Morning tried to rise to its full height but as I had predicted yesterday morning before the sequence of events afterwards changed much of my life, the first snow came abrupt and hard last night. It started well before I had fallen asleep.

Twisting my hair behind my back with a headband, I got out to make the bed, the same ritual I've always done as quick and quietly as I could. Once that was over, I padded softly to the kitchen and took out the chilled chocolate chip cookie dough on the fridge before pulling the plug.

It was the last one inside with a pitcher of water before I had transferred most of its contents to the ice box outside. Winter had a habit of saving my electricity bill to useless once it set. I had gas that would last for three months and enough wood for the rest of my life.

Once I set to fixing up the cookies into the oven, I adjusted a water to boil and took out a bag of grinded coffee. The smell whiffed and I closed my eyes, content.

When I opened them again, my eyes drop to Orion. He slept curled on the foot of the bed, his ashen brown and gray hair streaked with silver and in the morning light.

He was so pale last night, I thought I had stuff a body out in the ice box. But he slept peacefully now, his body rising and falling in an equal rhythm.

He had fallen asleep first, drowsy from the pain he suffered trying to keep himself from shifting, and I had bunched up pillows and some of my thick afghans on the floor close to the rug under my bed to at least keep him as comfortable as I could as he didn't fit the slim sofa.

He was shifting awake by the time the cookies were done and the smell filled the house, closing on the bitterness that you can still taste in your mouth. I made sure to keep the oven open until after to hopefully rid of last night's aftertaste.

"Good morning," I said as he slowly approach me, paws softly thudding. He dipped his head and sniffed. "Want some? Unless you can't eat chocolate."

He stared as if he raising an eyebrow, then went around to nudge his snout to his old clothes.

I shook my head. "I'll wash them first, they're full of your sweat and the cold made them slightly crispy. I'll get you clothes."

He stared at me again as if raising an impeccable eyebrow. I ignored this and went to my closet, shuffling my things around until I found some of Hunter's old sweatshirts that he gave me.

One of my nonna's old sweatpants and socks would fit him enough; she was a big lady and he was fairly skinny, though lean. Once I collected them, I went over the bathroom and placed them over the basin, opening the door wide to let him in.

"The sweatpants and socks are my nonna's, but the sweater is mine."

He sniffed and reeled his head, giving me another look.

"... okay, the sweater might've been Hunter's once but I've washed it. Unless you're talking about my nonna's things, then just go nude."

He stared at me.

"I'm quite liberal. And I live in the forest. You never know what mushroom eating weirdo comes sprawling out of here. But you're definitely not coming close to me in a five foot radius."

He made some sort of face before walking warily. He sniffed the air again, skewered his face as if he ate an orange, and shot me a look with bared teeth that might've meant a grin.

I rolled my eyes and closed the door.

Dramatic wolf.

I didn't hear anything as he shifted and he dressed quick. Not two minutes later, the doorknob twisted and he stepped out. The sweatpants were loose on his hips and the sweater loose - Hunter had a good built, especially back in high school when he did football. But it fits Orion enough and that was fine.

"Thank you for these. I have clothes on the car though."

"You can take them later. Cookies?"

"Yeah. Thank you again." He shuffles to my kitchen. I stand on the other side while he sits on one of the tall stools. My grandma never needed a dining table. We'd push the sofa closer to the coffee table and that was that. She hardly invited anyone over for dinner, but on the very rare occasion that she did - she'd pull out a foldable. It rests, slightly cobwebbed, on the very same place.

"And to answer your earlier question, yes I can eat chocolate, but not while... not in the other form." He swipes a cookie and bites, his eyes closed and he moaned. I raised an eyebrow. "Oh my god. These taste like heaven, did you make these?"

"Yes," I replied shortly. "Why not in your other form?"

He continued chewing. Since it was still hot, the gooey center melted inside his mouth and he continued to groan happily in places. His parlour was definitely improved from last night. He even has a tint of pink in his cheeks, though his cheeks were still definitely sallow.

By the third moan, I rolled my eyes and stood up. "I'll make you some soup."

That brought him awake, his eyes almost too heavy to open. "Please, you don't have to. These are enough, seriously. These are amazing."

Warmth bloomed in my chest and I acknowledged this with a jerky nod. "Thanks." I turned to the counter. I was fully stocked, enough to last until after winter if I paced myself. I could maybe save up until halfway through... I pulled out a knife and potatoes.

"But it's not filling enough. After last night, I think its best to eat up and gain more strength." I looked out the window as I started peeling. Snow still drifted, outside was bright with white and murky shadows of trees. "Hunter probably won't visit. Snow came in hard."

"So what's your story?"

"What story?"

He hummed. "Well I guess since I'm the stranger intruding, I'm the one who should say mine. It's better to trade stories when you're stuck with a stranger, right?"

"Trade stories?"

He nodded and took another cookie. "I've been a werewolf my entire life. Some days I get depressed by it, most days I try to forget. Which is hard because I have to turn every month."

"Why is that, by the way? If you don't mind me asking." The werewolf my grandmother saved didn't have to. Yes, she was malnourished and in pain, but that was for a different reason. She was never compelled to shift when she didn't want to.

He didn't speak for a while so I turned. I thought he was contemplating my answer but he was... halfway finished on the cookies. I made a face as I caught his eye and he smiled sheepishly.

He brushed the hem over his mouth. "Sorry. These are so good, you're a brilliant baker."

"Thank you." I turned back. "My grandmother taught me."

"Oh?"

I could feel his question. My voice felt levelled, cold even to my own ears. "She's dead. Been a while."

"Oh." The note was pronounced. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. The shifting?"

"Well, when a werewolf doesn't naturally chooses to shift, the wolf inside of us is compelled to shift. It forces itself to come out during the full moon. The wolf isn't supposed to be contained. Apart from being a free animal in the first place, it isn't natural. So it wants to come out."

"But it's hard," I commented softly. News from the TV at the diner, the amount of captured werewolves. Dead or alive. Mere numbers rising tenfold...

"It's illegal for us to exist," he said quietly. "But our wolves want out. And the longer you stop yourself from shifting, the harder the pain is..."

I swept the potatoes and the other vegetables I've chopped and turned back to the counter to put on a pot to boil and a beef packet.

I watched, transfixed, as his eyes held nothing but a thoughtful look. No reapproach, no anger. A man used to the situation.

It's illegal for us to exist.

"Where'd you get the handcuffs?" I asked instead, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Witch. Easiest bargain. Laughed in my face for asking for one." At my questioning look, he opened his palms as if to convince me. But what I saw were pale scars in crisscross patterns. "She's a revolutionist. Got them from her when I was fifteen. Didn't like me, didn't like my kind. More than happy to see me in pain."

"That's sadistic."

He shrugged. "At least it stops me from turning. I only use it on emergencies. I just forgot this month..."

I raised an eyebrow. He laughed breathily.

"I know, right? How can I forget something that literally threatens my life? I guess I've been distracted." He looked away, but floated his eyes to the pot as it boiled. "Wasdat?"

I almost smiled. "Excuse me?"

"It smells amazing."

"It's just beef broth soup."

He groaned.

"Are you easily impressed by every food? It doesn't even have beef."

"I'm always hungry," he confessed. "Especially if I don't hunt. It's also been hard to find any satisfactory food." His eyes flickered to me. "No offense, the food at the diner wasn't bad-"

"Oh please, it's awful. The only fresh thing there is meat. And sometimes, not even that if there hasn't been a hunter wanting to sell. Whatever's out back is sold regardless."

"Then why do you work there?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if you'd notice, but I live in the middle of nowhere. I don't exactly have the luxury to choose."

"Right, sorry."

"What about you? Are you just passing by or are you a wayfarer?"

"Wayfarer?"

"Wanderer, nomad, weirdo in a car passing towns..."

He laughed throatily. "Nice. And yes, I guess in a sense. It's hard to settle in one place for so long and I just... I'm not really a fan of getting shot in the woods. In the means of that, I'd like to thank again. If it wasn't for you, I'd be someone's shiny new pelt coat right now."

I stared at him, his sincerity was burning despite that carefree grin. His skin was still pale, almost greenish, and he was all cheekbones.

I poured a bowl and set a spoon, pushing it towards him. "Eat. That'll make me feel better."

He picked up the spoon, but not before asking, "Hospice patient?"

I nodded. "Hospice patient."

He cracked a grin but ate.

After a nice silence, he looked up and noticed I wasn't eating.

"I don't eat a lot."

He stared st me for a second longer, before he pulled out a bowl the same place I took his and a spoon. I watched this dispassionately, serving a good portion before pushing the bowl towards me, the steam wafting as he sat back down.

When I didn't move, he nodded at it. "Eat. That'll make me feel better."

I pursed my lips before sighing, taking a spoon to my lips. "Wise ass."

The comment was out of the blue enough that he sputtered his soup.

We ate breakfast in silence.

— — —

It was past afternoon, the sky already darkening, when he asked.

We had just polished off a pecan pie while the shepherd's pie baked, when he turned his head at me from our little silence on the sofa. He had changed into his own clothes, a greenish-black sweater and worn, holes-peppered jeans, and some more of my nonna's thick wooly socks.

I was reading while he was tinkering with tiny metals, one that looked like the inside of a grandfather clock he had taken out of his rucksack. I had asked what he was doing, but all he said was, "hobby."

"D'you want to trade stories?"

"You're not a very good tradesman," I muttered, eyes still on the page, but I was now aware of the words and of the guy sat crossed-legged on my rug, long fingers fiddling and twisting little scraps of metal.

"Why's that?"

"You already told me your story. How can you guarantee my trade?"

I watched him raised his head and lifted up a clever smile. One both wolfish and cunning. "I have more stories. I barely told you mine. Being a wolf is only the beginning, a dangerous facet that spirals my story."

I raised an eyebrow.

He laughed lightly and went back to work. "I have a way with words. It's what makes me a good tradesman. One of the best actually."

"The best?"

He pointed a tiny little screwdriver at me. "You never get out of this town, so you'll have to take my word for it."

My smile was faint but it was present. He raised his head again and smiled softly. "Where do I start then, oh wise best tradesman?"

"Anywhere, at any point. I'll have to leave tonight though, so you might need to summarize a lot. Which is the worst type of storytelling. Often, it's the little things that catches the light that you actually want to listen to."

I settled my book on my lap, watched him, transfixed, in his little work. They were such small pieces that I wondered why he didn't have glasses.

"You're leaving?"

He raised his head again, this time he caught my look. "You only promised your friend one day."

"It wouldn't be safe, hunts will have started now. And you're still hurting. Gaunt as a deer's leg."

"You're letting me stay."

I nodded.

He blinked. Then a slow, almost cherished smile that felt like spring blowing past winter. Even for just a bit, Orion showed the sun.

"Okay, then. Care to trade now?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Werewolves. Why aren't you repulsed by me?"

A chilling smile crept in my face.

"Ever wondered if Red Riding Hood was actually innocent? She frequented the forest, her parents wouldn't have been so careless. Even little girls could hold axes."