Chapter 3: Lair of the Wolf

A bright twinkling light made out vaguely, it was nearly obscured completely by the swaying leaves of the trees and wisps of dark clouds that floated past the deep hole that Tilla had fallen through. Its entrance concealed by soil and overgrown flora, there was only a small gap in which she could glare up at the night sky far above her. The stars winking down at her mockingly as she laid on the course and craggy rock at the bottom of the pit, Tilla groaned as she felt a ripple of pain move through her spine. However, this pain was but a minor ache compared to the aggravated throbbing she felt in her ankle. 

Conscious that her pursuers would not be far behind her, Tilla did not take more time to lament this change in her circumstances before slithering away from the opening. Considering it prudent to remove herself from the direct eyeline of anyone who might chance a peek within the small orifice that had been made in the weakened ceiling of the cave. Tilla crawled along the floor on her elbows. Her head eventually meeting with one of the cold walls, she emitted a muted hiss through clenched teeth as the fresh pain only added to her suffering. A headache now pressing at her temple, it seemed to accompany the steadily growing list of afflictions as Tilla proceeded to gradually inch herself up along the moist texture of the rock.

 Managing to sit upright, Tilla clutched at the burning sensation that each breath inspired in her lungs. Her heart still racing even though her feet had ceased, she attempted to slow its frantic rhythm as the voices of the Hunters became distinguishable from her hiding place in the forest floor. The men’s footsteps crunching over the debris from the foliage cautiously in the night, Tilla clamped a hand over her mouth to cover the sound of her strained breathing as they grew ever closer to where she had fallen. Their proximity, causing her to doubt the effectiveness of her shelter, she shrunk back into the wall of the cave. Hoping that the darkness would be enough to cloak her presence, Tilla drew her knees into her chest. The sound of their dialogue penetrating the ground above her, she listened to them tensely. 

“Did you see which way she went?” One man questioned. Their gait slowing significantly, Tilla assumed that they were scanning the landscape for any signs of her in the dark. However, the hole, difficult to distinguish under the cover of night, and her tracks confused by the mess of leaves she had kicked up in her clumsy descent. There was a pensive pause as another man answered, “No, she just vanished.” This response succeeded by the sound of stomping as one of the men stabbed at the ground roughly with the heel of his boot, it sent a shower of dirt and fragmented rocks cascading down on Tilla below as the first man spoke again. “There must be a concealed entrance to an escape route or hide out somewhere around here.” He said. Announcing the deducement as though it were obvious to his trained eyes, Tilla found that she was mildly perturbed by the remark. 

Although unable to view the man or his features from her burrow, she imagined that he wore the same determined expression that a trained bloodhound might wear upon pursuing a bushy fox through the woods. Wondering if she too might meet the same unfortunate end as the fox if she were to be caught by them at this moment, any further images that Tilla’s mind could come up with surrounding this notion were fortunately interrupted by the man’s colleague. 

“You’re probably right,” He replied, “but it could be a trap. It would be better to come back at sunup with the proper equipment.” The other man, sounding either too exhausted or disinterested to continue their chase into the night. There was a considered silence that fell between the two Hunters before one eventually released a long exhalation. Evidently yielding to his partner’s proposal, the steadfast of them responded sternly, “Alright, but that means dawn. No lying in.” Contented with his small victory on this matter, there was a hint of joviality about the other man’s tone as he answered, “You know, it's really hard being friends with a stickler like you sometimes, Adrian.” 

The men’s voices and boots gradually retreating from where she was hidden, Tilla waited until they could no longer be heard before breathing a sigh of relief. The tension leaving her body all at once, she slumped back into the wall. Her lips ceasing to tremble from her uneven breaths, Tilla allowed her hand to once more fall at her side as she contemplated what had transpired more clearly now.  Injured and with no full proof plan to evade the men when they came for next morning, Tilla did not need the Hunters to say it to know that she was well and truly trapped. Unsure that one more night's freedom, passed in a cold and damp cave, had been worth the effort of concealing herself from them. Tilla was forced to make amends with her choices now as the shadows of the cave enveloped her.

The stress of her narrow and somewhat tenuous escape slowly subsiding, Tilla decided to examine her ankle. Employing the brief moment of peace to administer first-aid, she removed her boot and the woolen sock that went along with it, before prodding at the wound. An angry coloration already present around the wound and some suggestions of movement still present, Tilla’s face pulled into a wince as she squeezed the swollen ankle lightly. Her jaw, made stiff by the discomfort, a grumbled spell was coerced from her lips, “Sanocolore.” The command, producing a vague reddish glow where her fingers met with the skin on her ankle, a pleasant warmth began to spread around the wound. However, it did not last long before this agreeable feeling was replaced by the uncomfortable tingle of pins and needles within. A crease forming between Tilla’s eyebrows as she endured the side effects of the spell, she came to rest listlessly against the side of the cave.

Relieved to confirm that the injury had not been a break, as it would have proved harder to heal. The fact still remained that the development did not lend itself well towards her plight. Tilla’s condition not conducive to walking, let alone any immediate plans of desertion, the wound only seemed to solidify the potential outcomes of capture or death in Tilla’s mind. The last of her energy poured into conducting a puny spell that would likely not mend her injury in time for her to avoid the return of the Hunters at the rise of day, Tilla removed the shawl from over her head. Seeming to have no choice but to anxiously await her fate, she settled into her position there within the cave. Shivering against the persistent chill that hung in the air, she drew the covering around her shoulders closely. However, it was not long before Tilla found that it was no longer the cold that provoked a shiver from her, but rather an overwhelming primal fear.

Another presence felt lurking somewhere within the darkness, Tilla glanced at her surroundings. Regarding the cave’s shrouded tunnels rapidly, she could determine nothing from the abyss which seemed to extend around her in every direction. Plagued by the feeling that she was not alone and left with little power that would enable her to protect herself, Tilla came to grips with a new eventuality that she had not yet accounted for: being maimed by a wild animal. Flinching as a chunk of debris was overturned by whatever creature was spying on her in the cave, Tilla’s eye flicked warily in the direction from which the noise had come emitted from. The object, sizable enough for its movement to reverberate in the bowels of the cave, its echo could still be heard as she locked eyes with the glistening blue irises of the creature that stalked her. A large black wolf emerging from the darkness that had cloaked his approach, he did not hesitate to converge on Tilla now.  

Finding his prey to be weakened and backed into a corner, there was a sort of alluring danger in the wolf’s eyes that struck Tilla’s uneasy heart as he bore down on her. Certain that this was the rogue lycanthrope that had vexed so many of the villagers, she did not know whether he had yet to be driven beyond reason or descended into the lawlessness and brutality that was said to be the way of the other outcasts of his kind. His gaze, disturbing something within her slightly, Tilla grasped for any object that remained within her reach. Her heart rate pulsating restlessly in her neck, she took hold of a dense rock beside her. Tilla’s palm, hardly large enough to hold it easily within her hand, she raised the stone above her head in threat. Her eyes, not relenting to her fear, they did not leave the predator as she yelled, “Stay back!” 

Unimpressed by her warning, the light in his glacial colored irises were fixed unswervingly on her as he continued in his approach. Clear that the tools available to her were insufficient in warding off the werewolf and with no other means with which to flee his lair, Tilla at least intended to put up a fight in her last moments, no matter how futile they might prove. Throwing the rock she held as hard as she could muster, she gasped as it landed with a stark thud on the wolf’s head. The impact opening up a gash above his left eye, his progression paused as a few drops of red dropped onto the ground in front of him. The liquid saturating some of his dark fur, the Lycan looked at the rock and his assailant with mild irritation before eliminating the last of the distance that remained between them. 

The air, catching in her throat as she felt his hot breath upon her cheek, Tilla froze in her position. Sure that he could hear every faltering rhythm of her heart, the beast regarded her critically for a moment before snorting in her face. Evidently deriving some amusement from her reactions to his subtle aggressions, the wolf opened his jaws to reveal the sharp rows of fangs inside. Her eyes clamping shut in anticipation of the painful death that was to befall her as soon as he was finished toying with her, Tilla cringed as she felt the rogue wolf’s canines close at hand. However, she was surprised when the Lycan seized the fabric on the back of her garment instead. 

The creature, yanking her along in the direction from which he had come with his teeth like she was some prize from his hunt, Tilla squirmed in protest. Her arms flailing in a feeble attempt to earn her release, she issued a disjointed objection, “Put me down!” The complaint, made more feeble by the sound of the moan that slipped from her lips as her ankle was jostled by a piece of rubble that had fallen from the cave. Recovering from her agony just in time to be dropped unceremoniously onto a collection of pelts, Tilla withheld any further statements as she glanced around at the vague outlines of the objects that surrounded her.  Identifying a few items of clothing and evidence of charred logs from a past fire, she thought this most likely to be the center of the wolf’s lair. 

Uncertain as to what his intentions were for bringing her here, Tilla twisted around. Harboring a suspicious glare within her eyes, she attempted to scramble away from him, when the wolf issued an exasperated huff. Evidently growing impatient towards her futile actions, the Lycan flopped down on top of her. Laying on his side as he pinned Tilla the furs, she attempted to shove the wild creature from her. However, his weight and obstinance proving to be immovable, she eventually conceded her defeat on the matter. Her body sinking under the sheer mass of the beast, Tilla grumbled a disgruntled final remark towards her unlikely capture before he could drift off to sleep, “You better not have fleas.”