The Wolf and The Fox

The Meeting

To Michael; for being such a wonderful sport in a game that heavily inspired this story.
And to Erin and Nick; for helping me in a time none of us realized I needed it.
Thank you.

The villagers had been on edge since the harvest blood moon, the night they had burned the wolf-witch as she transformed before them from maiden to killer beast. A handful of the villagers had been slaughtered by her claws the past five years, and one of the clergy were lucky enough to find enough evidence to guilt her into holy submission. There was nothing they could do for her body; however, they could save her soul by burning the beast as it appeared before them.

All would be right within the village after that, they only had to suffer through this maddening disease three times in the past fifty years, and they were exhausted for peace. If the clergy were correct, after the burning of the wolf-witch, there would be no more.

How very, very wrong they were. For almost immediately, upon the next full moon, came more killings. There were differences to these, they noticed; instead of one or two victims, there were groups of three, four and sometimes five. The second, terrifying difference was the time-span. The killings did not take place on just one night, the night of the brightest of the full moon, but four nights as it waxed and waned. In one month, they lost twenty villagers to the claws of the blood thirsty monster; old or young, it did not matter, for neither man nor woman were safe from the beast.

"This can not last!" Peter Crispage, one of the councils of the village slammed his fist on the meeting table with an angry flair, shaking all the pints upon the surface to near empty. He growled out in frustration, not even flinching when a slim hand pressed upon his tensed shoulder.

"You're right; if this continues, there would be no one left by coming of the new year." Fawn O'Neil sadly added, her normally gentle voice drowning in despair and confusion on what to do.

"What do you propose we do, then?" the stout Father McGlover belted out, "Need I remind you that the Wolf-Witch was supposed to have been the last of them! We are ill-prepared for this newcomer."

"If it's a newcomer." Robin Bridles, the town's herbalist, spoke out for the first time that evening. She looked as grim as all the others, however her eyes held a shade of dark that none were willing to enter.

The room fell into a still silence as all eyes bore towards the lithe herbalist, whose own eyes did not leave the surface of the table in deep, morbid thought.

"What are you suggesting, Ms. Bridles?" Father McGlover whispered in a horrified note, the others resounding in his echo.

"How would it not be a newcomer?" Jesse O'Neil, Fawn's husband and the village's blacksmith, demanded with fire in his voice, "What would cause one of our own to turn against us? And on top of that, how would they not've turned in the previous moon cycles for us to catch them!?" His voice rose with each word, becoming fierce until Fawn pressed her gentle hands against his chest, easing him to a mild manner, yet his eyes still flared unfaltering.

"We haven't been graced with a new presence in almost seven years, Jesse." His wife voiced calmly to him, his fiery gaze shifting towards her. She did not flinch, "She may hold a point; one of the villagers may be the beast. It does possess the mind, as well as the body after all, so the person may not even know."

"It still doesn't bring sense on why now, of all times?" He sighed in resignation, embracing his wife with one arm as he shook his head in confusion.

"Not to mention with such alternating violence." Peter gruffed before he took a long swig of his ale, willing it to douse his mind of this problem.

"How would we know to choose the correct person?" Fanny Parks requested, making her presence known from the furthest edge of the table, "No one showed any signs or markings of bearing the beast within, and on top of that no one was announced missing during the nights of the attacks."

"Aside from the obvious," Jules, Fanny's sibling pitched in.

"This is no time for such antics, Jules." Father McGlover chastised the younger sibling, of which he received an impressive eyeroll for his troubles.

"Should we do another stakeout?" Bryan Jacobs, a hunter and harvester suggested.

"With how unpredictable and violent this current beast is behaving, that is simply out of the question." Father McGlover replied darkly, shaking his head solemnly for the lost souls of the village.

"A trap, then?" Jesse suggested, "One we could set up and not bother with until the following morning, that way we are not in harms way." Some of the villagers showed promise towards this idea.

"And what leaves other creatures of the forest from setting it off and allowing the beast to roam freely?" Peter all but growled.

"Well, I don't see you bringing any ideas to the table." Jesse snapped back.

"What do you think, Michael?" Robin spoke again, raising her eyes towards a dark-clad youth caddy-corner to her, "You've been rather silent during this meeting."

"Come off it, Bobby," Bryan chastised her, "you know he lost his father during the last moon attack."

"Yeah, give the guy a little credit for showing up at all." Jesse added, his eyes holding sympathy towards the younger man down the table from him.

Sitting near the middle of the inner edge of the table sat Michael Brookshire, the heir and only son to the Notary Brookshire. He was dressed finely in all black, out of respect and mourning of his lost family. His dark eyes did not hold the light of the candles surrounding the meeting table, even his thin-framed glasses showcasing an emptiness that was not once there. It was as if he were nothing but a void of what he once was, a shell of sorrow and morbid calm.

"I have a suggestion." An all-too familiar and too-perky voice piped up at the end of the table as a coin slapped onto the surface of the wood. A nimble, pixie-like hand followed suit, slapping the coin down before it could escape. The onlookers were met with the eerie, ghost-of-a-grin features of Godwin Luvcraft, the village seamstress and self-proclaimed trickster.

"Do we wish to hear it?" Peter asked with a raised brow and aching voice of the opposite to his question.

"I noticed something odd in the last two attacks," She continued as if the burly man had never spoken, "Something that even dear Robin might find interesting." She grinned broadly while looking at the lithe woman to her furthest right, a snide expression gracing her in return.

"And that would be?" Father McGrover pressed, his own expression mirroring Peter's as he gazed at the nimble woman.

"Did no one else notice that the beast seemed to target all those that testified against the late Sarah Roker?"

Gasps resounded around the table as the Father bared the cross before him with a silent prayer.

"How dare you speak of her name." Bryan bellowed as the seamstress merely rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please; her spirit has been saved now that the beast was burned out of her. Was that not the goal in the end of her death sentence?" Godwin firmly asked to her table mates around her, the lot of them possessing at least enough decency to look ashamed.

"Were all of them truly the ones that testified against her?" Michael asked almost too quietly towards her, the forest in his eyes glimmering just enough to accentuate the darkness within them.

Godwin's features softened, "Yes, Michael. I'm afraid they were."

He lowered his gaze again as his thoughts returned anew, the forest in his eyes staying as a grimace appeared upon his brow. Godwin looked toward him in small pity before returning her sights toward the others.

"It seems the beast held Sarah in high regards; I agree with Jesse's idea of a trap, however bait it properly to ensure it is captured."

"And how do you suppose we do that? By giving it one of us?" Peter challenged, crossing his arms over his barreled chest as he glared down the table towards the woman sitting opposite him.

"No, dear Peter," her grin returned with a vigor that no-one thought she could possess,

"With Sarah."