The Werewolf and his Friend

Last night wouldn't change

Zero:

The only hard bit of that night was morning. It's howls went through the cemetery like wildfire. It scraped claws on the homes of dead. Interrupting their deep sleep. It fell on it's knees as a human. As Markus.

His torc the only thing he was wearing. His body dirty, and covered in the blood that was shed by the Wild people. If Knuckels was there that night he would have noticed and he wouldn't have hesitated, even if he went home with his tail tucked between his legs.

There he lay, twitching and pale, as if all the energy he had just disappeared, blood smeared on his chest, on his cheek. Muscles spasmed uncontrollably, fustrated with the strain from last night.

I walked over to him, took off my long black jacket and lay it on top of his shivering body.

It didn't bother me that my battle scars were shown as I had my jacket open revealing them often. With rarely material underneath I was never cold, you have to have circulation to feel heat.

I didn't know what to do while he was out so I sat on a nearby stone bench. I looked down at my own torc.

I felt the dreaded thing and the cold, dead skin around it.

Gazing into the distance, the many tomb stones labeling an individual memory from the past. This should have been my fate many years ago. But I tricked death, cunningly escaped from it's evil clutches.

I learnt that perhaps it wasn't so evil once you saw the only people you could and ever did care about die a horrible death, drain the life of everyone around you, be in so much pain that death would almost seem a glorious option. I have no soul, it should have been in hell right now but it wasn't.

There were enough people lying here in their dirt homes to match the amount I have killed. I'm no angel. So much blood spilt over my hands. I brought this apon myself. One mistake that haunted me for the rest of my life and the life of many others. I was selfish and stupid when I walked into that alley that changed my life a long time ago.

He groaned, but I didn't even flinch. I was concentrating. Trying to piece together fragments of my past. Everything was so blurry, and felt so fragile that I feared if I picked them up they'd shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.
My pale body was not much of a silhouette as the sun started to rise. I could feel the first of the suns rays on my skin, but they rejected me. I desperately wanted to be embraced by them though. Instead, a sick feeling overwhelming the pit of my stomach.

His eyes flickered and I wanted to walk away. To leave him now that I knew he was safe... but he had my jacket... With all my weapons. That jacket has sentimental value anyway. Look at me talking about mere objects with value. Nothing in the world had sentimental value to me, except that black dust jacket.

I turned around to see he had moved, he was now on his side facing away from me, probaly ashamed or out of hatred. He remembered nothing but a blur of that night. Hopefully. That's how it usually worked with his kind. Only it was not often one would come across a werewolf who had so cunningly outsmarted his demon.

He was curled up tight with his knees as close to his chin as he could get them. Possibly not realising that he was in my jacket. Or in too much pain to care.

His brown hair was scruffy and tangeled, it had lost all the curl that had become famous, replaced more noticibly by specks of dry blood. Like the fur of the beast he once was.

I sighed and lifted my knees to my face making barely a sound, but it was enough of a sound that Markus turned his head towards me.

He was in apparent shock to see me here. I looked at him then looked back into the distance as the early morning fog rolled over the graves. Anything that he says or does now wouldn't mean anything. We are enemies. And last night wouldn't change that.