She had been unwilling at first, but he had begged. Something about her calmed him down. He was sure it would work. It works for unicorns, he said. But you’re not a unicorn, she teased. I know, he whined, but the same principle applies. I wonder if they used to hunt werewolves like unicorns, using young maidens as bait, she mused. Stop, please, he pleaded. I don’t want to think about that. It was then that she realized he was more afraid of being hunted than she was of him.
It did work. Here she was, in the middle of the night, sitting in the woods with a werewolf on her lap. He did not want her to see the change, but she heard the horrible howl. She felt like part of her had died, and the pain evoked tears from her eyes. How was she ever supposed to calm a monster she was terrified of? And then he came, the fall of heavy paws resounding through the trees.
Here he was, before her, in the middle of the night, with a fire in his eyes. For a moment, she was sure that he had been wrong, that she would not be able to calm him, and that she would be eaten. However, in the next moment the fire was gone, and he instantly became docile, gently drawing nearer. She looked into his eyes and found her friend. Was he conscious, or just a beast?
Like a child after a temper tantrum, he slept in her embrace. Her fingers were wrapped up in his fur, and her fear had been replaced with serenity. The next morning she would fear for the future, and wonder if she would have to do this for the rest of her life. She didn’t even love the boy. But in this moment, she was content with his warm presence. She thanked the moon, and prayed that the sun would not rise.