would happen were he not careful. To think that such an event had transpired and he had been able to experience it was almost crazy, but knowing the logistics of animal magic and how it seemed far-spread within their magically-waning world made him all the more thrilled to know that he could speak with such an elegant beauty as she.
Stunned at the fact that she had just spoken, much less to him, and had not attempted to attack, Odin merely opened his mouth, feigning a choice of words, then clamped his jaw shut when he realized he had not the words to spread. “I,” he began, then stopped before he could continue. “I duh-duh-didn’t mean—”
He was interrupted midway when, from beneath the creature’s legs, three smaller forms emerged. Pups, no bigger than young domesticated dogs, clung to the creature’s fur and tilted their tiny heads up to examine him with eyes that seemed struck with fear.
“I’m sorry,” he said, faltering, grimacing as Gainea shifted and kicked one of her back legs off the ground. “I didn’t—”
His eyes traced the creature’s fur up to its hip, then to its chest, where a pair of swollen breasts lay visible under a coat of thick grey fur.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, still dumbstruck by the fact he was actually communicating with a werewolf, much less one who could talk. “My father, he disapproved of my Gift. He—”
You are aware that you are the first man-creature I have spoken to in quite some time?
“I… I am?”
Yes, child. You are aware of your power with mortal animals, but not with a creature such as I.
She blinked, eyes subtly changing in focus. Unsure exactly of what she was doing, Odin simply sat there with the reins in his hand, grimacing as his horse continued to fidget. He didn’t necessarily mind the overt attention. The fact that she hadn’t attacked either him or his horse was a miracle unto itself.
“What do they call you?” he asked. “I mean… what—”
You mean what would they call a creature such as myself? Not a werewolf, or a shewolf, as some of the men call females such as I?
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
I am an immortal creature of earth, dirt and blood. There are others like me—especially far away in the mountains to the far south—but there are few of us remaining. We are all but dead, here in the human world—hunted, killed, skinned and hung on your walls—so to look upon you and see the fear of nature in your eyes calms my heart so.
“You said you were of earth, dirt and blood,” Odin said. “Does that mean I’m made of—”
No, child. You are more than what a human pup is made—
“I’m more?” he asked. “I—”
Silence! she growled, baring her teeth in a violent snarl.
Odin shivered, but nodded. He allowed his sword to dall at his side then—slowly, as to not distress the creature or her pups—slid the blade into its metal womb, nodding as the clasp across its surface clicked and secured it into place.
If you feel the need to ask something, she began, please wait until I am finished.
“Yes,” he nodded.
Mortal men, as I had been about to say, are made of blood. But, like I also said, it is the only trait I and a mortal share. Mortal creatures—humans, for example—are made of other things. Mortar, iron, greed, disease—these are the things that eventually destroy them.
“Because we’re weak,” he said. “We—”
Not you, child. You are not a mortal boy.
“I… how can you—”
Those who bear gifts are greater than mortal men. Their spirits, their souls, survive beyond the time of which they die, because in the end, they return to the gods.
“Yuh-Yes,” he stuttered. “I… I understand.”
So, she continued, the man whose seed you sprung from, he may be foolish and nothing more than that. Some are afraid of the things they don’t understand, while others embrace those things with open arms. Your father—your creator—he is afraid. You, his son—his offspring—accept the
Stunned at the fact that she had just spoken, much less to him, and had not attempted to attack, Odin merely opened his mouth, feigning a choice of words, then clamped his jaw shut when he realized he had not the words to spread. “I,” he began, then stopped before he could continue. “I duh-duh-didn’t mean—”
He was interrupted midway when, from beneath the creature’s legs, three smaller forms emerged. Pups, no bigger than young domesticated dogs, clung to the creature’s fur and tilted their tiny heads up to examine him with eyes that seemed struck with fear.
“I’m sorry,” he said, faltering, grimacing as Gainea shifted and kicked one of her back legs off the ground. “I didn’t—”
His eyes traced the creature’s fur up to its hip, then to its chest, where a pair of swollen breasts lay visible under a coat of thick grey fur.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, still dumbstruck by the fact he was actually communicating with a werewolf, much less one who could talk. “My father, he disapproved of my Gift. He—”
You are aware that you are the first man-creature I have spoken to in quite some time?
“I… I am?”
Yes, child. You are aware of your power with mortal animals, but not with a creature such as I.
She blinked, eyes subtly changing in focus. Unsure exactly of what she was doing, Odin simply sat there with the reins in his hand, grimacing as his horse continued to fidget. He didn’t necessarily mind the overt attention. The fact that she hadn’t attacked either him or his horse was a miracle unto itself.
“What do they call you?” he asked. “I mean… what—”
You mean what would they call a creature such as myself? Not a werewolf, or a shewolf, as some of the men call females such as I?
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
I am an immortal creature of earth, dirt and blood. There are others like me—especially far away in the mountains to the far south—but there are few of us remaining. We are all but dead, here in the human world—hunted, killed, skinned and hung on your walls—so to look upon you and see the fear of nature in your eyes calms my heart so.
“You said you were of earth, dirt and blood,” Odin said. “Does that mean I’m made of—”
No, child. You are more than what a human pup is made—
“I’m more?” he asked. “I—”
Silence! she growled, baring her teeth in a violent snarl.
Odin shivered, but nodded. He allowed his sword to dall at his side then—slowly, as to not distress the creature or her pups—slid the blade into its metal womb, nodding as the clasp across its surface clicked and secured it into place.
If you feel the need to ask something, she began, please wait until I am finished.
“Yes,” he nodded.
Mortal men, as I had been about to say, are made of blood. But, like I also said, it is the only trait I and a mortal share. Mortal creatures—humans, for example—are made of other things. Mortar, iron, greed, disease—these are the things that eventually destroy them.
“Because we’re weak,” he said. “We—”
Not you, child. You are not a mortal boy.
“I… how can you—”
Those who bear gifts are greater than mortal men. Their spirits, their souls, survive beyond the time of which they die, because in the end, they return to the gods.
“Yuh-Yes,” he stuttered. “I… I understand.”
So, she continued, the man whose seed you sprung from, he may be foolish and nothing more than that. Some are afraid of the things they don’t understand, while others embrace those things with open arms. Your father—your creator—he is afraid. You, his son—his offspring—accept the
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