “Did you?”

“Completely— still do— ambition sounds exhausting.”

She smiled, small and genuine— “I think that sounds nice— no ambition— just tea and quiet.”

“That was the plan— until someone started screaming outside my cabin at dawn.”

“Sorry about that— I’ll try to get attacked more quietly next time.”

I snorted into my tea— this girl had jokes apparently—

Outside, birds started singing— morning was fully here now, sunlight streaming through the broken windows— I should probably fix those eventually—