Wolfstar - a wolf in a cabin
It started out simply.
Remus had been run out from village after village, home after home, the moment someone took notice of his little monthly problem. So finally he decided not to hide it. To be honest. To make it into an advantage.
The hut was abandoned when he found it, deep in a dark, unwelcoming forest. But Remus knew forests - knew which mushrooms were good in a stew and which were deadly, how to track game, how to cultivate wild plants.
Spreading the word in town was easy.
“It’s a monster,” people took to saying quickly, whispers in the corners of their cozy little lives. “In the old hunter lodge. Don’t go into the southern woods.”
And it was all going so smoothly, although just a cat for company was a bit lonely. But then, as it happens with all best laid plans, something just had to derail it.
Because one morning, as he ventured into town under the guise of a traveler, Remus saw the baker.
He was beautiful, hands kneading dough for bread, illuminated by the soft glow of fire from the ovens, white flour on his apron and a dusting of it across his brow, a smudge his fingers must have left as he pushed a strand of his lovely black hair out of the way.
Just like that: for the first time in his life, Remus felt want.
So he spread another rumor. Certain that it would be seen straight through, anxious about the outcome in a way so different than the anxiety of being discovered.
Sacrifice and bounty for the monster to keep the village from its wrath. Each month. Each full moon. Gifts of baked goods.
Remus felt rather pathetic.
But it worked.
He was safe during transformations. Had the ingredients for the potion which made him so growing in the little garden he had made for himself. Nothing but a docile wolf laid out in front of the fire.
The first month, the food was left on the forest line. He could smell the baker approach, the wolf’s senses so much stronger than his own, but could not see him. Dual disappointment, because like this he always felt everything as doubled. The wolf’s and the man’s, and neither of them his own.
It took three months for the baker to grow bolder and start leaving the bounty on the stairs instead. On the fourth, another man accompanied him, smelling of pine and grass and polishing oil. “There’s no monster, I’m telling you,” the baker said. “What monster would want bread?”
“Dare you to go up to the door then, if you’re so sure.”
“Fine. Just to prove I’m right,” the baker walked up the stairs, heavy autumn boots on rickety wood, “it’s your fault if I’m eaten.”
“Oi!” The other man protested, “I’m only daring you to do it because you’ve not shut up about it. If you’re not sure then get your behind down from there.”
Too late.
Remus hears the door creak open. Has no place, no time, to hide. Turns the massive wolf head towards the baker and sees him. For the first time in months. He’s just as lovely. Just as beautiful.
He runs away.
Remus expects men with pitchforks. With torches to burn down his house. Gets ready to flee at a moment’s notice, but the moment doesn’t come. With the next full moon he’s certain the baker won’t come at all and if he does, he’ll leave the bread on the edge of the woods again.
The next month comes, the moon rises full and luminous in the winter-dark sky. Remus turns and settles at the fire for the night, for once grateful for the fur keeping him warm.
The door opens, so slowly it’s almost like a gust of wind.
The baker walks into the room, fear evident in his movement and in his scent but brave enough to fight it. He walks into the room and toward a wolf and toward Remus.
“You’re so…” he says and doesn’t finish.
Monstrous, Remus thinks. Grotesque. He’s heard it all before: a mistake of nature, something unholy, something wrong.
“Your fur is so lovely,” the baker finishes. Reaches out a shaking hand, palm up in supplication, towards the wolf’s jaw. “And your eyes. Handsome beast. What are you doing out here by yourself? You’re no monster.”
Remus lets his head be touched by careful, afraid fingers. They sink into the fur, cradle through it. Never before had he been touched like this - both with such care and in this form.
The sun rises and the baker stays. Watches the transformation happen, doesn’t flinch at the wolf’s howls or at the human’s cries. Find a blanket and helps Remus to the sofa. Makes them tea.
“Look at those eyes,” he says. “Your eyes are just the same.”
The baker stays for a long time. When he leaves, they leave together.