Where the Moon Lies

Title: Where the Moon Lies
Author: Azalea J.
Beta: None
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Later graphic homoerotic sex (M/M), Language, descriptive births/deaths, angst. (Warnings will be added as needed in later chapters.)
Type: Werewolf / Fantasy / Novel
Disclaimer: This is a work of Original Fiction. All characters and settings belong to the author Azalea J. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental.

Extended Summary:Jesse Decanter had a wonderful, loving mother and father. Then his mother died giving birth to his sister, Kingsley, and his father took him and his newborn sister into the wilds. For many years Jesse and King learned to appreciate everything the land had to offer them, but then their father left on a desperate hunt for food during the winter shortage and never returned. All alone in the wilderness, Jesse and King had to learn fast to survive on their own. And just to make things more complicated, Kingsley's a horse.

At the same time...

Alden Kellenwood's life couldn't be more different than Jesse's: he's got a twin brother, two younger twin sisters, another older brother and a brand new baby brother. He's got a steadfast mother and father, and he literally lives at the top of the world—-on a sunlit mountaintop. But one winter night during a blizzard, a half-starved stranger and his horse take desperate refuge in his family's barn, and Alden's life will never be the same.

Word Count: Approx. 10 250

- Prologue -
Jacob Kellenwood hefted the large sanded white stone, and positioned it carefully atop the last. White mud mixed with various, colorless berries, and a certain viscous bark-paste was wedged between the new stone and the last, and further around the ones to each side. Later, under the heat of the mountain sun, the mud would dry harder than crockery.

Seated on the hard, handcrafted shingles of the roof, Mathew Englemann, Jacob’s best friend and neighbor, started the next layer of rocks. Carefully stacking then wedging with mud, the two built up the chimney.

It was a beautiful piece of work, Jacob could shamelessly admit to himself; the fireplace nestled itself into the hand-cut and sanded wood logs of the house, large but functional. It was made entirely out of the white rock taken from the soft loam higher up the mountain. Its large belly was cut in half by an iron grate purchased in town, stuck so firmly into the rock nothing short of a horse would move it, and he doubted his wife would ever attempt to cook a complete horse, so there was little need to worry. The grate ended in a large hook, which hung over the remaining open-belly of the pit. This would be used for the large iron cauldron that would cook his wife’s wondrous stew in the winter, and for doing the laundry.

Above the initial fireplace, set into the rock of the chimney, was the oven. Small by anyone’s standards, it would cook a single cake or loaf of bread without much fuss. Surrounded by the heat of the chimney from the fire below, it was, in his wife’s own words: perfect. The two iron doors, which closed off the oven from the rest of the house, and kept the heat contained, even had a little latch to keep them tight.

Jacob laid another rock, then paused to wipe the sweat from his neck and shoulders with his kerchief. The day was hot, and with no trees to shade them, and being as exposed as they were on the roof of the house, it was particularly stifling.

“We’re out of mortar.” Mat said as he laid another stone, scraping the wooden bowl for the last of the white mud, and slathering it between the newest addition to the chimney. “Got another four layers to go, too.”

“Bout time we took a break, anyway.” Jacob muttered, and got to his feet, his legs protesting at the sudden change. He’d been in a half-squat for most of the morning; it couldn’t be good for his back.

Together they carefully scaled the pine ladder slung against the side of the house, and touched the short grass below with genial sighs of relief. Jacob went over to the campfire crackling merrily in the sunlight, and the cauldron propped among the logs. He stirred the viscous fluid within with a long piece of kindling. It bubbled at him and burped merrily. “Almost ready.” He muttered.

Mat gazed at it over Jacob’s shoulder. “Well, ‘taint goin’ nowhere. C’mon, I bet Joann’s got something good and cold waiting for us inside.” And he turned and headed for the house.

Jacob smiled. The house.

His house.

He’d built that house - Matt and Joann had helped occasionally, of course - but he and Sarah had built the better part of it alone. Working together with nothing but the crisp mountain breezes and the sun beating down hard on their backs.

The land he now lived on had been bought cheep from a man in town who’d owned the land for years but done nothing with. The borders were hardly defined, but by contract and deed Jacob could say he owned just about everything you could see standing right where he was now; so, quite a lot.

The mountain itself was a confused thing, at times it sloped and at times it climbed drastically; it was rarely flat. The land Jacob owned was one of the slopping bits.

Far, far below lay the town where Jacob had grown up, and through that Town ran a frothing, violent river which served as the life source for many round these parts. Going upstream, towards the town, was a flat expanse of prairie and more hills and mountains and forests; downstream was a high, flat, cliff face, which ran straight up and wasn't wise to climb. The cliff went straight up for fifty meters, then began to level out in tiny increments - increments usually measured by rocks and the various trees that got progressively larger as you went higher. Finally it leveled out almost completely, and led onto a bare expanse of grassy hill that sloped gently ever higher. This slope of bared land was what Jacob Kellenwood now owned, and had owned for the past two years.

The slope continued gracefully upward until it hit another flat cliff face, and this is where Jacob’s land ended. This face went up and up an up, eventually it would even out again, and there one would find the top of this particular mountain - but this story doesn’t concern the top of any mountain, let alone this one.

Suffice to say Jacob and his wife didn’t climb that rock face overlooking the river to get from their house to town and back again; instead, to the side of their house lay a well worn mountain road, smooth and level enough for a horse and cart to travel easily. This trail led down into the town below, and further off in the opposite direction up and around the mountain. There were other families occupying the mountain slopes for various reasons - the Englemann’s being one of them - and this road led to each and every house. In fact, it was said you could follow the road across the entire range of mountains - for Jacob’s mountain was only one of thousands - down through the valleys and across cold mountain streams. But Jacob had never met anyone who had, and he had no desire to do such a thing himself.

His own slope was home, and he was close to Mat and Joann and the town, and he had Sarah with him, and that was more than enough for Jacob.

“Jacob Kellenwood!” A strong, clear voice shrilled out from his doorway. “Are you going to stand there breathing in the smoke of that campfire all afternoon, or are you going to sit down to lunch with the rest of us?”

He flashed the woman a smile, showing her his pearly whites. “Joann, dear, lunch sounds wonderful.” And he followed her into the blessed shade.

Sitting at the newly sanded table, he pulled a plate toward him, and began piling various things onto it, a couple slices of bread, some fresh tiny tomatoes, lettuce, a slice of butter, and shavings of freshly seasoned venison. His mouth watered as he pilled it all neatly into a sandwich, and bit down hungrily into the soft bread. A workin' man’s a hungry man, and a cool sandwich was damn close to rapture. “How’s Sarah?” He asked around a tomato trying to escape back onto his plate.

Joann smiled wistfully. “Doing just fine, and you swallow before you speak again, Kellenwood, else I’ll brand you with my spatula.”

“Yes mam.” He swallowed.

“And how’s that chimney comin’?"

Mat flashed his wife a tomato stained smile, “She’s a beaut’, Joann. Just wait ‘till she’s finished, won’t be long now.”

Jacob nodded, head bent over his meal. Four more layers... maybe five.

“We’ll have to build us a new fireplace, too, whatdya think?”

“You’ve got lettuce stuck in your teeth, Mat, and I think our fireplace is just fine. Don’t you be gettin’ ideas in your head now.”

Unlike Jacob, who’d bought land, Mat and Joann had bought land and a house. They’d built a barn and renovated some, but really, changing something that was already there was a lot easier'n building from scratch. Joann had come from a wealthy family, and Mat wasn’t that hard up himself. At times Jacob found himself rueful of their easy lot, but then he thought of his new house, built with his bare hands, and was at once content.

All the same, he was more than appreciative for their help in building it. The barn would be next, and then he’d look to getting him some more horses, maybe two. Yampah was a good horse - young and virile - but once he got this farm up and running, another two horses would be a smart man's investment.

Jacob already had everything all planned out.

Everything would be perfect.

The sandwiches and all the assorted leftover fillings disappeared fast, and Jacob and Mat didn't dally in returning to the roof, dragging the wood bowl re-filled with mortar from the campfire along with them.

Inside, Joann tidied up the small kitchen. The cupboards were all hand-carved - by Jacob himself, no less, like the table - though the chairs had been bought in town. The countertops were all pine. Over the years the smell would fade, but right now, that tiny kitchen smelled like a forest in spring bud, it was heaven to the nose. Joann was happy for Jacob, and even happier for Sarah; she couldn’t wait to have her own children; what a blessing that would be. Mat said wait, though, for a few more years; and, really, she could be patient.

High up on the mountain slope life was secluded, and not for everyone, but for them life in the mountains was a pleasant one; you did what you did and people let you get on. Besides, whenever they got too lonely, they had each other, and town was only three hours away by horse, on a sunny day.

Placing away the last plate in the cupboard, Joann headed outside to the campfire. Since they obviously couldn’t use the fireplace just yet - lest the mortar melt before it could properly harden - they’d been using this outdoor pit while the house was being built. Her eyes glazed over the cauldron of mortar, and instead rested on the smaller kettle of water next to it, nestled in the embers, hidden by the cauldrons extreme girth. Wrapping her delicate hand in a towel, she reached in and quickly pulled it out. She licked her finger and touched it to the side of the kettle, briefly; determining the water must be warm enough, she made her way back inside.

Passing through the kitchen, Joann knocked softly on the master bedroom’s door. “Sarah?”

There was no answer.

Softly, Joann turned the knob and pushed her way through. The bed sat a foot off the floor on sturdy pine legs, and was large enough for two; a grand thing that had cost Jacob what had been left of all his life savings. Sleeping softly beneath the thick covers was Sarah. Jacob’s wife was pale and looked very frail, still, she was smiling in her sleep, and Joann smiled too as she sat beside her friend. Placing the kettle on the sturdy bedside table, Joann folded the towel and placed it beneath the spout. She titled the kettle by the relatively cool handle until the towel was damp, then tilted it back. She then dabbed the sweat from Sarah’s brow, and wiped down her thin arms and chest. A bath would be ideal, but none of them wanted to move her just yet, she was much too close to her time to risk it, especially without a midwife here to oversee things.

Joann continued to smile. No one was worried; Sarah would be fine, she just had that type of resilient personality that wouldn’t stand for anything to go wrong within her presence.

The men worked hard for the rest of the afternoon, and as the old grandfather clock chimed five thirty, Jacob laid the last stone, and patted the mud paste in firm about it. “Well, that does it then. She's finished.”

“'Bout time, too. Wasn’t sure if my back could take much more of this.” Mat rubbed his left shoulder ruefully.

Jacob laughed. “A quick wash-down in the stream might be in order, I’d say.”

“Aye. Then a rubdown by the mistress.” He winked.

The two checked the chimney thoroughly from top to bottom, inside and out for cracks and places where the paste was too thin - and polished it to a state of utter perfection where it was - before tossing their pants in the grass and wading into the summer-thinned stream that trickled past the homestead. The water was cool and fresh, delivered right from the snow-caped peaks above, and washed not only the dirt and grit and smoke from their backs and arms, hands and faces, but quenched their thirst, as well.

The his neck and arms, face and back were red and peeling from the sun, and Mat wasn’t any better off. Shaking dry in the cool air and letting the late sun dry them, they donned their pants and headed inside, pausing to prod the campfire back up as they passed.

Joann poured them both a glass of cedar tea, and they fell back into hard chairs that never felt so soft.

Placing a saucer of juniper berries between them, Joann sat herself on the floor, drawing her skirts about her legs, and smiled as she watched her husband and their friend relax.

Scooping one or two of the plump berries into his fingers, Jacob nodded his thanks to Joann and dropped them into his steaming tea, stirring them with a finger. He let them settle for a moment before sipping. He swallowed, sighed, and settled back into his chair. He could feel his muscles oozing out beneath his skin, relaxing their clamped grips on his bones, and he groaned sedately.

“I had a look at that chimney while you two were playing in the stream." Joann said. "She’s gorgeous, Jacob. Sarah’s gonna be mighty pleased.” Her eyes were sparkling with praise, and Jacob tipped his broad-rimmed hat to her favor.

“You don’t have to do much to please Sarah.” Mat said after a thick swallow of his own unflavored tea. “Show her a smile and give her some honest work and she’s happy.”

“As true as that may be, Jacob, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“I’m not finished yet, Joann, house still hasta be finished - then the barn.”

“And you’ve got to start planning for that young one, Mister. Things aren’t going to be as simple around here once he comes.”

Jacob smiled, and sipped some more, offering the saucer to Joann. She declined gracefully. “Yuh, and after him, I plan on having a couple more.”

“You always did speak of having a large family, Jacob. How many you aiming for now?”

“Five or six." Jacob swallowed, then added, "Seven’s a nice number.”

“Whatchu gonna do with all them kids?”

“Raise ‘em.” Jacob grinned over the edge of his cup.

“I think raising a large family’s a wonderful dream.” Joann spoke from the floor, and Mat winked at her.

“What’re you going to name ‘im?”

“Well now, that’s Sarah’s decision. First kid’s always the mother's.”

“He’ll probably be named after her father, then.”

“Most like.” Jacob hid his smile in his cup, then drew back and stared mournfully into the dredges and deflated berries at the bottom.

Joann got to her feet and brought the kettle to him. Jacob scooped a couple more berries into his tea, and smiled at her. “Boy, without you around, Joann, what with the house and Sarah an’ all, I think we might have had a hard time.”

“You’d do all right, Jacob Kellenwood. You always have.”

---

The three stayed up for a time, chatting and drinking. They eventually retired to the table, where they played a round of cards around supper of sheep, potatoes, and gravy, before turning in for the night. Joann and Mat took one of the two spare rooms, and Jacob settled in beside his wife, still slumbering peacefully cocooned in the covers.

As he pulled her into his arms, she sighed weakly and tucked herself into his warmth.

“You’ve been sleeping all day, Missus Kellenwood. You should get outside for some fresh air tomorrow. If for only an hour.”

“Mmm, but this baby’s so heavy, Mister Kellenwood. It keeps tying me back to bed.” She snuggled closer.

“You at least had something to eat today besides breakfast?”
“Of course. Joann came in a while after you two’d gone back to the roof. I couldn’t get much down, but what I did was enough.”

“I love you.”

Her eyes fluttered open and those blue irises took in all of him. Her pale lips quirked and even her sallow cheeks seemed to blossom with renewed color. “I’ll be fine, Mister Kellenwood; this child won’t get the better of me, I can promise you that. Besides, we’ve only just started the house, I’ve a great deal to finish yet.” She winked. “The kitchen, the rooms, the floors - and of course the garden-”

He drew her into a soft, lingering kiss, and tightened his arms around her frail form. Her large belly pushed into him, and he relished the closeness, stroking over it with his large, callused palm. He would have made her father proud.

---

It was later that night when Jacob was roused from his sleep by Sarah’s grasping hand, she’d clutched at his arm with her nails; squeezed tight as she could, unable to speak. She was sitting up in bed, and her face was more wan and pained than it had been for the last week.

“Englemann!” He bellowed with as steady a voice as he could muster, and threw the covers aside, pushing them right off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Sarah was sweating and shivering at the same time. She was naked, she'd not bothered with bedclothes for the last week, and he was grateful now for that. As he came up around her on his knees, and held her gently from behind, she leaned into him and seemed to take some comfort from his closeness.

Joann entered the room softly, clad in a light summer sleeping gown that whispered like her bare feet across the wooden floor. Lighting the candle on the bedstead, She came to Sarah and soothed the matted hair from her forehead; whispering encouragements as she eased the mother-to-be back until she was half-lying, half-sitting, resting up against her husband. Joann then urged Sarah to spread her legs, and pushed until Sarah’s knees were bent to her chest. Sarah’s breathing had become shallow and quick. “That’s it, honey, just do what your body tells you to.”

Joann left for a moment and returned with towels and sheets. The towels she placed beneath Sarah’s thighs and the sheet she placed aside.

Sarah cried out then bit her lip, her breathing quickening. Jacob soothed her face and rubbed her belly, urging her to be the strong woman he had always known her to be.

Joann sat herself on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently, stroking Sarah’s legs and rubbing soothingly.

Mat finally entered the room, bearing the kettle, reheated, and a saucer of herbs. “The water took a while to heat; fire'd gone down.” He apologized softly, as he passed the herbs on to Joann, who placed them over the candle on a little mettle rack. Immediately, the herbs began to burn, melt and hiss, and release their faint aromas into the room.

Sarah breathed in deeply, and stared blankly at the covers between her legs, trying to listen to her body, and trying not to fight her natural responses. Slowly, she began to calm.

Passing the kettle to Joann, Mat left to wait in the kitchen.

Taking the kettle, Joann poured hot water into a cup, and passed the cup to Sarah. With Jacob’s help, Sarah drank it down desperately. Pressing a towel to the spout, Joann poured out more water, then began to dab at Sarah’s face and neck, her legs and inner thighs. Whenever the cloth got too cold, she wet it again.

Sarah managed to drink two more cups of water before she began to pant more heavily, and suddenly cried out. Her cries became louder and more exhausting, and her toes curled into the sheets. Together. Joann and Jacob worked to calm her, and help her through, though they knew this battle was Sarah’s alone.

Slowly the night progressed.

Out in the kitchen, Mat fought sleep and ignored the cries coming from the bedroom, and sat and tapped his foot restlessly on the floor. Finally he stood and left for the campfire he’d relit outside, taking another kettle with him - the Kellenwood‘s had two. He could at least heat more water.

Joann sat precariously at the edge of the bed, cross-legged with her nightgown folded neatly beneath her legs. She continued to sooth Sarah with the heated cloth, as Jacob whispered encouragements in her ear and attempted to smooth the stress from her back and sides.

Finally, nearing dawn, Sarah whimpered, and pushed down with all her might. She cried out in pain and pushed again, tears streaming down her face.

Joann abandoned her cloth, and Jacob held still behind her, holding her gently.

Sarah yelled and arched backward in her husbands arms, pushing with all her might. Her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and cheeks. She struggled to keep her breathing regular, but panted all the same.

“C’mon, Sarah. You can do this - just push.”

Sarah took in a deep breath, and pushed, her effort resulting in a wail as she fell back exhausted into her husband's arms. “I can’t...” She whimpered.

“Sure you can.” Joann assured her. “It’s as easy as baking bread.”

Sarah laughed weakly. “Reminded me to tell you that when it’s your turn. -AHHH!!”

Joann smiled, and Jacob chuckled.

“Hnn!!!” Sarah pushed with all her might. At last, she could feel it!

Joan began to get excited. “I see it, Sarah - push! I can see its head!” She reached forward and touched the head delicately, urging and guiding it as it was pushed from Sarah's warmth into the cold.

Sarah pushed; she was practically up on the balls of her feet. She heaved and yelled, and finally slumped into Jacob's loving embrace as the child finally eased from her passage into Joann’s waiting arms.

As the mother breathed and regained her strength, Joann sniped the cord, tied it off neatly, and washed the wailing child with the remaining water from the kettle. Clean, she bundled it neatly within the waiting sheet, and passed it into Jacob’s waiting arms. “A boy.” She whispered with a smile; then she left.

Jacob gazed at his first son with wonder, as he held his shaking wife with his other arm. Finally, she grew complacent enough to relax in his embrace, and let her legs fell out before her, her pelvic muscles and bones slowly beginning to realign to where they were supposed to be. He pressed the child into her shaking hands, and she held it close.

The child whined and groped about blindly, recognizing its mother and all that she meant. Eventually it found her turgid breast, and began to suckle greedily.

Jacob and Sarah watched with permanent, tired smiles on their faces.

Finally, Jacob breathed deep and stretched as far as he was able - without dislodging his wife or his new boychild - to the thick quilt waiting patiently on the floor, and pulled it back up to cover his family as he eased back to the headboard, Sarah following willingly as her son drank her milk.

Comfortable, Jacob asked her quietly, “Well?”

“Allan.” She smiled.

“After your father?”

“Of course.” She looked up at him and kissed his stubbled chin lovingly. “No complaints. You can name the next one."

- Chapter One -
Jesse Decanter was playing in the kitchen the same morning Jacob and Mat were laying the stones for the chimney; making nonsense noises as he scraped his wooden toy horse along the floor as only a two-year-old could.

The Decanters were a small family, just one child: Jesse; though Candace Decanter was more than ready to have her second. They lived on the outskirts of a town Candace had called home for all her life. It was a good sized town, with a bakery and smithy and pub, but it wasn’t a very close-knit town, as was the one where the Kellenwood’s lived; in fact, it was, at times, downright snooty. The women lived solely for gossip, and the men weren’t as open to strangers as they might pretend.

Finn, her husband, was still ostracized by the townsfolk; stranger as he was despite living in the town now for nigh on seven years.

Of course - and Candace would never say this aloud - it was actually a lucky thing for their family that the town in which they’d chosen to live had very little interest in befriending them. For if they’d taken even a fraction of an interest in the Decanter’s daily lives, they might have noticed something odd.

But they didn’t, and they hadn’t, and so Jesse went about playing with his horse on the floor, and Candace continued to knead the dough for tomorrow’s bread thoughtfully on the kitchen table, her eyes wandering to the overcast sky beyond the window from time to time.

It was the middle of summer, and the middle of the day, and though the sun couldn’t be seen for the cloud cover, let alone the moon, Candace was well aware of what night it was, and she smiled.

You see, the Decanter’s were perfectly normal; they had a house, a horse, a son, and Finn had a respectable job in town with the local smithy. The only difference between them and normal folk was one little gene nestled away and sleeping dormant in Jesse’s blood. One little gene that ran rampant through Finn’s family pedigree, and showed itself more vibrantly on the night of the new moon than at any other time.

Finn Decanter was a werewolf.
It was an old magic that made the moonless night awaken a werewolf’s inner spirit; caused him to change and run through the night until he lay, exhausted and panting, in the morning's mist. And Candace knew above all else, that it was this night Finn was the happiest. And this made her happy in turn.

Being the mate of a werewolf had brought new understanding to her eyes. There were no witches in her family, and until Finn she’d known hardly anything about magic or nature at all. But now she had a small, inner clock that told her when to expect the new moon, and when it approached that clock began to bounce and chime happily, until it sang in her chest as her mate ran somewhere in the wild and called out happily to his brethren. She could never share that experience with him - women could never be werewolves, just as men could never be witches - but she could understand, and she could be happy for him.

And she was.

She glanced back at her son, as he nibbled on the nose of his horse and drooled, and she smiled patiently. Rolling the dough into a ball, she left it there and moved to wash her hands in the basin of water she’d heated earlier that morning - it was cooler now. Drying her hands on a towel, she took the bread pan from a cupboard, and placed the round ball of dough inside. The oven had been heating all morning, and as she checked inside and sifted through the darkly glowing embers with the metal poker, she was pleased to find it ready. Pushing the little metal pan with its ball of dough inside, she closed and latched the metal doors of the oven behind it, and brushed her hands clean on her apron. Then she went to fetch her washing. She hefted the large, wicker basked onto her hip, and held out her hand to her son, who - wooden horse clutched possessively between small fingers - took it hastily, and allowed his mother to lead him outside.

“Ma?” Jesse asked as his mother led him down the well-known trail to the river.

“Yes, Jesse?”

“Pa's not coming home tonight, right?”

“No.”

“Then we can have cake for supper?”

She smiled down at him; Finn loved nothing more than seeing his boy eat a healthy slab of meat. Jesse, however, liked nothing more than sweets, and vegetables, to his fathers immense chagrin. “We’ll see.”

Jesse smiled from ear-to-ear, and raced off ahead of his mother with his horse, eager to play in the shallows as his mother did the washing.

As she followed, Candace ran her hand absentmindedly across her abdomen. She wondered vaguely if she’d have another son, and thus, three beautiful werewolves to care fore someday - or if she might get lucky, and this time have that lovely baby girl she’d always dreamed of having.

It didn't mater one way or the other. She loved Finn, and she loved bearing his children.

---

Later that evening, Finn Decanter led his horse by foot through the sparse trees of the forest surrounding his town. He wasn’t headed home this night; he wouldn’t be returning until sometime tomorrow afternoon. Candace wouldn’t worry about him. She’d probably already have the cooking fire going for whatever catch he might bring back to her.

The smells of the forest assaulted his sensitive nose - even as a human he could pick up the fresh, sweet scent of the pine needles; the moist soil underfoot. He could smell the wind and a bird nearby. He could smell his horse, powerful and musky.

Stifling the howl that rose in his throat, Finn led his horse ever deeper. The trees slowly began to close around them, and night's shadows began to creep as the sun set to the west. Excitement bubbled within him.

Finally having placed a comforting distance between himself and any possible prying eyes, Finn led his horse to a tall Jack Pine, and tied her reins to one of the lower boughs. He removed his clothes and folded them neatly, placed them at the base of the trunk, then left. A small chickadee cocked its head at him silently from up above, it opened its beak and called, Dee, dee dee dee. His horse was well used to this routine, and began to nose around for fresh shoots and grass hidden among the needles. Later she’d lie, and sleep, and wait for her master to return.

He walked a fair distance from his horse, loath to spook her, and finally gave in to the moon's pull on his spirit. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. It made him want to sing and run, hunt and play. And he changed.

The change was painless and swift, and Finn was running before his forepaws had even hit the earth. His flanks heaved and his tongue lolled. He felt a song bubbling up from the deepest pit of his belly, and opened his maw wide to let loose a long, low howl that echoed in the night and made creatures miles away shiver and retreat into their dens.

The forest was a blur to him on this night, all he could do was feel and go with whatever his body told him to do. He was a pup again: free and young. And he ran. He ran until he caught the scent of a squirrel, and tore after it. He lost it soon after but found another, barking excitedly when he saw it. The squirrel froze for an instant, than sped up a tree, kicking up dirt and grass behind in its wake. For a moment, Finn stood at the base of the tree and barked, and the squirrel yammered back, anxious for this predator to leave its territory.

Loosing interest, Finn trotted away from the tree, and further on into the night, following his nose.
He could control himself; he could insert his mind and dominate the wolf and force himself to sleep, but as long as he was far away from human eyes, there was no reason to deny that part of him. So many werewolves died of depression, having hid their true selves for years, spending the moonless night shivering and holed up in various caves and hollows. But Finn had found a place where he could be himself, and delightfully he allowed his inner wolf rein for this one night a month, this one night alone.

He eagerly anticipated the day his son experienced his first transformation. Finn would be there with him through the pain and confusion, and then share in his utter abandon and delight and run with him as his father had run with Finn when he’d been a pup. Those little paws...

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Finn raised his snout and howled, his tail wagging furiously behind him for all the world like a common dog.

He caught a scent, and tore off in its direction in a heartbeat, salivating. It was subtle, but coney through and through, and he tracked it eagerly through the night.

---

Morning’s sweet caress found Finn curled in a hollow basin, at one time a streambed, probably. His muzzle was bloodied and his belly was full. One yellow eye cracked open to lazily greet the day.
He glanced to his side to make sure the second rabbit he’d caught that night hadn’t been stolen by one of nights many creatures as he slept - not that many would dare to steal from a wolf’s slumbering side. The coney was still there; it’s belly spilt and eyes glassy where it lay on its clover coffin.

Finn took a moment to rise and stretch properly, his hind claws digging delightfully into the damp soil. He licked his paws then his maw, cleaning the dry, flaking blood as best as he could, before scooping the coney up delicately behind his canines and trotting off into the morning.

Pausing to scent the area once every couple of feet, and relieving himself once onto a tree, Finn slowly made his way back to where he’d left his horse and clothes, enjoying the morning and the coolness of the dew that had settled on his thick fur in the night.

The elation wore off as the morning grew late, and Finn trotted purposefully and alert; his ears perked and ready, his tail, still, behind him.

Finally scenting his mare around the next large copse of trees, he changed back silently, and stepped from the tree cover, coney in hand, to retrieve his clothes and make his way back to his family.

No scent warned him for the woman that stood calmly stroking his horse.

For a moment Finn could only stand and stare confused. Why had he not scented her as he scented his horse? Why could he still not pick up her scent, even now as he focused on it deliberately? When the woman turned to meet his eyes, he realized he should have taken the time to hide and resume his wolf form; scare her off and wonder later what might be wrong with his nose.

As it was, all he could do was stand naked, clutching a bloody rabbit is his fisted hand, and wait for her to speak. His brow furrowed. He longed to growl a warning, but stifled the urge.

She smiled sweetly, but in her eyes he could see danger; cunning. He still could not smell her. She was dressed in a plain, purple dress; her dark hair drawn high on her head in a loose bun that allowed strands to drift free and caress her face and neck. She moved away from his horse, and turned to face him fully. “Finn Decanter?”

“Aye.”

“You are a wolf.” Her eyes seemed to flash with an inner power, and Finn at once had his answer: a witch. She must have disguised her magic from his nose with some spell or herb.

“Aye.”

Her smile grew.

Dropping the coney to the ground, Finn took a couple steps closer. When the witch made no move to stop him, interfere or move, he continued on to where his clothes lay neatly folded and slightly damp with dew, and began to dress in silence. He kept his senses, those that worked, on the witch.

Dressed, he stood facing her. “What is it you’d like?”

“Take me as your mate.”

He was stunned, but then, not surprised. For a witch to take a werewolf as her mate was not uncommon, though it wasn’t something talked about frequently in any setting. Werewolves were considered to be as close to true magic as one could get; any witch with true designs on magic would want one for her mate.

He answered her calmly. “I’ve already taken a mate, I’m sorry. If you’ve gone to this much trouble then you already know wolves mate for life.” Striding past her, ignoring her, he claimed his catch from the dirt, and walked to her to claim his horse. He removed her reins from the pine and mounted her without a second word or nod to the witch. Then, turning his horse about, he cantered off in the direction of home.

---

“Pa!” Jesse came running from the house as his father approached, and latched clumsily to his fathers leg as Finn dismounted. “Whatcha bring for supper, pa?"

Candace emerged from the doorway, wiping down a glass from lunch, smiling gently. As she came up to him, he drew her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. Jesse took one look, and scrunched up his tiny nose in disgust, waiting patiently for his parents to finish so he could find out what they’d be having for supper that night. And then, if he was lucky, maybe his pa would play with him while his mother cooked.

“Was it a good night?” Candace asked.

“One of the best - but never as good as coming home.”

“How sweet.” She gave his lips another peck. “What’d you catch?”

He reached behind him and tugged the drawstring tied to his horse’s saddle loose. The burlap sack fell to the ground with a thud.

Instantly Jesse was on it, opening it and peering anxiously inside until he exclaimed excitedly. “Rabbit, Ma! Pa caught a rabbit!”

“Ah, perfect. I know just what to do with that.” Taking the rabbit from Jesse’s offering hands, Candace tugged her son to his feet and led him back inside, whispering promises of hot stew for supper, and dried jerky, if they were lucky, for lunch tomorrow. Jesse was all mouth, and she encouraged his prattle tacitly. She’d tan the hide and make Jesse some new gloves for winter, too, if there was enough.

Finn watched his family with a simple smile, then turned and led his horse to the water trough behind the house. After removing her saddle and bridle and brushing her down proper-like, he made his way back into the house, leaving the horse to her own. They didn’t have a barn, like some folks, so the tack stayed in the house. The horse never wandered too far from their property on her own, and winters down in the valley weren’t too bad.

Hanging the saddle and bridle up next to the door as he came inside, Finn hung his summer coat, pulled up a chair and held out his arms for his son as Jesse ran to him, holding his toy horse aloft.

“What's my big boy been up to while I was away?” Finn asked as Jesse climbed carefully into his fathers lap, and made himself comfortable.

“I helped Ma with the laundry!” Jesse told his father proudly, “And then we had cake for supper!”

Candace hunched her back over the fire and tried not to smile. She could feel her husbands chastening look on her neck. “It was a carrot cake, dear.” She said without turning around.

“Mmm...” Finn eyed his wife's back.

Jesse went on eagerly, “And we had duck, Pa! For dessert, and ma made a special gravy!”

Finn grinned, showing his teeth. “Was the duck better than the cake?”

Candace held her breath.

Jesse was thoughtful, then said, quite honestly, “Both were great, Pa, but I liked the carrots best.”
Finn’s face fell.

Candace chuckled. She placed the lid over the stew cauldron, knowing it would take a while to bring the water to a boil, and walked over to her family. “Now don’t you fret, Finn Decanter, we’ll make a proper carnivore out of your son yet. He just has to grow into his teeth yet, is all.”

Jesse, not really understanding, but feeling as if he did, grinned real big so his parents could admire his baby teeth; all new and straight-like.

Finn just smiled and ruffled his son's hair.

As night began to close in once more, Candace gave the cauldron one last giant stir with her ladle, then proclaimed supper ready. With a yell of glee Jesse raced to the table, climbed up into his chair, and sat with his hands palm down on either side of his plate. Finn came up behind him, ruffled his hair, and took his own seat as Candace ladled the stew into three bowls and delivered them to the table.

“What d’ya say, Jesse?” Finn said as his son’s hand went for his spoon.

Jesse’s hand froze, then returned palm down to the table. He looked straight at his mother, and said, nice as you please, “Thanks ma. You’re the best cook in ever!”

“You’re welcome, Jesse.”

Fast as the wind, Jesse’d scooped up his spoon and dived into his meal, slurping and relishing and enjoying every mouthful.

Finn shook his head. “This here son of yours, Candace, I’m not sure what I’m to do with him. Likes to eat more'n he likes to run and play.”

“He’s a growing boy.” Candace said quietly. Besides, really, who was there for Jesse to play with? Well, that would change once he had a sibling to tease and entertain. She smiled.

Over their son’s noisy eating, Candace and Finn talked about this and that, mostly how the day had been and how work in town was going. They talked briefly about the future, and Jesse’s education - Candace wanted to school him at home, but she wondered if perhaps the town school wouldn’t do a better job; besides, he’d meet other kids about his age if he went to town. Finn was fine with either, so long as the town didn’t get on their case again about going to those dang silly town meetings.

Once dinner was finished and cleared from the table, Candace informed Jesse there would be no dessert that night, and the boy wandered off sadly to play in the parlor. Finn helped her to ladle out the leftover stew, and store it properly in the cellar for later.

She looked down mournfully at her cauldron, hands on her hips. It was a right pain to lug the thing down to the stream to wash and lug it back again. Perhaps she’d be better off to wait for the morning? Before she could make her decision, Finn came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. She smiled and leant back into his waiting arms, tilting her head so he could have better access to her neck.

“The scent glands in humans are located in the neck.” He muttered, sniffing and nuzzling. Candace “Mmm’ed” and allowed her husband to continue; he’d told her this before. “Yours smell so good... Candace. Almost good enough to eat.” He snarled and bit down lightly into the groove of her shoulder with his human teeth, making her giggle and push away from him playfully.

“Let me finish cleaning up, first. You can play with Jesse until his bed time - then we’ll see about sating this other hunger.” She gave him a promising smile, and returned to the table with a damp towel.

Victorious, Finn went in search of his son, when a new smell assaulted his eager nose. He paused. Sniffed.

Candace was cleaning up - he could still smell her pheromones and the drying stew in the cauldron. Jesse was in his room. The horse was out back, still near the trough. The scent of the forest wafted trough the cracks of the door and the open window, but there was something else... it was faint. So faint he could barely smell it, let alone identify it. But it was potent enough to have caught his attention.

His ears perked. There was someone on his porch; then there was a soft knock at his door.

Hackles up, stifling the snarl that rose in his throat, Finn approached the door and opened it firmly. On his doorstep stood the witch from that morning, her hair bundled neatly behind her head, her dress dark and long and plain. She smiled at him sweetly, dangerously.

This time the snarl left his lips uninhibited. “You’d better leave my property, witch. I’ve told you once. I won’t hesitate to maul you and make my answer more clear.” His fangs descended, and his eyes changed from green to yellow. He knew he was a frightening sight, but the witch hardly flinched.

“I have come to pay my respects to your mate. For only a fine witch such as she would be able to win such a magnificent wolf such as yourself.”

He snarled deeper. If she’d come to challenge Candace, he wanted her off his property. Now!

Candace choose that moment to emerge from the kitchen, lured by her husbands growl, and stood in the entryway looking at the witch in confusion.

Before either of them could speak, the witch stepped forward angrily, her shoes clopping loudly on the wooden floor. “You’re no witch!” She proclaimed, pointing accusingly at Candace.

Candace backed up in confusion, her hand covering her abdomen protectively.

Finn made to race to shield his mate, but was blasted by some spell into the wall before he could do more than turn.

“PA!” Jesse came form nowhere, fell on his pa and clutched at his fathers shirt. Finn for his part was dazed, he couldn’t feel his limbs, couldn’t move; he barely registered the fact that his son was tugging on his shirt, begging for his attention.

The witch advanced on Candace, still pointing vehemently. Her hair had come loose from its elegant bun and hung free and wild about her shoulders along with the magic emanating from her body. “Only a witch deserves a wolf!” She shrieked, “I was prepared to face a witch; even be defeated by one more powerful than I, but this I shall not tolerate!”

Candace backed into the hall bureau, one hand protecting her belly, the other groping blindly for anything with which to protect herself. She wanted desperately to call out to Finn, but her voice refused to cooperate with her lips, her mouth suddenly dry and sticky.

“You do not deserve this wolf!” The witch spat again, then stopped her advance, and steeped her hands before her breast, pinkies turn inward; she began to chant.

Candace was terrified, she pressed back against the bureau, shielded her eyes and hugged her chest. “Finn...” She whispered.

Finn shook his head and registered Jesse’s insistent tugging, a moment before he registered the threat to his mate. Rising groggily to his feet, he stabilized himself with the help of the wall. The witch finished her chant, and a stream of red magic shot toward his wife. He howled, “CANDACE!!!”

The spell struck Candace in the belly. She screamed, and hit the floor with a thud. The spell; however, ricocheted and struck the witch soundly in the heart. She died without protest, and crumpled to the wood floor.

“Candace!” Finn was already at his wife’s side. She was alive, though breathing heavily. She struggled to push herself from the floor, using the bureau to pull herself up. She felt weak. Finn wrapped an arm delicately around her waist, pulling her arm around his shoulders, and pulled up, watching her with terrified eyes. Slowly, they managed to reach their feet.

“Finn…” Cupping her belly with her free hand, Candace looked at the dead witch. A pool of blood had bloomed near her mouth.

Without a backwards glance, Finn lifted Candace into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. “Jesse! Come in here.”

Jesse, still shaking, stared at the pool of blood with wide eyes. He didn’t dare take his eyes off her. All the same he obeyed his pa, pushed himself to his feet, and ran quickly to his mothers side.

The horse was still outside, calmly nuzzling a cone tree. Jesse was safe. Finn gave his whole attention to his mate, laying her out carefully on the spread. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?”

“I feel…” Candace, hands still protectively cupping her belly, trembled; her fingers spasmed against her skin from nerves. “I feel fine. A little shocked, that's all. But… Finn.” She met his eyes. “I feel something’s wrong with the baby.”

“Baby?”

“Hush, Jesse.” Candace implored Finn with her eyes, terrified of what she could not know.

Finn took a moment to think. Finally, he pushed himself off the bed. Stooping, he swung Jesse up beside his mother, and ordered him to stay put. Finn never ordered his son to do anything. He shut the door behind him firmly. Turning towards the witch, his baser instincts took over. He changed without consciously deciding to, and ravaged the body for his own anger. Driven comfort. Leaving the body in the doorway, he washed the blood from his mouth in the trough, exchanged his bloodied shirt for his old coat, and headed for town.

---

The elderly witch paused on the dark porch and stared down at the body without emotion. After a moment, she passed her hand over the body, and instantly it turned to dust and scattered along the wood. Soon the gentle wind was nudging it into the forest. “I didn’t know her, she wasn’t local. She had a horrid aura about her.”

“How did she find me, if she wasn’t local?”

The witch shrugged. “By chance? Allow me to see your wife.”

Finn strode past the village witch and into his home, leading the way to the bedroom. Despite what his senses told him, it was still an immense relief to see Candace still there, with Jesse holding her hand dutifully. He held the door and the witch whispered by. She knelt at Candace’s side for a long time, prodding gently with gnarled fingers and asking short questions. The entire time Finn stood guarding the doorway, watching the exchange with furrowed brows. Only when Candace met his eyes, her love and trust as strong as when they wed, did he allow a small measure of tension to leave his shoulders.

Outside once more, with the door firmly closed, she addressed Finn calmly. “That witch, whoever she was, wasn’t expecting your wife to be with child. Birth is a very powerful thing. The killing spell meant for your wife rebounded upon herself.”

“I gathered as much. What of Candace?”

“Your wife did not go unscathed.”

Finn felt his heart plummet into his soles. His jaw clenched and he wordlessly ordered the woman to be out with it.

“Birth is a powerful thing," the witch repeated, "the womb is filled with magic-"

“Are you trying to tell me that bitch did something to my child!?”

“No one understands the magic of birth; it remains guided and shrouded by nature’s will. I’m not entirely sure, but I believe the spell was changed somehow when it encountered the fetus by mistake. The child is alive, but I’m afraid it has been cursed.”

“But it’s alive?”

“It is alive.”

“Well? What is the nature of this curse? Can you remove it?”

“No. Not without killing the mother. And I wouldn’t know where to start, unable as I am to see, or divine, the nature of the curse.”

Biting his tongue, Finn closed his eyes and turned away, pushing his palms up over his forehead and through his hair. There had to be something…

The witch watched him carefully. “For now, Mr. Decanter, your wife is fine and the child is alive; be thankful for that, at least. We will wait, and we will watch. That’s all we can do for now.”

“...Thank you.”

Nodding, she left.

---

Five months passed without much incident. Jesse forgot the whole affair within days, and Candace regained her strength rapidly. The moonless night continued to hold Finn bound to its phase, and after a time they, too, forgot the attack.

After five months; however, Candace began to grow larger at a remarkable rate. And when she eventually grew so large she could no longer stand, Finn was forced to accept things, and went immediately back to the local witch.

Examining Candace as before, the witch took longer this time to pull Finn aside and talk to him where Candace would easily overhear. “Your wife will die in childbirth, unless you kill the child. The curse has caused a physical transformation, the child is no longer of a form that is natural for the mother to pass.”

“I don’t under-“

“The child is no longer human. I am not quite sure what it is, but it is far too large for Candace to pass. She will die if she tries, from blood loss and god knows what else. I will leave you to talk. Call me when you’ve made your decision.” Her robes trailing after her, the witch left.

In the kitchen, Jesse eyed her from the floor, where he sat silently on his rump. “What’s wrong with ma?”

The witch glanced at him carefully, before averting her gaze to the window and the chill calm beyond. “Your father will let you know.”

---

“She’s right, Finn.” Candace shifted among her pillows, in pain. “I can feel it, and it doesn’t feel right. It’s too big.”

“Candace-"

She clutched his hand and smiled at him with watery eyes. “It’s my time, Finn, however it happened. Let me go.”

“Candace… absolutely not!” He gripped her hand in his, and pulled her close. However much he’d wanted her to be selfish, he’d known this was going to be her decision. He knew. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. “You can’t do that - you can’t ask me to let you do that!”

Tears began to run unhindered down her cheeks; they shone in the lamp light. “I want my children to live. This child is still alive,” she ran her hand over her engorged belly. “And it is still mine, no matter the curse. It’s still yours - what right have we to take its life?”

“What right do you have to leave me! You can not place yourself under this child!”

She ignored his strong tone, knowing beneath it there was only anguish. “I can and I have. I’m a mother, Finn, I won’t let it die if I can save it. Even at the cost of my own life.” She clutched him tighter still, her eyes blinded by the wash of tears spilling over. “And I know you, Finn,” she sobbed, “You don’t want to loose it either. Whatever it may be. Besides, you never know with magic; once it’s born, the witch may be able to lift the curse.”

Finn broke down, sobbing bitterly, and kissed her powerfully. Trying to change her mind tacitly, even knowing it was now set in stone.

When he had calmed somewhat, Candace implored him quietly. “May I speak with Jesse?”

Finn left and returned with their son. Jesse came up to the bedside and Candace lay out her arm for him to take. He clutched at it with his tiny fingers. Even a child could sense when something wrong was happening. She smiled at him as she always had, with love and good will and great hope. “I love you, Jesse.”

He nodded. “I know pa loves me too.”

She drew in a shaky breath, the love in her eyes making it difficult to see. “I’m going to die, Jesse, very soon.”

“Why?”

“So that you may have a brother or sister to play with. But though I may be gone, remember me, and all the good I’ve taught you. Your father will still be here, and he will love you twice as much for me.”

“Okay.” Jesse nuzzled her arm with his nose. He wasn’t crying. He didn’t fully understand. But he understood his mother was asking him not to make a big deal of it, and he’d do right by her no matter what.

Having heard, the witch entered the room on silent feet, and took Jesse away. Returning, she closed the door and looked directly at Candace. Her eyes piercing, though dull. “Are you quite sure? It will be painful.”

Candace nodded, stroking her husband's cheek as he clutched at her arm and head and cried into her neck. Her own tears spilled steadily but her eyes were now quite focused; she would pass this child.

“I will assist in the birth.”

---

With Jesse safely at a neighbors' in town, and Finn at the bedside, clutching Candace’s hand tight enough to stop the blood flow, the witch set to work. Thick, clean linens were spread beneath Candace’s heavy form, hot water had been prepared; herbs and candles arranged at varying increments around the bed.

With the witch ever present, ever guiding, Candace plunged into a magically induced labor.

It was long, and hot, and her screams nearly drove Finn to madness.

Finally she lay exhausted on the linens. Her belly and upper legs had been covered with sheets and blood soaked them through. It dripped to the floorboards beneath the bed and covered Finn’s hand and arm where he still clutched hers. Her breathing was shallow, life slowly leaving her with every exhale. “Candace…” He looked at the witch, desperate. “Can’t you heal her?”

“This is beyond my ability to heal.” The witch met his eyes knowing she had no comfort to give, determined to prevent the man, at least, from being lost.

“Candace… Candace! I didn’t mate with a damn sow!”

Her eyes crinkled merrily, wearily. “I know you’ll raise them right. They’ve got a wolf for a father, after all.” Her breath died on her lips, and she passed on.

“CANDACE!” Finn broke down, clutching her hand, pulling her to him by her arm so he could cradle her head to his chest. Her hair, soaked with sweat, was cooling now; he ran his fingers through the stringy mass delicately, lovingly.

Where in the hell had it gone wrong!

Shakily, he closed her eyes.

He drew back and howled, his grief overtaking him, and the sheet slithered from her legs, revealing her ravished womb and belly. Bloody, white cartilage gleaming, her pelvic bones twisted up at irregular angles. He screamed, dropping her to the bed, and racked at his face with blunt nails.

Loosing his human control, he became the wolf, and howled long, his voice echoing in the house, the still forest beyond; it reached the village and chilled those awake to hear it.

Long hours passed before he finally changed back. With clothes hanging in strips he continued to cry dry tears, rocking Candace in his arms. Sobbing into her matted hair.

A snort caught his ears, sounding to him as if it came from a great distance. At first he didn’t register the sound, too deep in his grief. It took a louder snort, full of life and energy, to startle him enough into raising his eyes.

The witch sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him, tending to something swaddled in bloody linens beyond his sight. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and his wolf-senses were telling him to maul, to carnage, for it was his mate's blood darkening the sheets. But he could also smell something young. Something of his.

Carefully disentangling himself from his mate's body, he held his love for her tight to his heart, determined to pass it on to his child, whatever it may prove to be, and let Candice go.

The witch turned to him as he stepped carefully, one foot at a time, around the bed. “She’s healthy, but I cannot break her curse.”

“…It’s a girl?”

The witch nodded. From beyond her arm, his daughter snorted once more. She shook abruptly, so strongly the bed and witch shook along with it.

Slowly moving around the bed, Finn looked down at his daughter. There on the bed lay a filly; she was wet with blood and amniotic fluid, but the witch had wiped her face mostly clean, and big black eyes looked up at him curiously, and blinked.

He shuddered, drawing in a ragged, needed, breath. Falling to his knees he pulled the horse to his chest. She whinnied, but let him. “Kingsley.” He gasped.

“Pardon?”

Finn didn’t look up; he was crying again, his face and eyes buried in the horse’s damp fur. “Kingsley. It’s Candace’s maiden name. When I see her child - my daughter... Kingsley. I’ll raise you right. I promise. I'll break this curse for you, and for her.”


- TBC...