"If you don't mind playing Rusty for a couple days, we could go through Minnesota, stop by my dad's place, enjoy soft beds and hot water. Then we could head up through the Boundary Waters. People up there mostly love wolves in a kind of sappy way, probably because there's not a lot of agriculture for them to get in the way of. As long as we don't try to steal somebody's herring catch we can stand in their driveway and howl, and they'll just take our picture and glurge about it on facebook."
"He is very nice, and an excellent cook. He does something spectacular with lamb chops." You hesitate, then add, "I really want to tell him about the werewolf thing. But I feel like I should ponder on it more. It might be a selfish impulse."
You lick around his ears, then put your chin on the back of his neck and sigh. "You should really think about it," you say gently. "Family is important, and it sounds as if the two of you are very close, and he's not likely to stick you full of silver the moment he finds out, or go running straight off to the newspapers. But he would be genuinely safer left out of— of— hm, this part of the world. Territory? Aspect? It's not at all an easy space for humans to contend with."
"Yeah, and I don't want him to have to keep secrets about me, even though I'm pretty sure he'd do fine at it. But I hate lying to him."
"Well, then," you say, a trifle helplessly, and wash his face. There's not much else you can do. It's something he's just got to figure out for himself. "Do you want to look for more mice?" you hazard.
"Yeah," you say gratefully, and return the face-licking with feeling. It helps just having someone to fuss to, honestly. Mice are a pretty good distraction. They're fast little bastards, and you're getting a little tired, so you don't catch many more, but chasing them stays fun. Like whack-a-mole, but with a snack for a prize. When it's quite dark, you nudge Erskin and point at the half moon with your nose. "Do we howl at the moon? Is that a thing?"
"We howl at anything we damn well please," you sniff. You tip your nose back regally, square your paws. "HEY MOON," you yell. "FUCK OFF, YOU BIG SHINY COCK-GOBLIN. FUCK RIGHT OFF! I'M HERE NOW! ME! CLEAR THE HELL OUT!" There is a profound silence as your howl trails off. Then, far off in the distance, you can hear Princess shrilly losing her shit. You grin widely at Bel. "You go have a yell!" you tell him.
"I am so happy I met you," you say with vehement sincerity. Then you raise your head. "I'M ALIVE!" you howl. "SOME OF THE WORLD'S BIGGEST BASTARDS TRIED TO KILL ME BUT I'M! STILL! HERE!" It feels really, really good.
"WE'RE THE MOST DANGEROUS MOTHERFUCKERS IN THESE WOODS!" you chime in. "PROBABLY THE WHOLE STATE! WE ARE BLOODY WELL THE BIGGEST, FASTEST, PRETTIEST PAIR OF COCKSUCKERS MAKING THIS AMOUNT OF NOISE, EVER."
"ALSO THE BEST AT SUCKING COCK, INCIDENTALLY," you put in; after that you're laughing too much to howl.
"That's not incidental, that's a very important— that's a central fact— we should write it down—" you break into whooping giggles, then pounce on him, doing your best to bowl him over while he's off balance from laughing.
You go ass-over-teakettle down a bit of grassy slope, but then you rally and come back at him, and a cheerful tussle results. "We can't write it down, we're in paws right now!" you point out as the two of you bounce and nip at each other. "But remember what I said about Morse code!" And the next time you end up on top for a bit, you drum it on his ribs: -.-. .... .- -- .--. .. --- -. / -.-. --- -.-. -.- ... ..- -.-. -.- . .-.
You play-snarl at him, thrashing and gnawing at his forelegs, and when you win free you drum your paws on his face, then dash at top speed back to camp.
You chase after him with great eagerness, sure you know what's next on the agenda. Once inside the tent, you sprawl into skin and look expectantly for him to join you.
You plow into the tent after him, pounce again, and savage his hair. Only when it's licked and bit into a ridiculous mop do you realize he's expecting you to join him. You huff, stand, shake off, and try for bare skin. It hurts. Yesterday you were starting to feel badly raw— tonight it feels as if you're flaying yourself, pulling your flesh apart with your own fangs. Things crackle inside you. You subside, whining to yourself, try again, harder, worried now. It's like climbing up a wall of mud and thorns, you can't, you keep sliding back, all your bones the wrong sizes, ripping loose of the muscles, the tendons of your wrists and ankles fraying as they stretch, it hurts. You wipe a half-paw across your aching muzzle and it comes away a little bloody. You try again— it's only a half moon, tonight, you can do this, you should be able to, you haven't ever shifted so often in your life but you should be able to. Fur's never felt like a trap before and it's scaring you. You come to with a splitting headache and Bel's big hands cupping your head, stroking your ears. He's making words at you. Shivering in distress, tail clamped to your belly, you burrow directly into his chest and curl up very small. "I'm sorry," you whimper. "I'm sorry, I can't, I'm sorry." You lick his throat.
You don't understand why he can't change, but it was terrifying to watch, and you're so glad he's stopped trying. You tuck your blanket around his back, curl around him and pet him until he stops shivering, murmuring reassurance on the theme of I'm here, I've got you, we'll figure this out. Because from how scared he is, you can conclude this isn't part of the usual werewolf experience. It's frustrating as hell that you don't understand wolf language when you're human. You're going to have to shift to ask him about this, and now you're kind of scared to, because what if you can't get back? But you just did, didn't you, five minutes ago? And he has no way to talk with you right now. Only a terrible friend would refuse to communicate. Changing is harder than usual, but you think it's only because your confidence is shaken. That accomplished, you lick his poor bloody nose solicitously and fuss, "What happened? That looked fucking terrible, you scared the hell out of me, are you okay now?"
"It hurt, I'm sorry, it hurt, I couldn't," you say shakily, then snuffle and try to stop sounding like a puppy. "It felt bad yesterday. I think I broke-- I strained-- something-- it's too hard, I'm sorry!"
"Shush, not your fault, nothing to be sorry for. We saw the warning signs, we shouldn't have pushed it. You should rest up. And maybe I should take it easy so I don't get stuck too, just go human and stay there for a day or two, or else who's going to make you sandwiches and drive the truck? But it's so hard to figure out what you're saying when we're like that, I'm still so lousy at it."
"You'd get stuck as human, wouldn't you? You were born one. But-- it'll be gibbous soon enough. It's not now, so I didn't think. Harder to stay human-shape on the approach to the full moon. But I only lose the knack the, the week of, I think. I think I remember that." You shudder again, still shaken up. "I don't change hardly ever. But I don't like not having the option. Sometimes you need, you need to undo traps. Hands. Will I be like this half a month? What if there's traps?" You're sounding like a puppy again, stutter-whining. You paw your nose, make some deep huffs. Try to be thoughtful like he is. "How have you been feeling? Do you feel raw? Sore?"
