Wolf in Death's Clothing

Part 1: Timber

She sometimes wondered what things would be like if she hadn't nearly drowned in that lake almost a year ago. What would she be like? Where would she be right now? Probably not muzzle-deep in a man's guts, that's for sure.

Although Timber was a wolf, she wasn't actually fond of the taste of blood. Too tinged with that weird, almost metallic flavor. Even as a pup she'd preferred all food that had been hunted be cooked. Her parents called her picky, but she referred to it as 'having standards'.

She spat the red, sticky stuff out as the man crumpled to the cobblestones, already feeling like she'd need a bath after this. She could feel the blood clinging to her russet and white fur as the sky grew bright with loud flashes of color.

Timber hoped that his screams were muffled by the fireworks going on near the edge of this quaint little town. She didn't want anyone's attention tonight.  Well, at least not anyone's but His.

___

It was last winter when she first saw Him.

Timber was convinced it was He who had saved her from that icy lake. The ice had fractured beneath her feet, giving way with a crack and a splash, plunging Timber into its freezing depths. She was alone and too far out onto the surface of the lake for anyone to have been able to come to her aid.

She didn't remember much after that, her heart hammered as she flailed in the water, her front paws scratching and slipping on the broken ice pieces. The last thing she remembered before it all went dark was sinking underneath one of the ice fragments, and as the air bubbles left her empty lungs, she saw Him. His form was veiled by the opaque ice, his shape and his eyes all that she could really make out before losing consciousness.

Those eyes. His bright, so very red eyes. They consumed her. Timber saw them every night in her dreams, and at times while awake when she closed her own eyes.

The next thing she knew, she was gasping, sputtering, and hacking up water on a firm and conveniently not-snow-covered patch of grass beside the lake. She was still shivering, her clothes drenched, and her breath wasn't even warm enough to be seen in the frigid air. But she was still alive.

Her father had found her soon after, when Timber had gained enough strength to howl for help. She was taken home and warmed up slowly so as not to cause shock to her system.

And as she lay underneath three thick blankets in the fire lit main room of her family's humble yet cozy shack, she tried to explain what had happened and what she'd seen. Who she'd seen.

Her parents didn't believe her, naturally. In a world with magic, fairies, and ogres (and heck, they were a family of talking wolves for crying out loud) Timber would think they'd be more likely to accept her saying something like 'I'm pretty sure I saw the embodiment of Death'. But no. The only one to believe her was her grandmother. Grandma Stella actually listened to her as Timber recounted the story a dozen times, only nodding and never questioning her as Timber told her what she saw. She described him as best she could, for there wasn't much she could make out through the ice as the life was leeching from her. But Grandma Stella straightened, leaning forward when Timber mentioned those eyes.

"I've seen them before," she told Timber. "When your grandfather died. It was dark that night, I was holding his paw as he passed. As he took his final breaths I could feel a presence in the room with us, and then - just for a moment - I saw a pair of shining, red eyes in the darkest corner. Right after that your grandfather was gone, and so were the eyes."

That had been all the proof Timber needed, even if her father scoffed at his own mother and told Timber not to pay her any mind. And even after seeing him with her own eyes, after having her grandmother back it up, she might have been able to just accept it as a weird thing that happened and move on. Until her father's funeral, that was.

As Timber sat in the front row closest to the casket, her mother sniffling beside her unable to say a word, Timber had noticed that Grandma Stella was not crying, not even looking at where her son would be laid to rest. Her eyes were fixed on the woods at the edge of the graveyard, far off in the distance.

Timber followed her gaze and her breath caught, ears perked as her blue eyes met his red ones.

Although he kept his distance, she could see him so much clearer now. His eyes weren't the only thing striking about his appearance. His fur was a sleek shade of gray that blended into white, his muzzle sharp as his teeth, which she could only just make out.

Her pulse began to quicken as she took a severe intake of breath, nostrils flaring and her eyes growing wide.

He was here again, he had come back. And he was the most beautiful wolf Timber had ever seen.

___

From that moment on, Timber felt herself forever changed.  He consumed her every thought, her every desire. She had to see him again, she was determined. She didn't know what she would say to Him. Thank him, for one.  But every time she pictured his broad frame, his resigned, almost pitying expression, and his hypnotizing gaze, she knew she wanted more. So much more from Him.

This wasn't like her, she told herself. Timber wasn't the type of female obsess over a male, even one that was the embodiment of a concept like He was. And she wasn't the type of wolf to live up her species' 'Big Bad' reputation. It was an unspoken rule that talking animals such as she were basically human in most matters in this land. They were held to the same standards as any other fairy tale creature, and expected to behave as such. She was never the sort to break those rules, or tear helpless people apart for that matter.

No, this wasn't like her at all. But the heart wants what the heart wants. And Timber's heart yearned to see the face of Death once more, and to be seen by him again, too.

And so, the murders began.