Chapter Text
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"Meat, consume, fall in love."
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Chapter 1
Grieving of Tomorrow
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Another day, another night, and The Big Bad Wolf returns to his home empty.
It's not anything remotely new. An increasing number of human settlements are vacating his territory, a decision that, while prudent among their many foolish choices, does not ultimately benefit him. He remains perpetually hungry, and the local wildlife can only provide sustenance to a limited extent. Winter is fast approaching, and he'll have to move onward if he cannot find enough food as always.
However, it seems that today, fortune smiles upon him.
For his lonesome cave is not so lonesome, and the lump of brown fur curled among its most solitary corner is an unexpected, but not unwelcome, surprise.
The Big Bad Wolf stalks silently toward his next meal. His paws press firmly into the damp earth of the cave as he laps at his mandible, captivated by the thick aroma of blood suffocating his lungs. His haunting amber eyes fixate hungrily on the labored breaths of the dying doe the scent comes from, which lies helplessly on her side in front of him, eyes closed.
It is an act of providence.
The Big Bad Wolf has overcome many challenges. He has hunted, pillaged, and failed for many a century—humiliated through gruesome means he has managed to escape from with the last inches of his wretched life. With each near-fatal encounter, he emerged more formidable than before; and yet still, his good ending escapes him, never to relish in his greedy pursuits. His fable is not of triumph but of belittlement, one he has long accepted to endure. He is devoid of kindness. He is not benevolent. He deserves this fate and more.
But perhaps fate is offering him a break.
Why else is a dying deer lying before him for his avaricious stomach to digest?
As he stops his hulking frame over the large deer nearly his size, he bends his snout forward for a deep sniff at her neck. An epiphany finds him as he perks at the mingling scents of ash, guts, and something otherworldly: she smells like a fable.
Truly interesting. Perhaps that's why his luck has been so downtrodden lately; he must have entered yet another concept of Fairytale, likely to win and then fall from his high because winning has never been anything he deserves. But such a notion can't be so, because this deer will not live to see another day. She will die after he savors her meat.
If she is another one of fate's lessons, he will regret the consequences later, when he is full and she is dead.
As he pulls away to check for traps or others should there be an ambush, he realizes she's looking right at him. Dazed. Eyes half-lidded.
Dying, he confirms.
Perhaps he may receive his answers yet.
"From where do you hail from?" He growls out, sitting on his hind legs. Behind him, his tail flicks in expectation when some life comes back into her eyes at his addressing of her being.
She doesn't answer for some time. But he is patient as he is cruel, a virtue his sire taught him before he up and sought for his territory. After all, patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.
Finally, after an unending silence, she answers.
"Far," She says. Her voice sounds whispy. Gentle.
Resigned.
He stares her down in slight approval. So she understands her fate in his jaws, then. At the very least she has dignity on her end. "...How far is far, Doe?"
She doesn't answer and he waits again. "Acadia," She whispers eventually, and he finds himself impressed.
"That is far," He agrees, impressed. He lowers his snout to her neck again, baring his teeth. Such a fickle creature, and to have traveled thousands and thousands of miles in her state? She is a definite fable, there's no mistake about that. No Ordinary has such capabilities. "What brings a doe such as yourself to my private domain?"
He smells no fear when she answers. "I am here to lay in my resting place."
He smells sadness, instead. "Is that so?" He goads, glancing briefly at the slashes on her open stomach. An arrow sticks out from her twitching leg. Hunted by humans, then. He almost feels pity. He knows exactly what that's like, but the likes of one's life depend on the owner, and if fate has brought her here, to him, then who is he to complain to the fresh meat at his door?
"It must be so," She whispers.
"You are fond of intruding into a predator's den, then," He growls. This is his sanctuary. Should he meet his end in this place, he is to embrace it within the tranquility of his refuge. He sleeps here. He eats here. For her to come here and slobber it with her essence is a disrespect so grand that it is only fair he eats her for doing so. Yet, the anger he ought to experience does not arise. Instead, he remains indifferent, merely watching her until an event unfolds.
Boredom kills, he's heard.
"I apologize for my ignorance," She whispers, and her sincerity makes him pause. "In my haste, I had not thought twice. I am dying." It is not the first time he's been told an apology. But it has never stemmed from true remorse, but rather from fear of his wrath. She must not know him to speak in such a manner to him. A true novel in itself. Hearing such tender words from a defenseless and vulnerable being, especially when she is entirely at his mercy, presents a situation that leaves him suddenly scarily uncertain about his next few decisions.
"I am aware," He rumbles brusquely, dismissing her apology. Perhaps she is manipulating him into feeling sorry for her. If so, then her punishment will be much more dire.
For now, however, he'll let her speak. In his boredom, his curiosity gets the better of him. "Who is responsible for spoiling my meal?" He asks her, placing a threatening paw against her front leg. Yet he keeps his weight lifted, simply setting dominance in a manner that won't spoil the fun of talking.
The fun of talking, he thinks to himself in slight hysterics. He was never fond of that.
Her large eyes blink slowly. There is a milky cloud-like color forming in the center.
"Humans," She whispers, mourning. He detects a hint of fear in her voice, which nearly prompts a triumphant smile from him. He thinks initially that she caught onto the evidence of his words, that she is his meal to have and nothing more. Alas, a larger part of him thinks her sickening aroma of dread comes from the mention of humanity itself.
He doesn't blame her.
His giddiness dies in a pit of flames at the thought. "Wretched creatures," He agrees. "They have taken much from me."
"Same as I," She returns, and she sounds sad for him.
For him, hah!
Him? He deserves it that much and more. He knows what he's done and he won't change. He takes and takes. But the humans have taken much more. To hear such—such pity from a pathetic creature like her is injustice. She doesn't know him, not his story, not at all. If she knew, if only, then she would reconsider her words. She would not be so tragically gentle, so... idiotic, to empathize with the likes of him.
And yet.
This does not elicit the anger deserved.
Instead, yet again, his curiosity gets the better of him.
He backs away slightly, shifting and circling in place twice before comfortably laying on his paws in front of her. He towers over her still, muzzle leaning into her face. He smells bile, blood, and the salt of her tears. She is quite the majestic creature, to look this beautiful in her rundown state. It's no wonder she was hunted after. A stupid human, seeing a deer this grand and meaty? It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
At least, he assumes. He can't help but think it so himself.
"Do tell of your loss," He demands, tilting his head at her.
If she doesn't want to, that's fine. He'll just eat her and be done with it. He's noticed it's cruel to leave her to die so slowly.
(Anything to get this queasy feeling away from his stomach.)
She seems to get lost in thought. It's ages before she speaks again, and he listens intently, idly licking at his paws to clean at his muzzle, eyes, and ears in the meantime. Nothing but the salt of famine coats his tongue.
"My husband and son were killed," She begins bluntly, sounding choked and gut-wrenched. He appreciates her directness. "During the autumn season, I, along with the herd of deer and our fawns, were in the process of migration as we made preparations for the impending winter."
He says nothing, his ardent gaze encouraging her to continue.
So she does. "But with our migration arrives the dire time of hunting season for humans, when we are at our most vulnerable."
He doesn't point out that her voice begins to waver.
"My husband is... was our leader."
Ah, he thinks, connecting the dots. He had already suspected this to be the case, but hearing it directly from her enhances the realization. It is not surprising that she is so substantial. It is only fitting that the Dominant Buck would seek a mate of such impressive stature. Deer possess a considerable degree of arrogance.
It's funny, though. She doesn't sound as pretentious as other doe he's met. Though that may have to do with the fact that she's dying.
Should she not fear me, then?
She talks again and his ears point forward in attentiveness, cutting off his train of thought. "There were many humans. Before, it would be few. But their numbers were greater this time, and it did not take long for arrows to paint the sky."
"An ambush," He observes.
She closes her eyes in solemn agreement.
He waits.
"...My fawn, my son, got hit among the carnage. As did many of our kin, including my husband."
She lifts her head with some struggle, looking at the single arrow sticking out of her bleeding flesh. She wriggles her leg for his attention, "As did I. I was among the fortunate few who managed to escape largely unscathed. Subsequently, I was tracked by my blood trail. I have now endured nearly a month in this condition with no food and little water."
This explains why she's on the verge of death, The Big Bad Wolf realizes. A fable such as herself shouldn't die so easily by a mere arrow wound. But leave it long enough untreated and soon it becomes a problem.
"You traveled far," He points out, for once unsure of what to say. Does he care? Not really. But it's an interesting story to hear.
"I have," She agrees. "Alone," Her voice becomes wistful.
The tone she takes has him lowering his head in reluctant sympathy. "A pity," He admits, and he startles himself somewhat for doing so. He quickly reiterates. "I am certain they would have constituted a satisfactory meal for someone such as myself," he remarks, driven by his persistent hunger. He has always experienced this insatiable appetite. In his challenging moments, it would have been a pleasure to witness such a magnificent herd, with deer of considerable size.
But he'll admit that it's a sad thing to hear. To know you are dying with no help around nor family to return to, what else is one to do other than die?
It evokes a distant memory of his own past. He recalls the time when his mother perished while defending herself and her offspring from humans intent on slaughtering them merely for possessing fangs and claws. He had been the runt of a litter of seven, the sole survivor, concealed beneath the harsh, frigid snow as he witnessed the humans mutilate his mother and strip away her very essence.
Is there a difference, he thinks, for a mother to lose her son, or a son to lose his mother?
She lowers her head in defeat. "Perhaps it would have been merciful, had you eaten them instead," She says wistfully, and he narrows his eyes at her.
What an odd thing to say. "You know not if their deaths were to be quick in my jaws," He points out. Something disgustingly heavy weighs in his chest and he rumbles to flick it off. But it remains.
Her eyes tear up. He smells grief.
"I know so," She tells him, and he quiets in contemplation. "Humans are cruel. They have always been cruel. But you are like I, a beast, among the wilds. A meal for you is a thousandfold less than the hands and knives of humans. It is at the very least, Mother Nature's way."
He doesn't tell her he agrees. Humans are needlessly cruel, but ah, so is he. She doesn't know him. Not at all. The monster he is, is just that, a monster. Humans are evil and so he must reciprocate in turn. But perhaps he would have made an exception for this doe and her family. Certainly, he would have left the son alone, for selfish reasons. One day that son would've grown into a majestic buck. And maybe then he would have hunted and eaten him.
But no, her and her husband, their deaths would've been quick. A nice chomp in the neck, to savor the gush of blood on his tongue. For their excitable chase, that is their reward.
But him and his stupid mouth.
"Perhaps," He allows, like an idiot. He remains ravenous, but, it suddenly seems as though a veil of enchantment has obscured his senses, rendering the idea of consuming this doe unexpectedly distasteful. Her scent takes on a comforting sense, and he lifts from his slouched position on the ground, staring at her intently. He searches for any chance she may have double-crossed him, because he is abruptly compelled to refuse her, to let her go. But he finds nothing.
He makes to open his jaw and clench around her neck quickly, now that she has told her pathetic story to his unforgiving ears. But when he hovers closer, his spine rivets uncomfortably, sending waves of repulsion to his brain.
Eat her, his mind hisses.
But he... cannot.
She closes her eyes and her shallow breathing becomes one prolonged breath. As if she's holding it, embracing the inevitable while baring her neck with gratefulness. A doe to want to reunite with family.
Do it.
He sneers at her.
He pulls away.
I cannot.
He shakes his head, growling.
Why?
Images of himself wandering bloody, injured, left to nurse his own wounds engulf him. Decades upon decades alone, with no home to return to. He hisses at that conniving recollection and pulls away from her as if burned, causing the doe to slowly pick up her head and look at him questionably. Except their eyes catch each other, and there is more than just her confusion and defeat.
Sadness.
To look at him so... sadly. So resolute.
And he, to understand another creature for the first time, on his own.
It tears something apart in his mind.
His puffed fur calms as his stomach clenches in both revulsion and yearning.
He's not even angry. He's...
Is this empathy? He thinks desperately, feeling sick. Is this what that foolish Little Red meant? Is this what that little boy yearned for after tricking the townsfolk time and time again!? Is this what Colin and his stupid fucking brothers wanted him to feel after they lost nearly everything to him and his ridiculous contempt!? Lesson after lesson from fate's embrace, just to culminate in this!?
He can't eat her. He can't eat her. He can't eat her, not when she looks so miserable. So...
He hangs his head low.
Like me.
He turns away from her, shaking.
"Get out," He snarls because he can't bear to look at a meal so delicious yet a creature so alike as him. He can't see prey as something else. Because sooner or later he knows he'll eat her and never recover himself.
"...I cannot," She reminds him weakly and he curses everything he ever was. "I'm sorry. This is my last stop, wolf."
He growls in agony.
He will not allow her to die here for him to see.
She's going, he grits, she's going and never coming back.
He stands, heaving a barking breath, intending to drag her out with his teeth.
But he stops again.
Their eyes meet.
A different, stupid, idea resides in his head.
"With proper nutrition, how soon will you heal?" He snarls at her, getting in her face.
She blinks at him slowly.
"...A month," She answers.
He chuffs, stomping his paw.
A damn month.
But a month is nothing for a fable.
"You may stay here for a month," He grits, baring his teeth at her threateningly. "But no more. Recover. Eat. Drink. I will bring you such sustenance. But after a month, you will depart. And never show yourself again."
He doesn't stay to listen for her response.
He leaves instead, running out of his cave in consuming remorse.