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Chapter Text

Hunter   

“What was it that stayed my hand then? 
With dagger held unsheathed, blade pointing in its side 
I'd been set upon by a predator 
It was just looking for a meal, I saw ribs and fearful eyes 
What is it that stays my hand now? 
With so much misery that I could mercifully put ends to 
For that animal I let slink off into the undergrowth, unscathed 
Do I not fear death, but just pretend to? 

For it was starving, it was hungry 
But had eyes too close to let me 
If you were easy to kill, I would have done it already 

Plagued by phantom noises 
That that skeletal beast was haunting all my steps 
Questioning all my choices 
With that dagger held unsheathed, I felt sick at my contempt 

For you were lonely, you were like me 
Like some outside force had sent me 
If I was easy to kill, you would have done it already 

You are at my feet, we're by the fire 
You're a gentle beast and I'm alive”  

Paris Paloma.   

When Jack had first come to him with his little wolf problem, Will's heart was filled with bitterness. Memories of his childhood flooded back - being left on his own since he was a child when his father passed away from coughing sickness. The small, dilapidated cabin they had maintained on the outskirts of town had been his sole responsibility and inheritance. In the middle of one of the harshest winters they had seen, he had to learn to survive on his own.   

He remembered his father's words, explaining why they were shunned by the villagers, but at the time he did not fully understand it. They were on one of their rare market trips, purchasing items they couldn't provide themselves. His father had desperately needed rough iron nails from the blacksmith Francis to seal a hole in their roof before winter hit. Despite his initial excitement for the rare trip out, Will was quickly consumed by a suffocating cloud of anxiety and despair. Every step he took in the village square felt like wading through thick mud as the villagers openly stared at him with cold, unfriendly gazes. Their judging eyes made him feel like an outcast, an unwelcome outsider in their tight-knit community. He could practically feel their hate and fear seeping into his own being, choking off his breath and crushing his spirit like a heavy weight. It was as if he were drowning in a sea of dark, oppressive smoke, unable to escape within the hostile atmosphere. His eyes had budded with tears as he grasped his father's rough callused hand in fear. His father was a quiet man, and though he was small of build Will had always felt warm and protected.   

“Don’t pay them any mind, son,” his father said, his voice steady yet firm, as stormy blue eyes locked onto Will’s. A muscle twitched along his jaw, revealing the tension simmering beneath the surface. “They are just fools.” He paused, a warm smile breaking through his stern expression. “How about we go by the bakers on our way home and get some of those sweet rolls you like so much?” As his father leaned down, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and earth enveloped Will, and a gentle hand affectionately tousled his unruly dark curls. In that moment, a flicker of warmth ignited within the oppressive shadows that seemed to layer over his heart. With eyes wide in hopeful delight at the unexpected treat, Will nodded with enthusiasm, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. His father’s chuckle resonated like a comforting melody, filling the air with ease. “Well, let’s hurry then, and maybe we can get em while they are still warm,” he urged, his tone brightening. With fingers intertwined, his father led him along the rough-hewn stone path that meandered through the heart of the inner village. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the rugged stones, and Will ignored the stares as he focused on hurrying his father along.   

The blacksmith shop stood as one of the last establishments in the bustling square, its weathered wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze. With Will's enthusiastic urging, they made it there quickly despite his father's playful resistance. Will's father, with a playful glint in his eyes, wore a broad smile as he exaggeratedly dragged his feet along the cobblestone path. His antics sent Will into fits of giggles, while contrastingly eliciting sighs of exasperation as he tried to keep his father moving, even going behind him to shove at his back with his tiny hands.   

“Come on papa!” Will grunted with the effort it took to shove at his father's solid weight. Grinding his heels into the rough street to try and gain traction.   

His father barked a laugh and spun around to snatch him up and tickle his soft belly. Will giggled breathlessly as he tried to shove his hands away from the sensitive area. However, they sobered quickly when they entered the shop and encountered the blacksmith. The man glared at them coldly as he wiped his hands on his dirty apron, and Will felt a shiver of fear sing down his spine as his father set him gently on the shop floor. The man was strangely pale despite his profession and had a scar marring the soft shape of his mouth.   

“Why are you here, Graham.” He grimaced in disgust.   

Will shrunk behind his father, but the man’s eyes remained coldly locked on him. Will had the image of a large vulture waiting for the last death rattle of a rabbit flash through his mind.    

His father stepped forward without hesitation or fear. “I need nails to patch my roof, about 2 knuckles long. Iron is fine.” His rich voice brought warmth into the room and Will let out a quiet sigh, burrowing his head against his father's lower back to try to push the disturbing image of the hungry bird away.  

The man grunted and turned to get the requested item from a shelf of wooden crates along the shop's wall. “How many?”    

His father stroked along his dark stubbled jaw, considering, “About two dozen, I think.”    

The man made no comment, filled a little burlap bag with the number of nails requested, and sealed it shut. He dropped the bag unceremoniously on the roughhewn countertop, making Will cringe.  “20 silvers.”    

Will's father stiffened, and he halted in reaching for the bag.    

“What?” He bit out sharply, “There were 6 coppers for twice that amount last year!”    

The man shrugged his shoulders, rippling powerfully with the movement, “That was last year.”     

His father's hands fisted at his side, and when he spoke, his voice was colder than Will had ever heard it before: “This is ridiculous. They are just nails. No one can afford that.”    

The man cocked his head to the side, revealing a strange marking peeking out from his leather apron and smock. “I decide how much my work is worth; you may buy elsewhere if you like. It does not concern me.”   

Will's father’s face flushed a vivid crimson, his features tightening in preparation for another confrontation. But as his gaze shifted downward to Will, who stood trembling at his side, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He released a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping as if the weight of the world had suddenly pressed down upon him, leaving him deflated and weary.   

“I... I cannot afford to pay that much,” he started, and the man snatched up the little bag as if he expected that answer. “Wait! Please, I need those...I need to make my home able to withstand the winter!” His father gritted as the man ignored him, dumping the nails back into their crate.   

“That is not my problem, Graham. Now, I would like you to take that ugly thing out of my shop.”   

Will shriveled under the man's intense gaze and dug his nails into his father's arm, who still seemed to be at war with himself.  “Please, papa...can we leave now?” he asked quietly. It seemed to rouse his father from his retrospection, and he spun to snatch Will into his arms, cradling him firmly to his chest.   

“Yes,” he growled kissing Will’s forehead “We will get them elsewhere.”   

Will fiddled with a small hole in the arm of his father's shirt as he was carried from the stifling warmth of the shop and back out onto the crisp street. His father's footsteps rang loudly with his ire as he muttered to himself, and Will closed his eyes against the hurt tears welling in his eyes, pressing them into his father's warm neck to try and keep them in.  

“Will?...Son?” His father's large hand cradled the back of his head, and Will snuggled deeper, suppressing a sob. Ugly, that’s what the man had called him. Was that why they had to live so far away and why the villagers stared so much?   

“Am I… ugly, Papa?” he asked, his voice trembling as he sniffled. He clutched the loose fabric of his father's rough-spun shirt, a wave of fear washing over him. He was desperately afraid that his father might say yes and leave him alone in the alley, and have another, better son.   

“NO!” his father shouted, causing Will to startle violently in his grip. “ No son,” he sighed, stroking Will’s curls gently. “You are so beautiful...just like your mother,” he finished wistfully.  He pulled gently at the back of Will’s curls to get him to lift his head and meet his soft gaze.   

“Your mother was just like you...and people didn’t understand,” his father said gruffly with a rough swallow to clear his throat. “I thought she was the most beautiful woman to exist, inside and out. We were so happy to have you, but your mother saw things in other people, and it made them scared. They...well, you don't need to hear that story, son...just know your mother loved you so much, and I love you. You are the best gift she ever gave me.” He finished, and Will felt sharp tears well over his eyes just as they fell over his father’s rough cheeks.  

“She loved me?” he questioned unsurely. He did not even remember his mother; she died when he was too little, but sometimes if Will thought of her really hard, he could smell lavender.    

“Yes, so much son. She didn’t want to leave you” His father said brokenly “Just remember that and don’t let anybody make you feel bad about yourself.”   

Will smiled shyly and his father returned it, even though he still looked a little sad.   

“Let’s get to the bakers before they sell all your buns.” his father said, gently pressing Will’s head back down onto his firm shoulder.    

“We don’t have to papa...we can just go home.” He replied feeling guilty about the extra expense when there were other things they needed.   

His father shook his head firmly and began to walk again, heading toward the bakery, and Will’s stomach let out a weak growl as he scented the sweet bread lingering in the air. He blushed deeply, and worked a hand between him and his father to press against his stomach trying to quiet it.   

‘No Will, we are getting those and some of those cinnamon spice ones to take with us.”   

“But...papa,”   

“Shhhh, no arguing, son.” His father's voice was firm, and Will quieted, the guilt growing like his knawing hunger making his stomach sick. He stayed quiet like he was told while his father passed silver to the baker, paying for the warm sweets. He ignored the stares as his father sat with him on a wooden bench outside the shop, digging out two sweet buns from the paper sack they were placed in.    

“Here, son, eat while they are still warm.” He carefully pressed the two white frosted buns into Will’s tiny hands, and Will stared down at them before looking at his father deeply. He could sense anxiety and sadness within him still but overtop all of that was pride. His father worked so hard to provide for them both with so little and being able to give Will things like this made him feel so happy. Will couldn't ruin that for his papa even if he was feeling guilty. He took a large bite from one of the rolls giving into his hunger and watched as his father's eyes beamed at him from his height above. Will noticed his father did not have anything for himself to eat and had sealed the bag again and felt another wave of guilt roll over him. He held the other roll out trying to get his father to take it when he just frowned slightly and pushed it back.   

“No, son, eat. I am fine.” He said firmly, his eyes still sparkling, and he looked away from Will down the street to watch the water, effectively ending the conversation. Will ate, his stomach gurgling happily at the food warming it and when he was finished his father laughed as he wiped the white frosting off Will’s face and fingers with the edge of his shirt.   

“Come on, son,” he held his hand out. “Let’s get home before it gets dark and cold...or the wolf gets us.” He waggled his brows and growled playfully, and Will giggled, grabbing his father's warm hand. It was enough to have him; he didn’t need anyone else, just his papa.   

“There is no wolf, papa!” He squealed, rolling his eyes at his father's antics. It was his favorite bedtime story, and he requested it nightly. The wolf gobbled all the people, but the hunter made him throw them all up by throwing a stone at the wolf's belly. His father always tickled him until he couldn't breathe at that part. The wolf, having lost his meal, ran away and never ate anyone again. Will had spent the whole summer looking for the wolf. He left scraps in the woods for it and the little rope snares his father had taught him to make...but nothing had come of it. Dissapointed he had decided there was no wolf anymore.   

“Yes, there is! I have seen him’ His father said causing Will to gasp in enthusiasm “and guess what?” his father's blue eyes flashed mischievously down at him. Will shook his head in confusion “He likes little boys with full bellies...just like YOU!”   

Will screamed with laughter as his father snatched him up to pretend gobble at his belly. He shoved at his father's face as he tried to squirm free, but he was stronger than Will. Eventually, his father stopped when he grew weak, and tears flowed freely with his ripe giggles.   

“Don’t let him get me papa.” He said breathlessly and laid his head down on his father's shoulder before yawning deeply. He had walked a lot further than usual today and he was tired.   

His father patted his back “I won’t let anything get you.”   

***  

That was the last happy moment Will could remember with his father. Winter had set in deeply and quickly, much quicker than his papa had anticipated. There was no other blacksmith nearby, the closest one being two days away by horse, and Will’s father had ruled against that long of a trip for Will. He was too young, and robbers frequented those roads to get travelers that go between towns.  In the end they fixed their roof with thatch as best as they could, weaving the straw tight to ward against the elements. Yet when the bitter chill of winter descended, the wind sliced through the gaps in the thatch like a cold blade, rendering their cabin a mere refuge from the deep freeze outside. The frigid air swept through the seams, leaving the inside barely above freezing. His father had to leave frequently to chop more and more wood to keep it warm after they burned through their supply rapidly, each time taking longer to return as he had to go further out to find it.   

The rest of the time he spent hunting, setting snares for the wild hare and traps in the frozen lake for fish. They got lucky a few times and they stretched the meat as far as it would go. His papa said the animals were sleeping to keep warm and were not coming out very often from their dens. He understood, he would not want to come out either.   

Will watched helplessly as his father became wanner each day, but anytime he voiced any worry, his papa would perk up and spring from his chair by the fireplace, asking if Will wanted to hear a story. Will always wanted to listen to a story, and his father would snuggle him up in their shared bed with the pelts he had made. Bunnies, coyotes, and deer overlapped Will until he felt buried under them. Their musky smell would lull him to sleep while his father was reciting a story, and when he woke, he was often alone.      

With blurry eyes, he would see his father on his knees, praying before the fire. His hands shaking, and his pale forehead beading with sweat from his fever. His gaze was intently fixed on the flicking flames as he chanted repeatedly, “Please don’t take him from me too, please .”     

“Papa?” Will called uncertainly, and his father glanced up guiltily and rose to his feet. He approached Will on soft feet and bent over to place a concerningly cool hand on his forehead.    

“Yes, son? You should be...” His father was interrupted as a cough shook him. “Sleeping,” he finished gasping and looked pale.    

“I can’t sleep without you, papa” Will pleaded tugging on his father's hand to get him to enter the warmth of the bed “It’s warmer with you.” His father sighed but did not resist as he lay down in the space Will had made for him, making sure to roll over enough so that his papa could lie in his warm spot.    

“C’mere, Will, " he said quietly and pulled Will to lie on his chest. Will shuddered as he listened to the rattling and whistling that occurred each time his father's chest rose and fell.  

“Papa... are you okay?” he whispered, his voice barely breaking the heavy silence. He nestled his face into his father's chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Desperate to offer comfort, he wrapped his slender arm around him, the contrast of their body temperatures striking him—his father's skin was chilling to the touch. The boy could sense the cold that enveloped them both, and he pressed closer, hoping to share his warmth and stave off the chill his father had.   

“I am okay. Don’t worry, son. You should sleep...do you want me to tell you a story?” He felt a slight pressure on his scalp as his father gently nuzzled his head.   

“...No, papa. You should sleep.” Will answered, his stomach flipping in fear as his father went to speak, only to be interrupted by a severe coughing fit. It felt like it lasted for hours, and Will remained tense on top of his chest until it calmed down, only releasing his breath when his father stopped with a wheeze.  

“I can...still...tell you a story Will.” he said stubbornly gasping every other word. He pushed Will’s head back down with surprising strength when he tried to rise to tell his father no again.   

“Papa...” He said sniffling as tears began to leak from his eyes wetting the shirt he was pressed against.   

“Shush...there once was a great, huge grey wolf that was so hungry he felt he could never be satisfied...” his father began the familiar story.    

Will cried silently as he hung onto his father's words, memorizing them...he felt strange like this was the last time he would hear them, but that was impossible. His papa was strong. He would be better soon. Will took a deep breath, letting the familiar soothing scent of woodsmoke and musk roll over him. He fell asleep, and when he awoke, it was freezing, and his father was gone.  

Will frowned in confusion as he shivered violently and dreaded removing himself from the last remnants of warmth lingering in the straw bed. However, the fire had gone out and the cold would only worsen. He pulled himself from the warm bed and wrapped a deer pelt to ineffectively keep the chill out before going to the fireplace. He fills it with the remaining wood stacked from last night in the peaked formation his father taught him to make sure the flames can breathe. His hands shake uncontrollably, and he almost drops the flint several times before getting a spark. It takes a few tries, but the tinder eventually catches and the logs soon after, and Will sighs as he presses himself closer to the flames, eager for the meager warmth.  

He reasons that his father must have left early to check the snares and traps scattered throughout the woods, which explains why the fire has long since died down to a cold pile of ashes. In the quiet of the house, he busies himself with chores, methodically sweeping the floor and tidying up the scattered tools in an effort to keep his mind occupied while he anxiously waits for his father's return. As the hours stretch on, an unsettling knot twists in his stomach, a gnawing worry that won't let go—his father has never been gone for this long, and each creak of the floorboards only heightened his sense of dread.  

As darkness envelops the world and the firewood's final crackles fade into silence, anxiety urges him to act. He carefully dons every piece of clothing he owns, wrapping himself in warmth, and slips on both pairs of his thick woolen stockings for extra insulation against the chill that seeps into the air. Finally, he reaches for an old pair of his father's sturdy boots, their well-worn leather scuffed and softened by years of use. Although they are many sizes too large, the extra stockings help, and the boots cradle his feet in a comforting warmth, far superior to his own well-used footwear, meant for indoors. Will takes a deep breath, steeling himself to leave the cabin.   

When he opens the door, cold air rushes in, banking the last of the fire and letting the last of the warmth out. The moon is full and high in the night sky, making the fresh snow glitter in the pale light. Everything is eerily silent, as if the forest is holding its breath. Will carefully searches the ground for signs of his father's direction, but there is nothing. It is as if his father disappeared utterly. Will shakes off the dread building within him with that thought and determinately strides for the deeper woods, taking a trail, he remembers from when he set traps with his father in the summer.    

The snow rises high above the tops of his boots, creating a challenging barrier with every step he takes. It clings stubbornly to his loose-fitting boots, gripping them like a snare and making each movement feel labored and heavy. Despite the struggle, Will presses on, driven by an unseen force. The night stretches on, seeming endless as he trudges forward, the silvery light of the moon guiding him through the dark expanse. Each step is accompanied by the crisp sound of new ice cracking underfoot, the sharp noise echoing in the stillness of the frigid air.  

The rhythmic sound of his footsteps begins to slow as he grows weary, but still, he presses on. Surely, his father couldn't have gone this far? Will spins in a slow circle, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, but the trees have closed in more than he realized, leaving him with no clear trail ahead of him—or behind him. He sobs quietly with a sense of forbidding spreading over him, the sound more of a choke than anything else with his dry mouth.    

“PAPA!” he shouts, hoping his father will answer him. Then they can both go home, get warm by the fire, and he can tell his favorite story again. But his father remains silent, and a wave of panic engulfs Will. He glances around the darkening woods, the trees looming ominously, and a chill runs down his spine as the reality sinks in: he is lost. Desperation claws at him as he begins walking as fast as he can in the deep snow.   

“PAPA! WHERE ARE YOU!”   

There is no answer no matter how many times he shouts, but Will feels hope spring up in his chest when he spies an opening in the woods ahead of him. A clearing. He rushes towards it, hoping he has reached the frozen lake by their house, a familiar location he can use to orient himself. Just as he breaks the tendrils of twisted tree branches, he hears whistling wind and the pit of his stomach flips as he falls.  

Will hits the bottom of the hill hard and cries out as he feels a sharp, burning pain erupt in his side. He sits up gasping as the wind had been knocked out of him when he hit the ground and sees darkness spreading rapidly from the tree branch embedded in his side. Will moans brokenly as he examines the wound numbly. He had never hurt himself like this before. Gingerly, he touches the branch with his fingertips and gasps at the radiating pain that travels up his side sharply. Tears freeze his cheeks further as he bites his lip until he tastes rich iron in his mouth and tries to gather his strength to stand.   

Will presses his hands against the firm snow, trying to push himself up, and screams as the pain drives him back down. Giving up, he lays there sobbing quietly as the snow melts around his warmth and soaks his clothes. He can’t move, and he feels so cold. His lids grow heavy as he tried one last time.   

“Papa...” He whispers through chapped lips.   

Suddenly, the silence is broken by something other than himself. A low growl fills the air and rumbles up Will’s spine. He flinches against the ground and strains his ears to hear anything else. He does not, but from the darkness of the thicket nearest him, he spots two red eyes floating much higher than his father stood. They are the color of old blood and glimmer at him curiously in the darkness.   

Will sobs; this is worse than dying of the cold. To be eaten, painfully torn apart by some beast. The thing tilts its head, and Will watches, horrified, as a massive brindle paw branches out of the thicket. It stays there as if testing the waters before the rest of the wolf follows. It’s bigger than anything he could have imagined, its lean body flowing sinuously in its advancement on Will. The muscles near its shoulder rippled, moving soundlessly in the night. Surprisingly, Will does not sense any hatred from the beast; he only has immense curiosity as it regards him just a few feet away now. Still, a beast does not need to feel anything for you to eat you.   

Looking around wildly for a weapon Will’s breath comes in foggy pants. He finds nothing, in the snow around him and feels the hair on his neck stand on end as he feels a warm panting breath near his shoulder. He closes his eyes and freezes in utter terror realizing the beast used his fruitless search to close the last of the distance between them.   

“Please...don’t hurt me,” he whispers into the frigid night air, shivering violently. The unconscious movement jostles the stick still inside him, and he gasps in both pain and realization; he does have a weapon if he’s brave enough to take it. He wraps his tiny hand around the protruding stick and pulls. It comes free from his flesh with a sickening tugging sensation, and he ignores the blood to face the wolf beside him.    

“Stay back! I... don’t want to hurt you!” Will says, his voice unnaturally high-pitched due to his fear.   

The wolf regards him unnaturally still in the darkness before darting forward and wrenching the stick from Will’s hand. Will sobs as he feels a puff of hot breath on his fingertips, imagining the wolf clamping down on it painfully, but it does not. It lets the stick fall to the ground and regards it briefly before leaning its bristled neck down to sniff along its edge. A deep rumble ignites in its chest like a purr, and he watches breathlessly as a long tongue flicks out to run along the blood clinging to the branch. The wolf jerks and its great head shoots up to stare at Will with unnerving awareness.    

The wolf seems intelligent, as its maroon eyes flick over him as if captivated. Another purring rumble fills the night, but it is gentler and more resonant this time. Despite how it should be the last thing he should feel in its predatory presence; Will feels warmth building in his chest. A sense of calm encases him for the first time in hours, and he shudders as he feels warm fur brush his neck before something hot and wet glides over his pulse. The purring stutters and Will’s brow furrows before it recontinues. He feels a soft, slightly cool nose drifting from his neck down to his wound, huffing a few times at it as if measuring its severity.    

Unbidden, Will’s arms instinctively lift, stretching out towards the wolf with an almost magnetic pull, and he feels a surge of joy when the creature leans into him rather than shying away. His fingertips sink into the luxuriously soft fur, each stroke brushing against the warm, living warmth of its body. A deep, contented sigh escapes him as he revels in this unexpected connection, feeling a comforting warmth envelop him for the first time that chilly day.  

As the warmth surrounds him, a sense of fatigue washes over Will, pulling him toward a feeling of despair. The wolf beside him doesn’t smell like the musty pelts spread out on the bed he shares at home; instead, it carries a comforting aroma of warm spices mixed with something else equally delightful, though he can’t quite identify what it is. He nuzzles deeper, burying his cold nose in the brindle fur along the wolf's neck, and hears a strange sound—a whine—emit from the beast in response.  

“Sorry” He mutters trying to pull away from the addicting warmth and scent and stops when the beast growls lowly shifting forward to press against him again. He giggles deliriously as he wraps himself as much around the wolf as he can.   

“You are nicer than in my papa’s story.” He chokes out brokenly remembering his father just as the darkness finally takes over.   

🌒🌒🌒  

Will wakes blessedly warm in his bed and moans softly as he feels wet warmth drifting repetitively over his side. It stings, but in a good way—like removing a splinter. He squirms against the softness behind him, gasping in delight when it shifts slightly, allowing him to snuggle up more comfortably. Just as awareness starts to rouse him, a deep rumbling sound erupts and vibrates his chest rhythmically. He soon falls back into a deep exhausted sleep.   

As the first rays of morning light filter through the window, dancing playfully across the room, Will stirs from his slumber to find himself alone. He gingerly sits up in his nest of plush pelts, their warmth enveloping him like a cocoon, and peels back the layers to examine his bare side. A faint, curious red mark catches his attention, its shape resembling that of a rash but upon closer inspection, there are no visible wounds or traces of blood. A furrow forms on his brow as he tries to piece together the fragmented memories of the previous night, the confusion and unease knotting in his chest.  

He remembered being scared and looking for his father in the snow...and falling...warmth....and red eyes that glowed with unnatural interest. The wolf! Will leaps from the bed, uncaring for his nudity, as his eyes rake their tiny cabin for a giant wolf. He can’t help the disappointment in his chest at the apparent lack of brindle fur in the small space. Shoulders slumped, Will gathers a pelt from the bed to wrap around himself. The cabin is strangely warm for the early morning, and Will hears the rich crackle of intensely burning wood. With a glance, he confirms the fire is roaring, and his chest leaps painfully.    

“Papa!” he calls out, his voice filled with hope as he races toward the cabin door. Was it all just a terrible nightmare? A smile spreads across his face at the thought of the warm embrace he would give his father, sharing the wild events of his dreams over breakfast. He envisions his father’s hearty laughter and playful teasing, gently teasing that he needs to stop sharing such gruesome tales with Will at bedtime. With eager anticipation, he flings open the cabin door and calls out for his father, his voice echoing across the stark, white winter landscape, but silence greets him in return. After a while chilled to the bone, he reluctantly closes the cabin door and strides back to the flickering fire, its warm glow a comforting beacon in the cold. It is then that Will’s gaze falls upon the offerings laid out in surprising stillness. Near the fireplace, resting on the rough-hewn stone, are two large, pure white winter hares, their fur like freshly fallen snow. A twisted sense of dread washes over him, creeping in like the first dark shadows of a bad dream, tainting what should have been a delightful discovery as he cautiously approaches them. He reaches out, the softness of the velveteen ear beneath his fingers confirming their reality, an almost eerie sensation of being watched rattling him.   

Will skins the rabbits that night, carefully making a small hole near the neck, like his father taught him, wriggling his finger inside to grip and pull against the membrane and fat to take the soft pelts. He takes his time, carefully scraping away the remaining flesh with a dull blade before salting the hides to begin curing. He does not waste a single part of the animals and even saves their bones to carve into pale hooks for fishing. He never sees his father or the wolf again, but he never feels alone while he is in the woods.   

He often feels an unsettling sensation, as if unseen eyes are tracking his every move while he navigates his daily tasks of resetting the snares, chopping sturdy logs, and casting his line into the icy waters. Each day spent in the biting chill of winter shapes him, almost molding him into a more resilient figure. What once were small muscles that sang with fatigue after just a few bundles of chopped wood now endure long hours of relentless labor. He acclimates to the frigid temperatures, learning to wait in silence for the slightest tug on his fishing line, a signal of life beneath the surface. In the realm of hunting, he finds immediate success—his catches are plentiful, overflowing with more meat than he could have ever anticipated. The fine pelts of snow rabbits, sleek foxes, and rugged badgers accumulate in a pile, rich trophies of his skill and determination. Each evening, as the sun sinks below the horizon, he meticulously resets and baits his father’s snares, preparing for the dawn's promise of fresh prey. Yet, a peculiar twist shrouds his routine. Each morning, he awakens to find the captured animals lying still and lifeless, the snare apparently having done its job too effectively. The snare hangs loose around their limbs or necks, and he has never been the one to end their lives. A sense of suspicion prickles at him, a quiet doubt whispering in the corners of his mind, but he brushes it aside, choosing instead to take the animals home to consume and preserve.   

Spring arrives later than usual, heralded by the delicate sight of tiny purple crocuses breaking through the soft blanket of melting snow. Their vibrant petals add a splash of color to the otherwise monochromatic landscape. Will gathers their golden stamens with care, knowing can be used in cooking and as a natural dye. As the last remnants of snow evaporate, he follows the meandering path his father once showed him, a bundle of pelts tucked in his pack.   

The town feels smaller than he remembered, yet the villagers continue to regard him with the same intense hatred. He grimly ignores their glares and speaks to no one except the tanner. Even then, it is just a gruff greeting as he presents his pelts for sale.  

The man scrutinizes the furs with a discerning eye, keenly searching for any flaws to help him drive down the price. Yet Will remains steadfast, confident in the quality and rarity of the pelts on display. The shopkeeper's intrigue deepens as he sifts through a stunning array of more than twenty pristine white pelts and rich russet furs. It's a collection far greater than what he usually boasts in his own shop, which regularly buys from countless trappers around town.   

Will taps his fingers restlessly against his thigh as he waits impatiently for the man to make an offer.   

The shopkeeper, Fredrick, eventually sighs and places the final pelt with its brethren, meeting Will’s eyes contemptuously.  

“How did you get these?” he says accusingly, as if Will has committed some great crime.   

Will feels his jaw clench painfully at the tone “I snared them. Now how much will you pay?”   

Fredrick pretends to consider lifting a few of the pelts again. “I could give you 24 silver,” he says, as it pains him to make such an offer. However, his eyes remain shrewd as he waits for Will’s reply.  

Will takes a deep breath through his nose and drags the pile of pelts closer to him. He selects two hares from the pile and sets them aside, then begins to bundle up the rest. “Deal,” he says curtly, ignoring the man's sputtering attempts to speak as he starts to tie the pelts together with soft twine.  

 “What… what are you doing?!” Fredrick cries out.   

“You can only afford two of my pelts. I’m leaving after you give me the silvers,” Will replies, shrugging unconcerned as he stuffs the bundle back into his pack.  

 “Wait! I meant for all of them,” Fredrick growls, and Will glances up, noticing the greedy glint in his dark eyes.  

 “Then make me a true offer.”  

🌙🌙🌙  

Will steps out of the shop, two heavy bags of shimmering silver clutched in his hands. As he exited, the door swung shut with a loud bang, echoing in the quiet street. Outside, a group of rough-looking men loitered, their laughter mingling with the thick, acrid smoke they exhaled. Will edged around them cautiously, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he coughed, the bitter fumes pricking at his throat.  

“Hey, kid! Where’s your dad?” one of the men sneered, spitting on the ground at Will's feet. Will grimaced in disgust and avoided meeting the man's gaze as he continued walking. Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, spinning him around to face the jeering group. “I asked you a question,” the man said with a sneer, digging his fingers into Will's shoulder when he attempted to shake off the grip.   

“I don’t have to answer that!” Will snarled, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. His fists clenched at his sides, and his posture was tense, radiating hostility. The man before him erupted with a loud, raucous laugh, the sound echoing in the street like a taunt. As he laughed, flecks of spittle sprayed from his mouth, splattering against Will's cheek only adding to the simmering anger that coursed through him.  

“Look at this kid; he thinks he’s so tough.” The man ruffled the hair on his head, smirking as Will bared his teeth in displeasure. “You know what? I think your papa finally gained some sense and left you. He probably started a new family somewhere else.” He taunted, and the men behind him laughed at his cruelty.    

“Now give me the bag kid and I may let you go.”   

Will gazed around in disbelief, his heart racing as the man tugged at the strap of the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. The sharp echoes of their raised voices cut through the air, drawing the attention of bystanders who slowly gathered, their curious eyes fixated on the unfolding scene. Yet, despite the increasing numbers, no one dared to intervene, leaving him to face the group alone.   

Bitter tears welled up in his eyes, mingling with an intense rage that consumed him, making him feel as though he would be trapped in its fiery grip forever. In a sudden burst of defiance, he whipped his head around and sank his teeth into the filthy hand gripping his shoulder. The man cried out in pain as he felt the sharp bite penetrate deeply into his flesh. He tried to tug his hand free and Will bit down harder in response tasting hot coppery blood fill his mouth. Changing tactics the man reached out and gripped his curls painfully and pulled, wrenching Will off himself.   

Will stumbled as he was freed watching as the man spun around in a circle jumping up and down with pain and clutching his wounded hand.   

“That bastard bit me! Fucking little monster!” he wailed, and Will grinned as he spat the putrid taste from his mouth, pleased with the amount of crimson that hit the stones of the street. “GET HIM!” The man gestured at Will wildly, and he nervously backed away as the group of men started in his direction. His back collided with something solid and warm, and large, tanned hands grasped his shoulders to prevent him from falling. Assuming it was one of the other men, he struggled against the hold, but the man felt as immovable as steel.   

“I apologize; it seemed you were in need of assistance,” came a smooth voice with an intriguing accent, echoing from somewhere far above him. The warm hands, gentled and Will jerked away instinctively, surprised, and looked up to meet the gaze of his unexpected rescuer, curiosity winning out over distancing himself.   

He smiled down at Will, momentarily revealing sharply angled teeth that made Will gulp as he tried to remember where he had seen them before. Suddenly, the man's expression hardened, and he broke his intense gaze with Will to glare at the men behind him. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, and Will shuddered at the power ebbing behind his quietly spoken words. As if he did not deem it necessary to shout to command attention.   

“That kid just bit my fucking hand off.” The man growled out, brandishing his hand before him to show off the still weeping crescent moons of Will’s teeth.   

His savior merely raised an eyebrow in response, seemingly unimpressed by the man's theatrics. Will began to feel a curious warmth blossoming in his chest. “Yes, I see,” he said tersely. “I wonder what could provoke such an attack.” His eyes flashed, and for a moment, they appeared darker to Will behind his golden lashes, almost red.   

“Yeah? And WHO the fuck are you!” The man shouted bold, but Will could see the slight tremor in his hand from fear.   

“Ah! how rude of me, my name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and I am just passing through this town on my way to the next one over.” The man beside him said smoothly.   

“Fucking foreigners,” the man laughed, and it echoed among the spectators. Will saw Hannibal's eye twitch.    

“May I ask your name?” he said coolly.   

The man steps forward now bolstered by the crowd's reaction to his little joke “It’s Mathew Oh great doctor.” He mockingly bows to Hannibal. “If you don’t mind moving along, we can take care of the boy,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. Will felt a wave of fear wash over him and instinctively shifted slightly behind Hannibal, seeking refuge. The prospect of facing off against the group of men was daunting; he knew he was outnumbered and feared the consequences of defeat. The cold, predatory glint in Mathews' eyes sent a shiver down his spine, deepening his sense of dread.   

Hannibal's keen eyes catch his slight movement, and with a swift motion, he pushes Will further behind him, creating a protective barrier. A wave of relief washes over Will as he realizes he hasn’t been left to face the danger alone. He can no longer see the men threatening them, only the tall, confident figure of the doctor standing resolutely in front of him. As he stands so close, Will becomes aware of the rich, smoky scent of spices that wafts from Hannibal, blending together in an intoxicating aroma. It draws him in, and he fights the overwhelming urge to bury his face in the luxurious fabric of the doctor’s long coat, wanting to absorb every bit of that comforting essence. The scent wraps around him like a warm embrace, offering solace amid tension and filling him with a strange sense of security.  

“I think not,” Hannibal replies, his tone smooth and agreeable, as if they were merely engaging in a casual conversation about the weather. With a subtle smile, he continues, “In fact, I believe it would be wise for you to make your way home and attend to those wounds. Infections can spread swiftly, like shadows creeping over light, leading to decay... and then what situation would you find yourself in?” Will sees his head tilt as if considering “A man who loses his hand out here cannot survive.”   

Will can hear the quick shuffle of feet on the cobblestones, followed by an unfamiliar male voice saying, “Come on, Matt... Let’s just leave.” He implores, “Jones just saw Crawford making his rounds, and you know he don’t like fighting.”  

“Fine!” Will heard Mathew hawk spit onto the road, and he saw it land near Hannibal's pristine leather shoes. “But we'll be seeing you, Willy! You too, Doctor.”   

Hannibal does not respond to the threat, but Will can see his shoulders tense as the men leave. When Will can no longer hear their footsteps, he cautiously moves out from behind the doctor.  

Glancing up shyly from beneath his thick dark lashes, he addresses the strange man who just stood up for him when no one else would. “Thank you… for helping me.” Will feels his cheeks heat softly at his weak-sounding gratitude and startles a bit when warm, smooth fingers gently tilt his chin upward to meet the rich golden eyes of the man.  

“There is no need to thank me, mylimasis.” He replies with his usual accent, warming Will’s belly strangely. Like a pleasantly simmering pot. Will cannot help but be curiously drawn to the man that is just as much an outsider as he himself is in this town.   

“Where are you from?” he inquires, his voice laced with curiosity, as he bites down on his lip, anxiety coursing through him. The fear of rejection looms large in his mind; he wonders if the man will pull away because he’s asked too much too soon. The older man tilts his head thoughtfully, a flicker of contemplation crossing his features as he weighs Will’s question. He feels the man's thumb press down on his chin, freeing his lower lip from the painful gnawing of his teeth.  

“I am not from here; I come from a different wood entirely. It is colder there than it is here,” he says evasively. Will frowns slightly, feeling a little let down by the information given.   

Hannibal smiles widely, exposing his animal-like fangs and asks a question of his own.   

“Is your name Will or William?”   

“Will.” Will responds breathlessly and hears a strange noise erupt around them, a quiet rumble, almost like something a contented cat would produce. He glances at their feet half expecting to see a tabby there but finds nothing.   

“Will...that is a fitting name for someone as brave as you,” the man says warmly, his voice carrying a note of admiration. At the compliment, Will feels a wave of warmth rush to his cheeks and neck, a blush creeping over him. He shifts his feet shyly, kicking at a loose pebble on the ground, the small stone skittering away. The act distracts him from having to meet Hannibal’s gaze directly, and he mumbles a soft, hesitant, “Thank you,” his voice barely above a whisper.   

"I think we should travel together for a while, if you’re agreeable, Will," Hannibal said softly. "Those men may still be lying in wait for you to leave for home, and I would like to accompany you safely."   

Will looks up at him, shocked and grateful. However, Hannibal misinterprets his expression. “Of course, we could find someone else if you’re not comfortable traveling with me alone,” he says. Yet, the slight downturn of his eyes and lips suggests something else—he truly wants to do this.  

“NO!’ Will says a little too loudly and glances around to make sure no one else heard “No...I... thank you, but can we make a small stop before we go?”   

“Of course, Will,” Hannibal breathes, sounding delighted by Will’s acceptance and request, not annoyed. He holds out his hand and after a moment's hesitation Will places his much smaller one within it, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation it causes in his belly.   

They walk together to the blacksmith's shop, gathering stares along the way. Will asks Hannibal to wait outside while he goes in. Though Hannibal seems curious, he complies without complaint. He pulls a small book and a quill from his inner pocket and begins to write in it.   

Will turns with determination and opens the door to the shop, confident that Hannibal will still be there when he returns. As Will enters, he finds Francis behind the counter, fiddling with a large bear trap. Francis doesn't seem pleased to see him.  

Will stood resolutely before him, his gaze unyielding as he faced the man across the table. With a deliberate motion, he reached into his pack and retrieved a hefty bag of silver. He let it fall with a satisfying thud onto the worn surface of the table. As the bag burst open, the gleaming asymmetrical disks trickled out, cascading across the countertop. This only prompted a raised eyebrow from the man, whose stare remained unimpressed and unyielding.  

“I need 30 nails. Iron is fine.” Will says glaring at the man from beneath his dark curls, daring him to refuse.   

Francis, seemingly indifferent, idly slid a metal piece back and forth against the counter. The sharp, grating sound filled the air, piercing through the tension and making Will’s nerves twitch uncomfortably. After a moment, Francis finally looked up, his expression unreadable. “Where is your father?” he asked, breaking the silence.  

Will barked out a harsh laugh. “Why do you care? Just get me the nails; I have the silver for them.” Francis continued to stare at him for an uncomfortable moment before turning to fill a small bag with the requested nails. He placed the bag on the counter in front of Will, who snatched it up. Will watched as Francis set aside 20 silver coins to cover the cost of the nails, prompting Will to scoff, which caused the man to pause in his counting. “Just keep it. It means nothing to me,” Will said, offering a bitter smile. He had plenty of silver now, but it was too late. If only the blacksmith knew what he had cost him.   

The man snarled causing his scar to twist hideously across his lip and Will turned to leave, tossing the bag of nails into the air to catch noisily in his palm.   

“How did you acquire all this silver?” he demanded. Will didn’t slow his pace or turn to face him as he quietly replied.  

 “I survived.”   

Those two words carried the weight of all the sorrow he felt deep in his chest, like a gaping, ragged wound whose edges would never heal properly.  

Hannibal was still outside, writing in his little book, and Will breathed a small sigh of relief before standing beside him. He had just caught a glimpse of the page when Hannibal abruptly snapped the book shut. It looked like a sketch of some sort—a person with softly curling hair. Hannibal carefully tucked the book into his pocket and smiled down at Will, although his expression quickly changed.   

“Will... are you alright?” he asked, his eyes filled with concern as he gently cupped one of Will’s full cheeks with his hand. “You look...upset.” Will smiled even as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, unable to resist nuzzling against the hand that held his jaw so tenderly, as if he were a precious treasure. He purposely avoided answering the question, not knowing if he could lie to Hannibal's face after all he did for him today but not willing to talk about his father yet either.  

“We can go now.” He said swallowing the painful lump building in his throat.   

Hannibal tilted his head slightly but chose not to ask for further explanations. Gently, he brushed his thumb against Will's cheek before pulling his hand away. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to fetch something from the baker’s before we leave,” he said, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his rich brown eyes. Will nodded his head slowly confused by the change of plans, but willing to follow.   

Hannibal gently clasped Will's hand as they navigated the bustling street towards the bakery. The warm, inviting aroma of fresh bread wafted through the air, wrapping around Will like a comforting blanket. His mouth watered in anticipation, drawn in by the sweet scent of golden loaves and pastries. He hesitated outside as Hannibal entered the shop, not wanting to endure more stares, even for the reward of a sweet bun.   

He leaned against the shop's wall as he waited for Hannibal to return ignoring the hunger that was beginning to nag at his belly.   

Thankfully, Hannibal was much quicker with his errand than Will was with his own, and it wasn’t long before he stepped back out of the shop cradling a large bag in his arms. He walked over to Will grinning widely as he gestured for him to follow. Hannibal led him to an area behind the shop that contained a few benches to sit upon in front of a small wishing well.   

Will’s brows drew together in confusion as Hannibal sat down upon one of the benches gracefully and patted the area beside himself to encourage Will to do the same.   

“How did you know this was here...Doctor Lecter?” Will asked before taking a seat next to the man.   

“Please, call me Hannibal dear Will, and I asked the lady within the shop if there was anywhere, we could sit for a bit to enjoy the afternoon sun, and she told me where to find this location” He replied as he began pulling items from his bag to spread out in the space between them. Will bit his lip at all the delicacies the Doctor...Hannibal was laying out. He was hungry, but too ashamed to ask for anything. He turned away from Hannibal to examine the well in front of them, hoping that if he focused on something else the hunger would dissipate.   

“Will? Do you like blackberry or strawberry jam” Hannibal asked holding two small jars aloft and Will’s mouth dropped...he was going to share his lunch with him?   

“I... like strawberry, please.” Will replied shyly and watched shocked as Hannibal placed the unwanted jam back into the bag and began to first butter then spread strawberry jam along a still warm biscuit for Will. He held it out and Will after a few seconds of hesitation took it gently from his long-tapered fingers.   

“I have silver. I can pay you back.”   

Hannibal smiled softly “Please, just eat and enjoy mylimasis. Your company is gift enough.”   

Will, sensing that he would not be able to push the topic, settled in to eat. He rapidly consumed the biscuit under Hannibal's deeply pleased gaze, moaning at the sweet buttery flavor. Just as he popped the last bite into his mouth, Hannibal pressed another treat into his empty, sticky fingers.  A sticky rolled bun of cinnamon and sugar, topped with white glaze. Will licked the jam from his lips before bringing the roll to them for a large bite. He felt frosting touch his nose, but j ust as he was about to brush it away, Hannibal leaned in closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. With a gentle, deliberate motion, he used his thumb to wipe the frosting off Will's nose, the warmth of his touch sending a rush of color to Will's cheeks. With an effortless grace, Hannibal raised his thumb to his own lips, savoring the sweetness that clung to it. “It’s quite delicious,” Hannibal purred, his voice smooth and inviting. Will swallowed his bite thickly and looked away. They finished their meal in comfortable silence.   

As Hannibal meticulously packed the last of the unfinished treats into his bag, a soft breeze rustled the leaves around them. Will led him along the uneven, winding path toward his home, his enthusiasm bubbling over. He gestured animatedly to various sights, hoping to share something with his new friend. They soon arrived at a serene pond, its surface dancing with the shimmering reflections of the sun. Exotic calico-colored fish glided gracefully beneath the water, weaving through emerald lily pads that floated lazily on top. A short distance away, a charming waterfall cascaded over smooth stones, creating a soothing symphony of flowing water. Will paused, his eyes sparkling as he pointed to a striking boulder that stood out against the landscape. The rock glistened in the sunlight, its deep green and black hues captivating Hannibal as he explained, "That’s serpentinite—a mineral formed from ancient lava flows."   

Hannibal knew a lot Will discovered, and he found himself pointing out more and more along the way, just to hear the stories behind each mundane detail. Hannibal seemed to enjoy humoring him, and Will felt anxiety creeping over him like twining ivy as he recognized that they had almost reached the small cabin. He slowed down dramatically and watched Hannibal from the corner of his eye as the man shortened his long stride considerably to match him.   

Hannibal angled his body to face him while they walked and seemed to study him under the filtering light of the leaves “Will?” he questioned gently.   

Will sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down sharply the familiar taste of iron soothing his nerves, “I don’t want to go home,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as it trembled with the weight of his emotions. A deep sense of shame washed over him, as he voiced his fear. Ever since his father had vanished, Will had found himself isolated in the cabin, the wooden walls echoing with silence for months on end. It had taken this moment, the warmth of another presence, for him to truly grasp how profoundly he craved conversation and connection, the sound of another voice breaking the solitude he had grown accustomed to.  

Hannibal came to an abrupt halt, his piercing gaze locking onto Will's, but Will seemed unable to meet the intensity of it. In a surprising move, Hannibal crouched down into the thick, sticky mud, letting it cling to the fine wool of his trousers. Will gasped in shock, a mix of concern and disbelief furrowing his brow as he instinctively reached out to pull Hannibal back to his feet, desperate to preserve the fine fabric. Yet Hannibal resisted, his grip firm yet gentle as he seized Will’s hands, pulling them free from the confines of his jacket. He held them gently between his own.   

“Why are you nervous to return home, Will?” He questioned gently, caressing the knuckles of Will’s hands soothingly.   

Will hesitated, unsure of what telling the truth could lead to. Would the kind doctor think he had something to do with it? Throughout their time together, Will had appeared far from upset about his missing father. Would he be sent to a place for children without parents? The thought made Will shudder; he had heard about those places, and they were far from good for the children who ended up there. He decided to tell a half truth, “My papa spends a lot of time in the forest...and I get lonely sometimes.” Will confides, his voice soft and laced with an unspoken ache. He glances at Hannibal, hoping the weight of his words won't spark further inquiry or reveal the hidden layers of meaning that linger just beneath the surface.  

Hannibal's striking, full lips form a subtle downturn at the corners, betraying a hint of displeasure that shadows his angular features. His dark eyes glint with an intensity that sends a shiver down Will's spine. “He should not leave you alone,” Hannibal states, his voice smooth yet tinged with an underlying urgency. Will stands there, breathless, acutely aware of the tension in the air as he braces himself for Hannibal’s next move.   

Hannibal releases one of Will’s hands to gently grasp the back of his head, and Will cannot help the tears that build in his eyes at the gesture, which reminds him so much of his father.   

“Will, I will be staying in the area for a while, perhaps I could come visit you?” His sweet tenor jerks at Will’s heart and he feels the sudden weight that had once been pressing down on his chest release. He smiles shakily at Hannibal and watches the man light up from within at his unspoken acceptance.   

Hannibal stands gracefully and makes a small, pleased sound when Will tries to brush the dirt away that gathered on his knees “Do not trouble yourself, Will. It will wash out.” He winks and Will giggles before leading him to his home.   

He pauses by the door, unsure of how to proceed. "Would you like to come inside?" he asks shyly. Will is aware that he left stew cooking over the fire before he left, but he feels nervous about offering Hannibal such a humble meal.   

"That is very kind of you, but I’m afraid I must be on my way before it gets too dark to travel," Hannibal says reluctantly. Will tries to maintain a brave façade but feels his shoulders droop a little with disappointment. He hopes that Hannibal was being honest when he said he would visit.  

Hannibal exhales gently, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he tenderly brushes his fingertips along Will's cheek. The moment lingers between them, charged with unspoken words. "I will visit you soon," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet atmosphere. "Until then, please keep these." With a deliberate motion, he hands over his satchel, its fabric filled with an assortment of freshly baked breads, sweet jams, and soft buns, the rich aroma wafting gently from within.   

Will shook his head, instinctively attempting to refuse the unexpected gift. However, Hannibal, undeterred, moved closer and deftly slipped the satchel over Will's head, allowing it to rest against his shoulder, mirroring his own. Before Will could find the words to express his disapproval, Hannibal leaned in, his presence enveloping Will in a wave of warmth. Will inhaled sharply, captivated by the rich, spicy scent that was uniquely Hannibal. Then, he felt a soft, warm wetness brush against his forehead, sending a jolt of surprise through him. He froze in place, like a startled fawn caught in the gaze of a predator, as Hannibal took in the scent of his hair, breathing shakily. The moment hung heavy in the air, charged with an intensity that left Will momentarily breathless.  

“I will return soon, please be safe.”   

And then he was gone, quickly disappearing into the fading light and old oaks surrounding the cabin.  Will stepped back into the cabin with warmth suffusing his cheeks and chest as he set about his chores for the evening. After a satisfying meal of warmed leftover rabbit stew, he eagerly unzipped Hannibal's satchel, revealing a delightful treasure trove of colorful jars filled with jams and wild honey, each reflecting a radiant hue reminiscent of precious gemstones. He carefully lifted each jar, admiring the vibrant colors that seemed to capture the essence of nature itself, and arranged them lovingly on a specially designated shelf in his cupboard. Alongside the jars, a freshly baked loaf of bread sat, its crust golden and inviting, exuding a warm, yeasty aroma. Nestled in a small paper box were cream-topped buns, the same ones he had eaten with his father months ago. The sight of these treats brought a smile to his face, filling him with a sense of comfort and contentment.  

He ate two of the buns—one for himself and one for his father—as he sat before the crackling hearth at their empty table. “I made a friend today, Papa. He says he will come to visit me again soon. I hope you like him.”   

The silence hung heavily in the air after he spoke, a stillness that seemed to wrap around him like a comforting blanket. He felt a deep conviction that his father, watching from some serene place beyond, had heard his words. For the first time, Will drifted into a peaceful sleep that night, free from the grip of nightmares that had haunted him for so long. When dawn broke, it cast a warm light through the window, and he awoke with a genuine smile lighting up his face. Determined to restore the cabin, Will climbed the rickety old wooden ladder, the rough wood brushing against his palms. He carefully peeled away the soggy thatch that had been compromised by the melting snow revealing the damage beneath. With steady hands, he replaced it with sturdy oak boards, and when he entered the cabin later that afternoon with a bundle of hares from his snare traps, it was warmer than it had been in months.   

***  

Hannibal had made a few visits over the years, keeping his promise, but each encounter was fleeting, leaving Will with a sense of longing. Their last dinner together had taken place months ago, and Will couldn't shake the profound effect the doctor had on him during those moments. The subtle touch of gray at Hannibal’s temples only made him more breathtaking, while his intoxicating, spicy scent lingered in the air, drawing Will in each time their hands brushed against one another at the table, igniting a spark of unspoken connection between them. However, Hannibal still retreated to his own home at the end of the night, just like all the others, claiming he had patients to see the next day.   

Will was now 15 autumns old, swifty approaching 16 and he found himself grappling with a deepening sense of despair. Each day that passed without a visit from Hannibal felt like an eternity, amplifying the ache in his heart. The autumn leaves began to fall, mirroring his dwindling hope as they twisted and twirled to the ground, while he waited anxiously for a sign that his feelings might be reciprocated.   

His relationship with the doctor was not the only thing that had developed over the years. Due to his skill of trapping and hunting, Will had made a name for himself within the village “The mongoose.” A moniker given when Will had drug in a large cave bear pelt many times his own size to sell in town. Everyone gathered around as he struggled to lift the package from the sled and murmurs spread quickly through the group as he carried it into Fredrick's shop. Fredrick was thrilled to pay Will a large amount of silver for it. Afterwards, the villagers continued to approach him with caution but no longer were outwardly hostile to him. While none of them openly spat in his direction, they maintained a wary distance while he was in town purchasing supplies and selling his pelts and meat. This was fine with Will. He had Hannibal, he did not need anyone else’s company.   

Although, he could not escape the whispers that slithered through the streets of the village. Typically, these murmurs revolved around trivial matters—affairs and drunken brawls that ignited gossip among the townsfolk. However, a chilling shift had occurred recently, darkening the atmosphere with a sense of dread. Young girls from the village had begun to vanish without a trace, leaving behind a growing cloud of fear and uncertainty. The latest to disappear was the baker's daughter, Elise, whose absence had sent shockwaves through the community, amplifying the sinister rumors that had taken root in their midst.  

Will felt a moment of empathy for the family as he passed by the closed shop on his way home. He understood what it was like to lose someone without a trace, never finding peace of mind about what had happened to them.   

Now Jack Crawford was here, sitting at his table for the first time, asking for help to grant the family the peace he never received. He tried to push away the bitter tide that threatened to pull him down into its depths to focus on the fact that a young girl was missing.   

“What makes you think it’s a wolf?” Will asked, curious. He had never heard any mention of an animal being the cause of the disappearances before.  

Jack's face was grim, and he took a sip of the bitter coffee that Will had developed a taste for last winter before answering. “We have found Elise, and the wounds she had on her body are the same one may expect from an animal attack.”    

“What do you need my help with, then?” Will asked, feeling confused about why Jack was here, especially since they had never spoken before.   

“I need your help to find and kill the wolf, Will.” He replied as if it were obvious. “Everyone has spoken of your trapping, and I cannot think of anyone else who could hope to match your skill.”  Will felt numb after Jack's request, and when he did not immediately agree, Jack seemed to see it as an opportunity to press further.   

"Will, I knew your father many years ago. When I heard he was missing, I felt guilty for not reaching out to check on you. I thought you were doing well enough after all these years. However, don’t let my past hesitation stop you from helping this family find some peace of mind. You have the opportunity to do for them what should have been done for you."  

“Get out.” Will spoke into his coffee mug, using it to conceal the trembling of his lips. He locked eyes with Jack, noticing a flash of annoyance in his deep brown gaze at Will's unwillingness to cooperate. “Get out, please,” Will repeated firmly.   

Jack grunted as he stood to his full menacing height above Will, his lips twisted with displeasure as he slammed his mug down on Will’s kitchen table, causing Will to jump slightly in response to the startling noise. He reached into his heavy coat pocket and retrieved a stack of papers which he tossed down carelessly next to his empty mug.   

“I can’t tell you what to do, Will, but if you don’t help and another girl disappears because of it, how will you sleep at night?” Will grimaced as Jack’s words hit their mark and guilt began to dig its sharp claws into his abdomen “Come find me if you change your mind, Will.”   

After the last of Jack’s heavy footfalls faded away, Will looked down at the papers left behind and felt his face drain of color. His hand trembled as he slid one sheet closer to examine the grisly sketch of Elise. The drawings depicted the wounds she had sustained, and Will had to agree with Jack: the injuries resembled those made by a wolf—a very large wolf.   

He shut his eyes, willing away the echoes of screams and snarls, as he gathered the papers and stuffed them into a drawer of his cupboard. He collapsed heavily back into his chair, trying to resume the work he had been doing before Jack had arrived at his doorstep. His hands shook as he dug his knife into a bone, shaping it into a wickedly sharp hook.  

His hand slipped in his distracted state, and he growled as it slid deeply into the meat of his thumb. It welled up with blood immediately and Will stuck the wounded appendage into the soothing warmth of his mouth as he stood to look for something to wrap it in.   

As he pressed a clean linen against his wound, he heard a knock on his cabin door. Will groaned, wondering who would want to see him now. For years, he had no visitors, and now two in one day. He went to open the door and gasped, opening it wider when he recognized who it was.   

“Hannibal.” He breathed, his eyes roving over the familiar lines of his face hungrily. Hannibal smiled softly in return. “Good morning, Will. May I come in?”   

Chapter Text

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