untitled

III.

The Chapel was dark and damp, something it never was, oozing tension from its brick walls and wooden chair. Not a candle was lit in the main chamber, but traces of light were visible from the backrooms where the healers moved about.
Among the shuffle of feet Sashero could distinguish Ane’s busy footwork. He could tell he was moving from patient to patient, giving orders and instructions on which herbs and fruits were the correct ones to mix and make his potions.
“Kuaru, he’s on the backroom.” Said Sashero to his just arrived brother, who was already searching for his partner. A look from Kuaru communicated his ‘thank you’ and quickly left.
It would be good for him to be back there, he had been nervous when he heard the healers where attacked and Ane was nowhere to be seen. For Ane there was no better assistant in emergencies than the ever-alert Kuaru. It would make Ane calm down and feel confident. Though heaven knows why he needs someone to make him feel confident, when he is one of the few ‘empathic/psychic/healer’, naturally born. Everyone trusts his capable hands, and more important his mind and heart. Even Sashero, though they always fight, thinks of him as a younger brother.
While Sashero looked around the damped chapel, he wondered since when exactly did he see Ane as family and friend. He’s been living under their (being Kuaru and Sashero’s) roof for 78 years, and for the last 78 years it has become the home for four guys, one who was barely ever around, Allen; the lord of demons, Sashero; his brother, the leader of wolves, Kuaru; and Aneko the healer.
Examining the window above the altar and the shattered pieces of glass on the floor to calculate the strength of the harpies, it was below average, he began to think ‘why Allen cannot stay indoors?!’
“The idiot, a good home and stays out in the cold.” He said to himself. “As if he had to redeem himself of something.”
Allen is the leader of werewolves, one of the greatest armies there are, besides the bear, tigers and foxes, the cunning bastards are led by Kiba, the most arrogant being on this world.
A piece of glass was tainted with blood. Sashero picked it up and put it in his pocket for later examination. The scent of the blood wasn’t from a harpy or a healer. There was something ‘angelic’ about it, but what was intriguing, the scent though it was just a drop at the most, was overpowering. It slowly crept up his nostrils and tempted his senses. Who’s was it? He’s never smelled it before. Which means there’s a stranger in his lands and hasn’t announced itself, and already wreaked havoc.
He heard Allen walk in with heavy footsteps, “Nothing. Not even the small beasts want to talk. They’ve been threatened.” He was pensive for a moment. Scoff “As if we wouldn’t help them.”
Scoffing was Allen’s trademark. He never really said much around strangers, and when spoken to he would only answer with a scoff. That’s what happens when people saw you as the big bad wolf and never gave you a chance. No pun intended.
This is the problem that werewolves had to confront all their lives. They’re seen as monsters (even if sometimes they are, if you piss them off) but they really are loyal, mainly to each other, and their people, meaning wolves and other mutts.
Sashero couldn’t think of something that has happened to him that Allen doesn’t know about and vice-versa.
“What’s that smell?” he asked sniffing around ending up close to Sashero. Allen looked at him quizzically, “Is that you?”
Sashero dug in his pocket for the piece of glass and held it under Allen’s nose.
“Who’s that?” he took another sniff, “I don’t recognize it.”
“That’s why I’m keeping it.” And put it back to its new home, the pocket.
Scoff. “There’s something about it.” He looked up to the shattered window. “Something half-holy”
“Nothing is half-holy. You’re either holy, searching or damned.”
A small gust of wind flew in through the doors. It carried the scent of the blood on the shard; it was very strong; the owner was close.
Allen moved to the left of the chapel, moving chairs aside. Something called his attention, he bent on one knee and picked up a stone, transparent held by silver. The silver was shaped like a lizard with bird wings. The chain that would hold it around the owner’s neck trickled and, to the two wolves, it sounded almost like it chimed.
Allen turned around with the trinket showing it to Sashero, who stood in the center of the chapel staring at the entrance. That’s when he noticed that the small gust of wind had become more than that. Their coats were fluttering around them and the scent was now so thick if you moved you could feel it caress your face. It wasn’t asphyxiating, more like cleansing, very alluring.
He took a look at Sashero, and saw that alluring was too soft a word for how he felt. He’d never seen him so transfixed, almost bewitched by it. ‘Was it a witch’s scent?’
Sashero had stared at the open door, knowing that the owner of that marvelous scent would show up now.