Author's Note: 

If you're still here I would like to thank you for sticking around! Thanks for reading ! Things are really ramping up in this story! 

Please, remember to vote and comment! <3 

A single, desperate screech ripped through Marjorie's mouth before it was snapped shut on impact. In her frantic fleeing, her chin hit against the branch of a tree. Pain pulsated through her jaw, but there wasn't enough agony to stop her from escaping. 

She reached her free hand uselessly over her stinging wound, in an effort to soothe the pain. It hurt to touch the tender skin there. She yanked her fingers away, they came back with an oozing, red liquid. 

The strong hold on her cape continued to drag her through the forest floor like a rag-doll. Still, she tried to keep her feet sturdy on the ground in a desperate attempt to move forward. In front of her, there was only thick brush, miles of foliage, and an orange moon overhead. So much life tightly compacted in the miles ahead of her, but no way for her to grab onto it and pull herself away from whatever yanked her backward. Her Devilhair was tucked safely inside her basket, but with each jerking movement from her captor, another handful fell to the dark ground.

"Please, stop your fighting," a deep voice demanded from behind her. A sharp pull caused her legs to slip out from under her. Her body crashed into a bushel of thorns. The sharp edges dragged against the bare skin of her forearms, leaving long, fresh stripes of blood. 

The pain brought momentarily clarity to Marjorie. Instead of meekly turning over in a desperate attempt to flee, she shoved her foot up. She made contact with a solid, warm body. 

A wounded grunt echoed from above her. She gritted her teeth and kicked again.

This time, a nimble hand wrapped around her slender ankle. The tight grasp kept her from moving. Marjorie, maddened by the sudden loss of freedom, screamed in frustration and thrashed forward with her nails out. She searched for a face or skin to claw against, but instead, found the thick linen of a dress shirt.

It was no Wolf that taunted her.

Instead, it was a man.

The map of his face was clear under the bright moonlight. In the midst of all her fear, she realized she recognized his well-defined cheekbones, sharp gray eyes, and thick brows with one, thin slice to the right. His dark, smooth skin appeared free of pores and perfect in the dimness. 

"Fenris," she whispered the name of the stranger she met for a brief moment at the Festival of Eve. "Fenris—let me go, you—you beast!" Her words were accompanied with a frantic jerk of her right hand. 

Faster than what seemed possible, he reached his free hand up and captured it easily between his fingers. 

"Do you see any teeth, little red?" The handsome man whispered in a frustrated tone. Their struggle took a toll on him. He breathed hard underneath the moon, and a thin stream of blood leaked from his nose. 

Marjorie had gotten a good kick in, then.

The stinging pain of her chin and arm annoyed Marjorie, and that frustration came alive through her words. "No, but I do see a man in the middle of Mirkwood, stalking a defenseless girl," she retorted through gritted teeth. 

"You do not look defenseless to me." He wiped at the bloody skin at the edge of his flared nostrils. A thin cut split apart his pink mouth, too, causing his lips to divide in half like two petals. "You have a particularly strong kick, girl."

"It is one you deserved," she scoffed. "If you are no threat, please--" she glanced down to where he still held the red fabric of her cloak. "-- Unhand me."

"I will." He paused and moved his dark gaze around the surrounding forest and the thick green canopy of trees. Within the last few minutes, a thick, white blanket of fog covered the woods, hiding everything. Moonbeams and branches danced through the moving clouds, but still, the man watched like he expected a threat to barrel forward. "After you come back with me to the shoreline, it is not safe here so deep in the forest."

Aggravation surfaced in Marjorie. "You are the one who chased me into this place," she sneered at Fenris, but nodded. There was no reason to waste any more time-- if she wanted to help her Grandmother, every passing moment was precious. 

He pushed a hand down for Marjorie to grab and waited for her to take it. She ignored the peace offering and stood up on her own with wobbly legs. Feverish adrenaline still pumped through her veins. The ground beneath her feet seemed to sway and roll like a bouncing dock during high tide.

Fenris led their way back to the river's shore. His grasp was still wrapped tightly in her red cape, and he guided her like a dog on a leash. Or, more accurately, like Marjorie's raven on a leash.

Along the walk, Marjorie paused to salvage any of the Devilhair she lost during their struggle. He waited each time, his impatience only manifesting through annoyed sighs.

"You've come a far way from your village," Fenris murmured once they reached the river again. White fog rose up from 

 He unceremoniously dropped the thick fabric of her cape and allowed her the freedom to wander.

She walked to the edge and dipped her recovered harvest into the freezing water to wash off any dirt. Most of her Devilhair remained perfect, but still, one couldn't be too careful. Back in Core, she would have to hide her Devilhair from the hungry eyes of Villagers too cowardly to venture into the dark depths of the forest. She wouldn't have the luxury of washing it along the Village's shoreline.

"Who are you really?" Marjorie asked. She didn't want to match the intensity of his strange gray gaze, and instead kept her attention on the rushing stream. With only the moonlight above as a guiding light—her torch disappeared somewhere in the throes of their fight— the water appeared black.

"Who are you, little Red?" Fenris said instead of answering the question. "A woman waits in your Village to give you passage through this dark place. Why barter with your life the night before all your people gain freedom?"

Marjorie frowned at his words.

"It is not that simple," she whispered.

"Then please, enlighten me," Fenris pressed the question.

"My Grandmother is sick," Marjorie paused. It hurt to admit the words. Speaking her reality was like pressing dirt into a fresh, open wound. But despite the pain, she continued. "And when I say she is sick, I mean she is dying."

There was a moment of hesitation in the gentle rise and fall of Fenris's chest, as if the rawness of her words was something he had never expected. And who would? She thought. They were nothing more than two strangers in a forest, and it was only a coincidence that they found each other twice within one night.

"I am sorry," Fenris said whispered. He said nothing else.

They returned to a perfect, shared quiet. Like this, without their voices filling up the forest, the lingering life around them echoed—the singing of distant birds, the faraway chirping of a cricket, and the gentle rush of the river beside them. 

"Are you scared of the Wolf?" Marjorie asked when she could no longer stand the weight of their shared silence. 

Even now, it proved hard to forget the presence of the beast. This was his forest, not Marjorie's, and especially not Fenris's. Although the man before her had not said it, she knew he came from a place much farther than the Core. And he shared little traits of the gutsy Fewfolk, who carried equal amounts of bravery, curiosity, and stupidity. Instead, the man was stoic and silent, but in the same vein, uncharacteristically strange for someone from Beyond.

Wherever he came from, it did not matter to the Wolf. To the beast, they were two, soft-bellied people, walking in with no protection from claws fabled to be the size of Marjorie's hand and each tooth the length of her head.

She ached for her torch. Although it was nothing more than a guiding light through the dark, she could at least imagine a feigned sort of protection from the Wolf.

"I don't fear any fairytale," he confessed after a long, thoughtful moment.

Marjorie attempted to hide the shock on her face, but considering his raised eyebrows, she failed at concealing her emotions.

"It is no fairytale, Fenris," she warned in a whisper as if the Wolf could hear the blasphemy coming from the man.

But even now, so deep in the woods, she could understand the hesitation of his words. It was hard to believe in something that only appeared one night every year. All sightings of the Wolf came from the few survivors who somehow escaped an early demise-- they were Woodsmen who narrowly slipped away from its snapping jaws. 

"I suppose you believe in the beast?" Fenris asked.

She nodded. Every year, the bloody remains of its victim proved the beast's existence. The Wolf showed no mercy.

Each Day of the Wolf, the night when the beast would attack, the rich people of Ravensport raised their iron fences and hired Woodsmen to fend off the beast. And in Core, families locked their homes and stayed up through the night, refusing to sleep in fear the Wolf would tempt them in their dreams.

But none it mattered or helped.

Whoever was meant to die would die.

And this Day of the Wolf, she had a sick pit in her belly. If all of the Villagers took Vivian's offer of a safe passage through the forest, Marjorie would be the only choice remaining for the beast.

"I am a fool if I did not," Marjorie whispered. "I have seen its victims," she closed her eyes and saw the dead bodies beneath her lids. Each year, Core brought the body to lay in front of the Mother Church as a warning of what happens when Mother's mercy finally runs out for a sinner. "Sometimes... sometimes, I can hear it, too. I hear it howl like it knows I listen."

She shuddered at the nights she spent lying awake, listening to its heavy, lonely howl sing to the moon.

"Then you are brave girl to still enter this forest," Fenris said with a smile. He did that often—smiled at strange times, like he didn't understand the natural tone of a conversation.

"I am only brave for my Grandmother," Marjorie confessed. If Sicily was not sick, she would have never entered this place. Like clockwork, Petyr fed her stories of the forest and all its dangers. She thought of those now at the riverbank. She tried to ignore her growing panic-- even this man, Fenris, could be on of the many deadly tricks of the forest. "In the coming week, she will die of Brushpaw. I am the only one who can take care of her."

"You plan to stay here with your Grandmother?" Fenris asked. "What happens to you after her death?"

Marjorie hadn't allowed herself to think that far. She refused to acknowledge the inevitable—a life without Sicily in it seemed strange and dark. She was the closest thing she had to a mother and the only surviving piece of her family. With both her Grandmother and the village gone, her family's bloodline would disappear, and soon, Marjorie with it.

"I will think of something," Marjorie said.

She ignored the dull ache in her chest. After dawn passed, she would never see the villagers again. No Blanchette or Petyr. And soon, no Sicily. Marjorie looked to her feet and then, the ground beneath.

Where she stood now was the farthest she dared to go—and most likely, would ever see.

She took in the surrounding trees—how they towered over her short stature like white ladders leading straight to the heavens. Beside her, Mother River rushed over pale rocks, green moss and vibrantly-colored plants only found within Mirkwood. She studied the Devilhair in her basket and the bright vibrancy of its strong, crimson strands. It was red as blood.

She wondered, for one fleeting moment, how much color must be in Beyond.

Marjorie closed her eyes and pressed her hands to damp gravel on the shoreline. She imagined just beneath the soil, a pulsing magick that connected everything within the forest like a living creature.

"I hear they have castles in Beyond," she whispered to no one in particular. "My Grandmother says there are rock houses filled with servants, cooks, and tailors. They all fit together like a village, just sleeping under one big roof. When the sun comes up, they work together, and they never worry about what might lurk in forests like these. Not when they have fences made of swords and mortar."

Fenris snorted at her words. "It is not so peaceful as your Grandmother would have you believe. Castles are run by kings, and if they are not kind, they are mad."

"It does not matter to me," Marjorie said wistfully. "I will never meet a kind king or a mad one. But, I did meet you. I know what you are."

His eyes widened at her words.

"You do?" Fenris said slowly.

"Of course, I do," she replied with a smile on her face. The faraway look in her eyes faded. "You are one of Vivian's brave soldiers, sworn to protect us from the Wolf and lead all of Core to safety. I may have not met a king, but I met a hero. You will be famous to them, to the village."

"What if I told you I am not with the Wardeness," Fenris whispered like a confession.

"What do you mean?" Marjorie asked. She clutched the gravel beneath her palms. There it was again, that growing panic rising up her body once again. 

"I fear I am not the hero you believe me to be," Fenris said. He avoided her gaze, no matter how hard she tried to capture it. "I am no soldier."

She tried to keep her breath from hitching. "Yes, you are," she assured him. But as she spoke, shame crossed over his handsome face. His brows knitted up and his hands folded together in an anxious, ongoing pattern. "You said it yourself, you are no villager. And if you are not a soldier... then... then who are you?"

"It is not who I am," the man paused, "it is what I am."

"And what are you, Fenris?" Marjorie asked. On his name, her voice trembled for one quick moment.

"I am the Wolf you fear."

Author's Note

I will admit, this is not my favorite chapter. In fact, I'm still trying to decide who I love more... Fenris or Petyr? Did I give you too much foreshadowing? Hopefully not. ;)

I have been loving your comments, and I appreciate your thoughts deeply. As always, tell me what you loved and what you didn't. 

Adios.