Red Wolf
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The Dread Wolf free porn video
You were right to be angry. I hope, in time, you will understand.
Very slowly, I open my garnet eyes. Waking up is getting more and more difficult these days, and not only because I’m getting older. I was in my thirties when I sealed the breach in the sky, and even then the careless, pain-free days of youth had been long gone. Now, some fifteen years later, they are even farther past, an I’m paying for my part in the war against Corypheus.
I was the Inquisitor, once. Now, I’m simply Ellena Lavellan, a fair-skinned, white haired elven mage. My old life is one I left behind five years ago – I couldn’t do it anymore. I’m no empress, and I detested being judge and jury over so many lives. At first it was possible – I was swept away with the power bestowed on me. Someone had to lead, and my mark, my key to the fade and to Corypheus, singled me out as the only option. I suspect that the others were relieved. There are choices I made that I have to live with forever, and I’m haunted by some of them.
Nearly all of them, actually.
I stiffly push myself up to sit on my bedroll and grimace at the knots in my back. Tense dreams again. And, as always, I can’t remember what they were. I feel tight, like my blood pressure’s up, like I’m… angry, or was, like I was in some sort of frustrating argument. When I stretch my jaw, the muscle are like bowstrings. Grinding my teeth again. I’ll wear them all down before I figure out what’s wrong.
Still, as the minutes pass, I begin to relax. I breathe and hug my knees, my slender, pale body still lean, though perhaps not as muscular as it used to be. I’m no longer out adventuring and vanquishing foes these days. Now I simply wander, living in the wilds, as I suppose Morrigan has always done. It’s not a bad life. For the most part it’s quiet and boring, sprinkled with periods of intense danger and excitement. Given my increasing age (though I suppose my late forties isn’t terribly geriatric), I probably shouldn’t long for such heroics like I do. One day they’ll get the best of me.
When I move to stand up, I’m reminded that perhaps they already have.
A sharp pain in my left ankle nearly makes me stumble, but I grope for my staff and use it to get to my feet stubbornly. Unlike days past, the staff I keep now is a plain wooden thing, meant to look like a piece of flotsam I found in the woods. Obviously it’s not, but the design is understated, and easily hidden when it comes to it. My slender, cream-colored hand grips at the grayed wood, my fingertips somewhat pink with the chill, and I walk myself down to the stream nearby.
I’m so far out in the middle of nowhere that I don’t bother to dress. And what would I dress in to avoid being noticed? My skin is fair, as I’ve already stated, but my hair is snow white and hangs in long, wavy locks down past my shoulders to my lower back. I’ve not bothered to cut it since leaving Skyhold – there’s no point. I’m wilder now, feral and angry and sore, and I don’t care much for social conventions any longer.
The second my aching left foot is slipped into the icy water, I sigh with profound relief. It’s been hot and swollen for a week or two now. I can handle pain, and I’ve just continued to travel despite the discomfort, hoping to let it run its course. This time, though, I’m not sure it will, and that frustrates me. I don’t want to ask for help, but my concoctions with elfroot are doing very little. And with autumn soon to turn into winter, it will be dangerous to remain out here alone and lamed.
I sit and fume, hugging my one bent knee, resting my cheek on my crossed arms. The sounds of the waking woodland are peaceful, and I try to focus on those. Birds flit and sing. Little chipmunks and squirrels rustle in the leaves and chase each other. I even watch a deer approach the stream several yards upwind of me. By chance, it looks my way, tenses when it sees me regarding it, and pulls away on its impossibly fine, elegant legs, leaping back into the undergrowth. I’m disappointed – I’ve always liked deer.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I frown, turning my head to look downstream like the deer had. It takes a moment for me to realize what I’m seeing, because the beast’s fur blends in with the shadows by a fallen trunk. There’s no way it’s missed me – I’m downwind, I’m brilliantly pale against the darker undergrowth, and my foot has been in the stream long enough that, had the beast sipped from it, my flavor would be on it. I hold my breath and wait, and slowly the wolf opens its pale eyes to look right at me.
I swallow, the sounds of my breathing painfully loud on the chilly, quiet morning air. For quite a long time I regard the wolf and it regards me, just watching me without any sign of agitation. There’s a moment when I feel like the beast is gazing upon me in the same way I gazed upon the deer – in admiration. Is my pain making me that delusional, or am I the Inquisitor so thoroughly that I feel all of nature must worship me as well?
Very slowly and steadily I move my hand to my side, touching at my staff, which I’d lain down beside me. I’d only have a moment to cast a spell – a shield first, then perhaps fire to daze it. Of course, that would require running, and only now do I realize that I can’t possibly do that anymore. To think that I’d chased gods up floating castles in the sky and slain dragons, and now I can do little more than limp from danger as I flee. The very thought makes me grit my teeth, and I grip my staff and take it up, using it to get to my feet.
‘Ar’din nuvenin na’din, Fen Harel’len…’ I growl in its direction. Speaking in my native tongue feels blasphemous, after I let him remove my Vallaslin in a moment of weakness. It’s ears prick, and it tilts its head curiously, but as I turn and slowly make my way back to my camp it doesn’t move. I look back over my shoulder, glaring at it, but it remains where it is, only watching me. I would be so easy to take down – an elf with an injured foot, her body covered in scars. Would I even make a morsel for that thing? Such morbid thinking.
I wasn’t able to chill my foot for very long, so by the time I get dressed and pull on my boots, it’s still aching as I strap the leather around it tightly. Once I’m done I need a moment to breathe and close my eyes, letting the pain subside. How much longer can I go on like this without help? Who would I ask? When I left, it had been without warning, though I imagine many of them suspected I’d leave one day. It was a cowardly thing to do, but to suddenly send a raven, begging for help? How pathetic.
‘Your pride will be the death of you.’
I stiffen and open my eyes, only to see the large wolf sitting some ten feet from me at the edge of my camp. The cold, charred wood of my fire is the only thing between us. How had I not heard it approach? And… had it just spoken? My heart is racing, but I wait. Despite the fact that the barrier to the fade has been strong for the last few years, spirits still flit about here and there. It might not be beyond some of them to use animals as puppets.
After a moment, swallowing down a tense throat, I say ‘I doubt stubbornness will fell me when monsters haven’t.’
The wolf just huffs, its eyes narrowing with, I think, amusement. It’s bizarre to watch its mouth move as it inquires ‘do you really doubt it? Who will tear down the fabled Inquisitor, if not herself?’
Its snottiness makes me angrier than it should, and then I sniff derisively. ‘I don’t know why I bother talking to you. You’re just a spirit, trying to make yourself seem important in some mangy body.’
‘Mangy?’ the wolf almost sounds hurt, and it looks down at itself before lifting its head to regard me again. ‘Aren’t we all spirits, in some way?’
‘This conversation is over.’ I simply do not have the patience for this right now, and if this thing hasn’t tried to kill me yet, it probably doesn’t intend to. ‘Be on your way, spirit.’ Whil
e I do my best to ignore it while I slowly and uncomfortably strike camp, the wolf remains sitting where it is. Only when I drop a bowl and it rolls over to its paw, and the beast nudges it back before I pick it up, does the wolf wag its tail, glad to have helped.
Without fail, when I haul the pack on over my cloak, take up my staff, and start walking, the wolf starts following me. It must be an odd sight, a lone elven woman, dressed like the Dalish but without the facial markings, marching angrily along with a large wolf in tow. For miles I furiously ignore him, and it feels like my ankle is angry and sore to match my mood.
It’s only when I’m walking along a ridge towards nightfall that I nearly come to harm. The trail has been uneven, and every step hurts on the left. When I put my boot down on some loose rock, I stumble. I try to catch my balance with my left foot, but my ankle buckles, my staff slips from my hand as I twist. Below me yawns a deep valley, the bottom some hundred feet down a nearly sheer cliff face of rock. The void yawns below me, my staff falling away into the gloom. I begin to fall after it for a split second until I suddenly stop, gripped by the pack, and get hauled back onto the ridge path to safety.
I’m dragged back and left go, and I remain on my side, trembling with shock. The wolf looms over me, sniffing at me like a concerned pet. I shiver and look into its reflective eyes, confused and hurting, and it almost sounds contrite as it rumbles ‘My selfishness almost destroyed you once… don’t let it happen again.’ I must be delirious with exhaustion and pain, because the wolf’s voice sounds familiar. It lilts just a little. It’s the voice I’ve been hearing in my dreams. The dreams I’m never allowed to remember. ‘Ma vhenan, please…’
But its words are cut off when I strike it hard in the muzzle with the flat of my hand. The slap is a sharp crack, enough to make it cant its head just a touch, close its eyes, and freeze. When it opens its eyes timidly at me again I’m breathing hard, my own eyes wet and disbelieving. I don’t know how I know, but I do. How could it not be him? After everything I’ve seen, it’s not so improbable. And the way it speaks to me, and looks at me… my heart pounds in my throat and ears, and I strike it in the muzzle again, harder this time. And again, it takes the blow, its ears folding back meekly.
Tears trickle down across my temples as I look up at the large wolf, and my expression is caught between heartbreak and rage. I’m trapped, and all I can do is sob angrily, my jaw painfully clenched. Even if I wanted to speak I can’t – my throat is too tight. When the creature realizes I’m not going to strike it again, it moves away, gripping my pack in its jaws before dragging me slowly up the trail. I’m too tired to resist, and though it hurts to feel my left foot bang and bump against the ground, I know I don’t have the strength to walk anymore.
I’m numb emotionally, my eyes glassy. It’s like I’m hollow, filled with nighttime and nothingness, and I lose track of time until my cheek and nose are tickled by blades of grass. I blink and grunt, looking around as I’m gently set down on the verdant, cool blades. A beech tree looms over me, providing shade from the moonlight, as if that will give me some sort of privacy. My fingers tingle as I bring them to my face, hissing for a moment at how wet with tears it is. How embarrassing.
The wolf gives me some space, settling down to watch me some ten feet away again. Not knowing what else to do, I push myself up to sit and take off my pack. The first thing I look for is my little leather pouch of herbs, but it’s empty. I used up my last portion of elfroot days ago. Right. I grit my teeth and unstrap my boots, letting my sore feet and aching ankle cool in the evening air.
‘So you’re… a wolf now?’ I ask at last, not quite knowing what else to say.
The beast shifts slightly. I think I caught it off guard by talking to it. ‘I have always been, I just didn’t seem it… for a time.’ It licks its lips nervously, offering ‘would it make it easier… to take that other shape?’
I glare at him, and he folds his ears back, looking down at his paws. My eyes turn to the view of the valley, beautiful and vast, and I try to calm down. A gentle breeze tugs at my long, white locks, the tips of my ears just showing past, and I’m nearly at a place where I can just see serenity on the horizon, when I hear ‘you’re still so beautiful, Ellena.’
It’s like a knife in my heart, and my chest tightens, my eyes stinging with tears. ‘You left me behind…’ I croak, my voice feeling like wet, twisted wood. ‘You… you clearly had something better to go to. Someone better.’ My angry, wet eyes turn to him, and I hiss ‘so why didn’t you stay there?’ My lips quiver but I toughen up, snarling ‘am I to be a diversion for you again?’
‘You were never a diversion,’ he says softly. ‘You were unexpected.’
‘That doesn’t make it better.’ I turn my eyes back stubbornly to the valley, wiping away my tears with my fingertips. My despair offends me. I thought I’d cried my last for him. I guess I hadn’t.
When I hear rustling from where he lays, I just close my eyes. A heat rises in my cheeks, and my chin quivers again as I hear him slowly walk over on two legs, not four. He crouches slowly, the leathers of his leggings creaking at the hips and knees, but I refuse to look, shivering. ‘I can take away your pain for a while,’ he offers softly, and I feel his slender, elegant hand slide down my left knee towards my ankle. The thin material of my leggings translates the feel of his palm and its warmth, such familiar things, even remembered from so long ago. My heart hammers in my chest, but I say nothing, still not looking at him, but neither do I pull away.
I can feel the crackle of energy and magic, and my ankle tingles, but the pain slowly ebbs. It’s the first time in what must be weeks that my ankle hasn’t hurt. Has it really been aching all this time? Slowly I sigh with relief, and I vaguely notice the sound of footsteps moving away. There’s a rustling where he was before, and when I look at him again, at long last, he’s a wolf again, still regarding me with trepidation.
Tentatively I get to my feet. The soles are still sore from so many miles put beneath them today, but my ankle doesn’t hurt. It is, however, still stiff, and I almost stumble again. Immediately the wolf is standing right next to me, letting me place my hands on his shaggy, dark brown back and lean on him. ‘I have taken away your pain, but the injury remains. You need to rest,’ he insists.
‘I’m not going back to Skyhold,’ I counter stubbornly, frowning down at my pale fingers, and how they disappear into his thick pelt as I grip it. It’s an odd sight – the man I knew had no hair at all.
He grunts, flicking an ear. ‘You don’t have to. You needn’t go back to that.’ The way he says it makes my eyes close, as if he understands how much I grew to detest it, to consider it a burden. ‘I can carry you. I know of a place you can stay.’
For a few moments I hesitate, but in the end, what else can I do? When the pain comes back it will be worse than ever, and I’ll be defenseless. I tie my boots to my pack, then scoop it up and pull it on. From there I carefully climb onto his back, sitting astride him like I would a horse. He’s nearly as big as a pony as it is. It feels odd – his body is nothing like a horse, or a stag, or a dracolisk – but it isn’t uncomfortable. He waits for me to get comfortable and find a grip on his shaggy neck ruff, and then he begins to walk.
And he walks, and he walks.
The wolf is tireless, his silent steps carrying us miles through the night. There are times when I doze, my eyes closing only to open to a completely different vista, miles ahead. At long last we come to a cabin, nestled into the hillside. Vines grow over it and trees loom over it possesively, and given the general faded, worn look, it doesn’t seem l
ike anyone’s lived here in quite some time.
I carefully climb down, keeping a hand on his back as he walks us to the front door. The lock clicks when he looks at it, and I realize that this must be one of his safe houses. I would imagine a person like him needs quite a few of them, scattered across Thedas. To my surprise, the inside is clean and neat. A shelf of books stretches across the wall at eye height, and beneath it is a work table. Across from the front window is a hearth, dark at the moment. A bed is nestled into the corner across from the bookshelf, the linens neatly tucked in over the mattress.
He walks me over to the bed, where I carefully take a seat. The pain is starting to come back and I wince, gritting my teeth as I try to keep the weight off my left leg. He looks closely at my ankle, concentrating, and then he pads over to a chest at the foot of the bed. With a nudge of his nose he has it open, and he pokes around until he carefully plucks out a roll of bandages. This he carries to the bed, daintily clutching the roll with his teeth, and deposits it between my knees. There he focuses on it, his light eyes glowing with a blueish light for a moment. When his eyes return to normal, the bandaging steams in the air, and when I touch the white rolled up strip of cloth, it’s cold to the touch.
‘Wrap your ankle with that. I will go out and collect the ingredients for your medicine.’ I don’t have time to comment on it before he turns around, nudges the door open with his head, and slips outside. Gone again.
While he’s gone, I look around the cabin. At first, when I wrap the chilled bandage around my ankle, the pain and stiffness both recede just a little. It’s a relief all over again, given that his spell has been wearing off, and I slip out of the bed to look around. I’ve been on my own for many years, so to see something so normal and familiar is heartening. Given his previously admitted penchant for wandering, maybe he feels the same way.
Maybe out of some sense of spitefulness, I take a few books from his bookshelf back with me to the bed. A gentle wave of my hand sparks a light in the wood stacked in the hearth, and the interior finally has enough light to read by, despite the drapes covering the window. The tomes I’ve chosen aren’t the easiest of reading – biological forays and essays on demons, accounts of mages and their dreams, things of that nature.
Really, I’d expect no other kind of book to be in here.
I feel like I only just lay back down to start reading when I startle awake again. The door creaks as it opens, and he walks in, the large wolf still, with jaws full of elfroot and various other things. He pads over to a small work table beneath the shelf, then looks up to see some of them askew, tilting into the gaps. His ears fold back, and he looks over at me and the small pile I’d strewn about the bed. The messiness makes him grumble just a little, his eyes narrowing in the fussy way they used to.
When he’s done scolding me with a look, he deposits his findings on the table. Some of the stems have teeth marks, but I suppose that couldn’t be helped. To my surprise, he says ‘if I knew I’d be entertaining you here, I would have procured some of Varric’s more lurid tales.’
That almost makes me smile a little. ‘If you knew you’d be entertaining me here, now, I’d be somewhat concerned.’ I hold up a cautionary finger. ‘Augury and time magic are nothing to fool around with.’
‘In this modern age, I suppose that’s true’ he quips, his tail wagging just a touch, amused by his own demure arrogance.
Perhaps it’s inevitable, but still I remain frozen in place when I witness him change back into the man I knew. The wolf’s form dissolves, and in its place stands a man dressed in leathers and woolen cloth. His sharp, pointed ears stand out distinctly against his bald head, and his tall, elegant frame remains with its back to me. For just a second I know he’s tempted to turn and look, and his head does turn just a touch before it stops, and moves back to where it was.
Makenna
- 10.01.2021
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