Ouroboros II | The Wolf

21 | Ira's Awful Deal Gets Him Almost Dead

It hurt how familiar the feeling was. A different forest, a different Beast, a different quest, a different partner--angels, it was a whole different world--but it hurt. Each time Mayvalt caught the corner of his eye, darting swiftly through scraggly branches and over dark brown boulders, it hurt. It reminded him of a time not too long ago--and yet simultaneously what felt like centuries ago--when he had been doing this with someone else. 

Mayvalt didn't talk like him, jabbering away until even worms wriggled under leaves to find some peace and quiet. She didn't pick at all his nerves and fill him with electric eels. Her eyes didn't glow under the evening sun, shimmering as brightly as polished emeralds. She was just there, trotting along at his side in uncomfortable silence. 

Ira cleared his throat. His fingers fell down to the handles of his sister daggers, resting against the wood. "So," he choked, forcing up time wasting pleasantries to ease the turmoil stirring up behind his ribs, "the weather is-" 

"You don't have to do that," Mayvalt snorted, shaking her head in slight amusement. "We can just walk in silence. It's not so bad." 

Ira disagreed. "We might as well make a little noise--we do have to get a Beast's attention." 

"I believe we'll get it no matter what we do." Mayvalt shuddered, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest to insulate against the frigid breeze rolling between the swaying trees. Ira tossed her another one of his expertly crafted 'now explain' looks and she sighed. "The Trammel the Fifth Prince uses. She likened it to a Fetor-" 

"Fetters, right," Ira hummed, "which are?" 

"Fetor." Mayvalt announced clearly. "They're--sap, I don't know. It's something wolves do. Likely related to their Ely ancestry. We talked about this before, remember?" 

Ira squinted his eyes down to narrow the window of his focus before shrugging in half-hearted defeat. "Ze'ev come from some first wolf-" 

"Alukah," Mayvalt agreed. 

"-and she's a daughter of Mammon. So she passed on some angel genetics and now Ze'ev can tap into what angels use to cast illusions, shape reality, and put up Trammels to change their own bodies and to cast. . . Fetor." Ira said. When he was done he glanced at Mayvalt, perhaps seeking her approval. She gave it with a curt nod. 

"Pretty much." She huffed. "So, I'm guessing that the Trammel the Fifth Prince used on us is more like Fetor than a wall. If that's the case--we're up the sap creek with no paddle." 

Ira glanced down nervously at his robe. The fabric was suddenly itchy against his skin. He cleared his throat and held his arms stiffly off to his sides. "And we're more or less cooked--because?" 

Mayvalt choked out an exasperated sigh and shook her head. "Fetor is a powerful way of protecting your inner circle but at a steep risk. The wall is more like a call, Ira. An open line of communication that says; here's what I've got. Face me or flee." 

Ira thought of the Halflings in town, turning pale and shuffling quickly away as they passed by. So, they had decided they didn't have the strength to challenge the Prince. "Wait! Wouldn't a spell like this just invite a bunch of stronger enemies to pick you off? How is this protection at all?" Ira wanted to strip and scrub his skin pink. The robe had taken on a weight he couldn't fathom across his thin shoulders. 

Mayvalt snorted in amusement and nodded. "Key phrase being: a bunch of. Wolves have this reckless ideology they follow. It's better to face the one strongest than the many weakest. As I said, it's a gamble. One we've now partaken. So, great job on that one, bone-snatcher." 

Ira wanted to scoff at her that this wasn't his fault--but it was. So, instead he rolled his eyes and announced, "should have just sold you off to her instead."