waiting for my heart and hand

He wriggled out from within its clutches again and again, and all with the slippery ease of a snagged eel, content then to go on about his day as if revival was nothing more than a particularly messy pit stop. A nonchalant tidying of his unkempt, bloodied fur and he would move on, scampering after whatever had next captured his interest.

It was difficult even now to glean just what reason the creature operated upon; many were quite content to believe there was none and call it a day, and so we, too, shall do the same.

The warmest day of the year found him lingering in the house of one Grandmother, the noble witch of Oostal, where he was not-so-decorously clinging to her threadbare apron, pleading his frenzied case with all the tearful dramatics of a four-year-old denied an extra glass of water before bed.

“Please! Please!! The Pretty Vanya Creature shall do anything Grandmother wishes of him! He knows how dear she is. He knows she will be kind and indulge him! She will do this because he is very pretty! He has endeared himself! Surely!”

“Mm, Pretty Vanya is indeed worthy of his title,” Grandmother rasped lowly, and one of her claws ghosted over his little neck before idly settling on the top of his head with a pat. She had so far done nothing to try to disentangle him. “But I seem to recall that I have already given you my requirements, little-dear-one-Vanya.”

Vanya paused, glancing up at her hand where it rested between his ears, and then quite hastily averted his stormy gaze, looking instead upon his companion with the furrowed brow which tended to precede a promised snap of teeth.

“It is not fair, though. It is very quite unfair..!”

“And what is so unfair about it, Pretty Vanya?”

“Grandmother made her requirements too difficult!” Vanya cried. “Not even the most Lovely, most Clever, Vanya can achieve them, and so they are too much. They are then to must be adjusted, and it must be at once for the Pretty Vanya has spent a good muchest time on them already. Too much. Unspeakable. Incorrigible. It should not be spoken, least most of all by something as exquisite as the Vanya Creature!”

“They’re not called impossible for nothing, dear Vanya,” the witch crooned. "I have no mind to change them, not even a little bit."

Vanya uttered a shrill noise rather like an angry cat in response, much to Grandmother’s private amusement. Finally, here, he pulled himself up, released the grip he’d long held of her apron and instead tossed those balled fists down by his sides.

"Then Pretty Vanya has so shamefully misjudged the grandmother witch!" He cried out with heated despair. "She is not very dear at all! She is actually very quite cruel!! She will let poor Virtuous Sirree remain in the rest of her days as a cursed one..!"

"The curse isn't real, our-little-babe," Grandmother was quick to remind him, reaching out for his dainty, sharp face, cupping his fluffy cheeks in one of her hands and using the other to smooth down errant hairs. He neglected to pull away. "That was your addition, Lovely Vanya."

An addition which admittedly still puzzled her, but she was in no hurry to solve the mystery. She looked upon it in the same distantly curious, bemused way one might regard an eccentric but darling relative, which truly was fitting enough.

To have his fabrication so blatantly and so casually thrown back in his face appeared to sit poorly with the Pretty Vanya Creature, as one might expect. Heavily, like a sour stomach. Perhaps he had forgotten he was speaking with the one individual in Oostal who would know without a doubt this curse upon his daughter was mere fiction. Perhaps he had thoroughly convinced himself of his own lie in lieu of all others. Grandmother often found herself among those who can not follow Pretty Vanya’s erratic inner processes, but contently enough so, and we must continue to do the same with at least a small measure of that same equanimity.

He didn’t yet move to release himself from her grasp, staring up at her with an utterly incensed look which might remind her the little Vanya Creature could prove to be a dangerous grudge-holding adversary to anyone else. It’s too bad for him, she thought, that he has chosen me as his opponent. I know him quite well. Perhaps even better than Death itself, she then dared to add during a brief descent into hubris.

“Then Pretty Vanya shall do your impossible tasks,” he snapped, so forcefully that his little milk-white teeth clacked together. Her clawed fingers which had been loosely wrapped around his muzzle briefly twitched away. “He will show you they are not so impossible..!”

“I look forward to it,” she replied graciously, and there she removed both her claws of her own volition, clasping them before her old body.

Vanya left in a huff, but she could not help but to notice that he still very gently closed the ramshackle door to her high abode, ever so careful not to damage it.

The Pretty Vanya Creature was a funny little thing.

“I still dun’t really know why you’re so stuck on that book, anyway. ‘S not like you can just erase whatever’s written in it aboutcha,” The Wolf drawled from his spot at the kitchen table where he sat slouched across the bench opposite of Vanya. He had been languidly chewing on the same mouthful of stale grain cookie for the past two minutes, gaunt cheek resting heavily against one of his paws as he looked over Vanya’s haphazard notes. Pretending that he could read them. Vanya would probably like that. He thought himself quite learned and cunning, after all, a pretty little creature that could read and write.

Something raw and old flitted across Vanya’s face at his words; an uneasy silence settled over them and lasted long enough for The Wolf to flick one of his ears back. Ultimately, Vanya only tsked loudly, looking upon him with an uncommonly explicit disdain.

“Pretty Vanya’s wolf friend is of a short sight, moreso than the Vanya Creature had thought to assume already. He can not see that there is more to be read inside the book. There is more, much more! There is much to be learned for towards the understanding of the many other people, after all.”

“‘m not your friend,” The Wolf clarified, but he knew it was in vain. Sure enough, Vanya neglected to respond. And so, with a touch of well-warranted concern, “‘S not me you're lookin’ to read about, is it..?”

The reproachful concern with which Vanya looked upon him was answer enough.

“Well, who, then? It must be someone important.”

Vanya sniffed primly. “It is not for the Pretty Vanya Creature’s wolf friend to know. It is a very private affair.”

“It can’t be that private. Y’ just about dragged the whole of Oostal into the matter by now.”

“And still not any one of them shall help to lift the little Virtuous Sirree’s curse,” Vanya said mournfully, ears lowered nearly flat against his head and hands clasped at his chin. If he had a handkerchief, no doubt he’d be using it to dab daintily at his wet eyes as he sighed.

There The Wolf said nothing in response, quite suddenly far more invested in a bald patch on his paw as if he only just now noticed it. A shame, really. Maybe he was getting old.

“And that is how Pretty Vanya knows his wolf friend truly is his friend, for he has alighted to his side in his time of need! Pretty Vanya is quite very thankful for his wolf friend! He has been fortunater and will become most fortunate by the minute for his only presence! Yes!”

“‘m not your friend,” The Wolf tried yet again to correct, and then added as a concession, “It’s Sirree who is my friend.”

“Mm! Yes! And a friend of Virtuous Sirree is a friend of Pretty Vanya’s!”

It took some time, and countless other distractions, before The Wolf finally learned just why Vanya had called for him earlier that morning. It was no secret nor some unfounded rumor that the witch Grandmother had blessed Vanya with three impossible tasks in order to obtain the chance to look upon the book he so intensely coveted. 

Would that he successfully completed her tasks, of course.

And Vanya, eager and impulsive and as always thinking himself far more clever than he truly was, had agreed without so much as a single condition of his own to better his own chances. For their deal included nothing to guarantee just how the descriptions of those tasks were delivered to him, nor that they must be fair, nor all at once, nor even in the correct order, and yet Grandmother had seen fit to be quite gracious in her challenge: decode her requirements from an initial riddle.

It had seemed such a simple trial, yet Pretty Vanya, for all his easy acuity, had soon discovered that he was not particularly nimble with riddles. A curious setback considering his propensity for chatter.

Bring me these three things, and I shall abide, she had told him— The summertime berry which still grows in the winter forest, unaware of what time has passed. The canny Top-Top egg which understands the value of blending in, yet no jewels nor gold has it amassed. An eye from the Wretched Lindenflower Beast. Its repayment has long since been cast, but never has it ceased. Trade to me all three as a favor, and to you, I will surrender what you covet for an hour to savor.

And it was there that The Wolf realized he had looked away from Vanya’s scheme for much longer than he’d assumed, as the little thing quite swiftly revealed what he believed to be the answers to every part of her riddle— and how long had it been since Grandmother passed it on to him? He couldn’t remember. Last he had thought about it, it had been nine years. Sirree was so tall now. Only then, thinking of Sirree, did The Wolf remember that it does not do to spend too long of an evening with an immortal thing. 

“Grandmother has included many rumors and old hearsay in an effort to test the Pretty Vanya, but she has forgotten about Vanya’s dearest Dima. She has underestimated the lovely Vanya’s charms! He has been given all the information from his most cherishing friend! She spoke to him for many hours at his endearingful behest!”

“Dima would talk to a still-meaty skeleton for many hours,” The Wolf pointed out. “She isn’t charmed. She just can’t help herself.”

Vanya remained undeterred. “Dima-Who-Is-Pretty-Vanya’s-Friend did not talk to a skeleton for hours, though, she regaled unto Pretty Vanya for hours. And he is a welcomer sight better than some meaty corpse. Surely! And anyway thusly she has given to him the keys of the answers, and he has become knowing most thoroughly.”

“Well, then, hit me,” The Wolf said, and then quickly clarified, “Not literally. Gimme the details. Where y’ going first? For that summertime berry. Ain’t it summer now..?” Spoken with the slightest squint of concern. He had definitely been in Vanya’s company for too long.

“Pretty Vanya and his wolf friend must first travel to the Sown Forest, as it is the very simplest beginning to the tasks. They must be done in order or they can not be done at all. Pretty Vanya has understood that part now, yes…”

The Wolf thought about that for what felt like a very long moment.

“...In spirit? Like for emotional support?”

For the third time during their visit today, Vanya gave him a look of the utmost scornful pity which he wasn’t altogether convinced he deserved.

“Why do I hafta go?” The Wolf asked plaintively.

“Pretty Vanya’s wolf friend must go! It shall be of a cruel kind of danger for something as lovely as the Vanya Creature to go alone! He may be spied upon by a hunter, and snatched up to be made into an exquisite coat, or an instrument. His breastbone might indeed become a little harp! Pretty Vanya could sing very much lova-lily in his life as a harp but he would be no more the Prettiest Vanya Creature as he is now! Tragic! Oh, tragic!”

The Wolf must have thought even that might not prove to be enough to end Vanya for good; some part of him suspected even that yet another Vanya might simply poof back into existence beside his harp-self and sing the harmony.

“Well I think Sirree should go, too.”

This at last not only gave Vanya a pause but what seemed to be an annoyed tic as well. His eyes darkened a little in subtle increments; he stared at The Wolf as if trying to memorize him, and when he spoke it was with none of his usual lilting rhythm, slow and deliberate instead.

“Virtuous Sirree can not go, wolf— she is sick. She is unwell.” 

It was not the first time Vanya had addressed him directly, but unusual enough still for The Wolf to feel some unease move through him. 

The Wolf was not a god. He was not anything mythical, not in the realm of Oostal. He was not anything very easily categorized at all, really. He was an enduring, tolerant fellow, but he did not possess the same permanence which something like Vanya did. Which many things just the same as Vanya did not, in fact.

It was quite easy to discredit the Pretty Vanya Creature. He was gabby, frivolous, vain.  He cried and despaired at the drop of a hat and was just as trivially and unpredictably made merry again.

But on occasion he had been made angry. Sometimes he remembered insults and cradled and nurtured them like very dear heirlooms, like fragile, fussy blooms which required constant attention lest they wither away. It was a gentle and steadfast devotion to resentment, the grudge a pretty thing like the Vanya Creature could cultivate.

The Wolf understood that he could not be Vanya’s only companion on this undoubtedly Pyrrhic journey. It was this determination which led him to be more adamant, even clever, some hopeful part of him might dare to believe.

“Then she really has t’ come with,” he continued on boldly. “Y’ can’t leave her all alone at home if she’s not doing her best health.”

“The neighbors shall care for her.”

“The curse,” The Wolf said, a little giddy, perhaps a little smug. “You said the neighbors’re avoiding her. They don’t wanna get hurt, since she’s been transformed into something incomprehensible. They can’t even look on her, you said, not without losing all their sense. ‘S why you got that veil on her now. They’ll leave her gifts but they won’t come into the house. It’s not good. Not safe. Something could happen, and no one would come to help. Poor little Sirree.”

Vanya’s squinting stare could roast him like an open fire. His muzzle wrinkled near his dark eyes, a shock of milk-white teeth visible from under black lips for a brief few breaths, as if he was regretting every second of all of their previous interactions and contemplating the value of future ones.

Yet he yielded mildly enough. Gracefully, even, for him.

“...Then she must come along. Pretty Vanya’s wolf friend is right. He will come to his wolf friend well before the sun rises tomorrow morning, with Virtuous Sirree, and they will begin the hard trek to the Sown Forest together. The Loveliest Vanya Creature expects his wolf friend to carry the heavy burden of their provisions, of course, and Virtuous Sirree, for she is only a little thing and unwell-sick to the boot.”