Requesting Non-sense. Get it?

Ha ha. More dog imagery. Gael had been trying to get out of that mindset, distancing himself from wolves, werewolves, associating too closely with them (with the exception of Alan). Not trying to be rude, of course, but even after regaining the knowledge that there was a werewolf parasite that had burrowed and grafted itself onto his physiology, he felt… different. And he’d received pep talks, words of encouragement, and an idea that he could learn to deal with it but Christmas had happened and that was the final straw for him. This thing inside him, the wolf he called “Lycaon” with mockery and tightly gritted teeth, was a part of him, not the other way around. He was in control. This was also all stuff he thought before, and admittedly wasn’t on his mind at all as the two men shared the aforementioned embrace and Gael suggested they take a leisurely walk in the woods nearby, as the weather was preferable and he had too much energy and enthusiasm to have been content sitting and sharing a cup of coffee. Not to mention it would’ve given Monty a brief break from the mayhem of the ranch, ever since those mysterious, yet maddening sirens made themselves known a few days ago. “Sorry, I know I just like… infodumped to you but yeah! That’s pretty much everything that happened.” He finished his explanation, carefully leaving the “Christmas Incident” out of his report. Everything else he had learned and experienced during his travels, including taking Ren to a bug-themed… theme park, was now relayed to the zombie who was as patiently attentive as ever to the rambling scientist.

— —

“Wow. It sounds like this was good for you!” At the very least it had supplied Gael with a break from the insanity of this town, which anyone could use, really. Monty had been admittedly very curious about what his friend had been getting up to while he was gone, finding his own experiences here in town to be… rather routine. As routine as Wicked’s Rest allowed for anyway. Well… unless you counted getting kidnapped by a Christmas devil.

That probably didn’t bear mentioning. He was fine, after all, and Teddy was… mostly fine, if not emotionally scarred by the death of their third companion in the process of trying to get out of there. He didn’t want to worry Gael with things that were already resolved. 

“I’m glad you were able to get some time away, mi amigo,” he added with a smile, glancing over at Gael as they walked leisurely through the woods near the farm on paths well-worn by the horses. “Things here have been… interesting, but not so bad, I don’t think.” His grin turned a bit sheepish and he rubbed the back of his neck, letting his gaze wander to the forest floor. “I have been trying to coax a young wild catoblepas onto the trailer… Montezuma is having a hard time defending the herd on his own, since his brother died. We’ve lost a few sheep and cows to… ahh…” He waved a hand in the air, trying to conjure the right word. “... beasts. I do not know what sort.”

— —

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Gael replied lightly, returning Monty’s glance before he turned his gaze once more to the woods, finding himself annoyed with the thing inside him when he instinctively turned his head when he caught a brief scent or heard a distant noise of some animal minding its own business. Then again, was it Lycaon or was it him? “Never a dull moment in Wicked’s Rest and if there is, you know it’s like… wrong. Like something’s waiting to catch everyone off-guard. “I’m sorry to hear Montezuma’s having a hard time, though.” He added, his expression growing pensive. “And I’m sorry that you’ve lost some animals to–” The words caught in Gael’s throat for a minute before he cleared it with a brief shake of his head. “...Beasts.” His eyes found Monty’s again, empathy filling them; he knew how close gentle-hearted Monty was to all of his animals and it hurt his heart to think that something like him, though arguably with less regret, might’ve been responsible for killing them. And, of course, it reminded him of when they first met. He wondered if Dulce de Leche was still with them. Then again, he also wondered if that was just another thing Gael was assigning sentimentality to, something that mattered more to him than everyone else. “Have you asked Kaden for any help on that?” He found himself asking. “Since he’s with animal control? Might be like one of those “beast whisperer” things?” When he asked that, he was actually asking if Kaden would have effective ways of killing the animals that hunted Monty’s livestock, but the chemist still didn’t know if Monty knew Kaden was a ranger… and he didn’t know if Kaden knew that Monty was a zombie.

— — 

“The quiet before the storm, as they say,” Monty agreed, wringing his hands together for a few beats. He’d nearly forgotten the circumstances of their first meeting, it felt like a lifetime ago, and guilt flashed briefly over his features when he caught the expression on Gael’s face. Damnit, he hadn’t meant to draw a similarity there. There wasn’t time for him to beat himself up over it for long, thankfully, as Gael moved the conversation forward. Kaden’s name was brought up, and Monty gave his friend a curious look, his head cocked slightly to the side. 

“Perhaps, but… if they’re not your average predators, I would be worried about putting him in danger. I know he knows about some of the creatures, and the people, but… knowing is different from taking them on. He is excellent with animals, no doubt.” Monty smiled. “But the things that stalk these woods…? I am not so sure.” He had no real reason to believe that Kaden had handled many creatures that weren’t mundane, even if he had heard of some of them—he’d known at least one hunter in his youth, so that wasn’t all that surprising. 

The memory of that slayer in the bar in Tennessee made his skin crawl and he glanced away, trying to not let the flare of anxiety show. He was terrified of hunters, but he had good reason to be. Kaden was just a human, he had nothing to fear from them so it made sense that he could have known any number of them in his life—they seemed abundant enough, after all. He wondered briefly if Kaden still kept in contact with any other hunters, if he knew any other hunters besides that woman in the bar—no. No, there was no use speculating. That was Kaden’s business, and he already knew that his partner would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation. … it was a bit odd, though, wasn’t it? 

As his mind tried to wander down hallways he’d roped off for his own sanity, the cowboy shook his head, pulling himself back to the present. “Ah well. That is just life out here, I suppose.” 

— —

“That’s probably a good call,” Gael agreed with a nod of his head; Monty must not’ve known that Kaden was a ranger, which made him feel like a jerk for suggesting it in the first place. “There are things out here that–” His sentence faltered again and he shook his head once more, furrowing his brow. “Sorry. It’s still… hard, sometimes.” He sucked in a breath and tried again. “There are things out here that can down elephants. Some people were talking about a mushroom the size of a tree. This town is dangerous!” The chemist managed to laugh towards the tail end of his miniature ramble. Was that what he meant to say? Not entirely. Did it distract him from what he was thinking? No, not really. It was strange, Gael realized. He was something of a nomad throughout his life, traveling from one city to another, staying at each for a few years before moving on to somewhere else. Making new friends, learning new information, forming new habits. But now felt… different, in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it had to do with the sensation that there was a veil over town, obscuring the unwitting public from the unnatural goings on underneath, hiding in plain sight. Before, he was part of that and now, he belonged under that veil whether he wanted to or not. 

And he still really didn’t want to. 

…Why was he thinking about this. 

“Sorry, anyway! That was–” Whatever the rest of that sentence was going to be was abandoned as Gael felt a sudden rush of air force him back, accompanied by the sound of something heavy landing near him. Instinctively, he lifted an arm to cover his eyes from any incoming dust or debris, while another rush of air hit him as he did so. Then a smell greeted his nose, unfamiliar and not entirely pleasant and he grimaced. “What was that?” He asked before opening his eyes again. 

— — 

Gael was not wrong, of course, but Monty had always felt that people were far more dangerous than any beast acting on instinct. Even if immeasurably powerful, how could one fault a creature for following its evolutionary compulsions? It was the reason he never held anything that happened when Gael or Alan or anyone else he knew were transformed—they were not themselves, they were more animal than human at that point, and that required a certain level of sympathy. In his eyes, at least.

There wasn’t time to respond, however, as the sudden arrival of something he was certain he’d not heard coming kicked dirt up into their faces, blinding them for a moment. The zombie squinted through the debris only to see a figure sitting before them, and then another landed beside it. And then another. They were… birds? They had wings and naked heads like vultures, but their beaks were full of sharp looking teeth and they had arms and legs and long, rat-like tails. Monty gasped and stumbled backward, only to hear another land right behind him. He whipped around, stepping closer to Gael. 

“I don’t—” He was cut off as the eagle-sized creatures suddenly leaped into action, beating their wings in a silent flurry of dirt and feathers as they lunged for them. 

For Monty, specifically, it seemed. The creatures all but ignored Gael, swarming the zombie instead and biting at him with their toothy beaks, grasping his clothing with their claws and hanging their weight on him, slowly dragging him to the ground. 

Now he was regretting what he’d been thinking about giving mindless beasts the benefit of the doubt, just a little. 

Exclamations of surprise spilled from him, and he was thankful that he couldn’t feel the damage they were doing much at all, but seeing his black blood oozing and seeping from deep, numbed wounds was no less terrifying now than it had ever been before. 

— —

Rubbing his eyes, Gael blinked them into focus to find that in just a few moments, they had gone from two friends taking a walk in the woods to suddenly surrounded by… Well, okay, he could process this. If he had to guess, they were… eagle? Vulture? Sized, but they were definitely not normal birds… unless normal birds suddenly evolved to include decidedly non-bird-like limbs and tails. And curiously, despite Gael’s annoyingly advanced hearing, they were unnaturally silent as they landed, almost as though their wings were mere apparitions. Instinctively, even if he hadn’t noticed that Monty got closer to him, he himself got closer to Monty, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Then, in a flash, the flock of birdlike monsters rushed at them and Gael covered his face again, dropping to a crouch and curling into a ball as they… flew right past him? He wasn’t being pecked or clawed at, he could tell but he still heard the clacking of toothed jaws. He reacted before Monty’s voice reached him and in a moment, his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. “Uh HELLO??” He shouted at the monsters, closing the distance between himself and the flurry of feathers, dirt and leaves as they descended onto Monty. “Get off of him!” He unceremoniously entered himself into the fray as the smell of stagnant blood hit his nose, naturally riling him up more as hands wildly grasped for some purchase on one of the creatures. It was proving difficult, however, as they moved so erratically and seemed to be completely disinterested in Gael, himself. If this had been a more controlled environment, he would’ve attempted to understand what was going on but as it were, as the scent of Monty’s blood filled his nose, his mind grew fearful though he didn’t know why. What was going on? What were these things? What could Gael do about it? “Monty! Are you okay??” He called to his friend through the chaos of birds clawing and biting at the zombie. “I mean, okay you’re probably not but what do we do??” — — 

His hat had been knocked from his head, which he was now using to swat at the bird things and at least keep them from chowing down on his face. “Kind of?!” he responded to his friend—it barely hurt, but he was aware that it needed to be stopped, obviously, or he’d quite literally be eaten alive. Unalive. Whatever. Not only that, but he could feel that gnawing hunger that’d been totally silent today start to rear its head in response to his body’s regenerative powers. That was never a good thing, birds or no birds.

“I think they’re trying to eat me,” he grunted, kicking and grabbing and throwing the creatures away from himself, barely able to make it a few steps before they swarmed him again. He didn’t want to kill them, but… “Follow me! I know a place I don’t think they will follow!” Still gripping the creatures by their throats and hucking them at the ground as they landed on him, Monty began an awkward, slow run off into the trees, toward one of the cave entrances he was aware of that was little more than a crack in the ground. The creatures squawked and screeched and hopped along after them, diving-bombing him as they went.

Nearly stepping into the crevice by accident, Monty held out an arm to stop Gael at its edge and took a long, sharp inhale. “Okay,” he breathed out, probably mostly in an effort to reassure himself that this was a good idea. They had just been talking about how much they didn’t like the underground… but the creatures were not relenting, so the zombie was forced to slip himself into the crack that was barely wide enough to fit him, disappearing into a narrow tunnel that dropped down into a small, dark cavern. His clothing hadn’t held up against the teeth and claws of those creatures, and he was a bleeding mess beneath the fabric and on his exposed skin, bites taken out of him here and there that were already beginning to heal. 

The hunger in his belly grew more intense, and he held a hand to his stomach. 

“Gael!” he called upward, sounding frightened. “If—if they aren’t after you, don’t come in here! I’m not—I need to—it isn’t safe!” His words had started to slur by the end of his warning and the cowboy doubled over on himself, trying his best to remain present. 

— —

They really were like vultures then, if their blatant ignoring of Gael in favor of Monty was any indication. Not that the shifter liked that at all, regardless of what Monty was or what these things’ diets were. It could’ve been considered humorous, how they were just talking about creatures that might’ve posed a threat to someone like Kaden only for them to focus so solitarily on Monty but Gael didn’t think he could think of something less funny as the zombie, clothing torn and bleeding from multiple open wounds now, called that he had a place he could retreat to. Surely, once at least the cowboy was inside, the infernal flock of supernatural birds would leave him alone, right? Gael didn’t know where this place was but he dutifully followed after, doing his best to swat at any of the birds that he could. Just a little further, surely, before Monty would take him to a hidden shack or some rough equivalent– but his heart sank when he was stopped from stepping into a sliver of the earth, small, black, evoking thoughts of claustrophobia and the confusion of getting lost. Trapped. The scientist cast a worried look to the zombie, who only uttered an empty ‘okay’ before wriggling through the crevice, an opening barely big enough for Monty and too narrow for the broad shoulders or writhing muscle of the shifter. Despite that, though, Gael wanted to protest as the birds clawed at the crack in the ground to get to their prey. However, as Monty called up to him and the other man caught the slurred speech, he faltered. No, he couldn’t go in there with Monty. Monty was being forced under so the zombie infection could heal. He needed brains. Or meat, at least. Coupled with how Gael’s heart sank hearing his friend in pain in that small dark cavern, he wordlessly staggered away from the flurry of avians, starting to undress as a quick plan was formed in his mind. Material was removed to expose skin, which was starting to pull on itself, contort, become covered in thick sable fur. Bones popped, joints cracked, his clothes were bundled and tossed to the base of a nearby tree. “Just… for a little while.” His own speech was slurred now, growling through a mouth with teeth falling out and being replaced by sharp canines. “For Monty.” Transformation outside of the full moon was a relatively new concept to Gael, only having experienced in once or twice when he was… afraid. Afraid of being lost, of being abandoned or killed. He wasn’t afraid this time, not as his body contorted and extended behind the flock of birds that still grappled at the crevice, desperate for the man that was now alone in one of those damned caves, losing his mind. He wasn’t afraid. He and Lycaon finally shared something willingly.

Anger.

It was quicker than the full moon, that was for sure. And, for some reason, less agonizing. The scientist was replaced by the parasite that latched onto him, with long forearms, a messy tail, umber fur and a powerful bite force. Feeling pain radiating from his own body, only helping to fuel that anger, Lycaon’s amber eyes flickered to the unnatural birds and he sprang into action, colliding against the flock and effortlessly snapping one of them up in his jaws as they flew around in surprise, now confronted with wanting to get to the cowboy inside while now dealing with a large, lithe lupine. 

— — 

Wounds that would have taken months upon months to fully heal were repaired in minutes, and Monty’s undead hunger responded in kind, demanding sustenance for all the effort of keeping this vessel pieced together. He often wished he could just choose to heal slowly rather than face the oblivion that came with such an appetite, never able to remain in control despite every admirable effort made. 

He wanted to tell Gael to run, to just get out of there. The thought of what could happen if he managed to crawl his way out of this hole in the ground tore him up inside, and he didn’t want his friend anywhere nearby, neither to witness it nor to be a victim to it. But his mouth could no longer form words, instead just pushing out guttural sounds that scared him. His mind was slower to let go than his body, and for a moment he was trapped—still awake, still aware, but unable to control himself. He watched as his hands grabbed at the rocky wall of the cave, more ashen than they’d been when he’d slipped down here, scrabbling for purchase. To the light. To the noise. To the meat. 

No, don’t, he moaned, but all that came out was a long grunt. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, and he could feel the pull of the void at the back of his head, the base of his spine, dragging him into that inky abyss. His large eyes were wet with tears as he jerked his head back, staring up at the light that filtered down through the small crevice. The sounds of a shift met his ears and he growled, reaching for another rock and pulling himself higher. Shifting turned to fighting, a cacophony of violent sound, and Monty instinctively began to move faster. To the meat. To the blood. Feed, feed, feed. 

He was gone now, his eyes turned milky white and glazed over with a lack of awareness. Muscles dragged him up the rock wall and into the narrow tunnel, higher and higher until his pale hand poked out of the crevice and grasped at its ledge with uncanny strength. Getting himself wedged up to his shoulders was no easy task, and once the zombie had one arm out of the hole, he became stuck. He probably would have been glad for that, if he’d had the ability to think for himself or feel emotion. Instead, he just waved that arm around stupidly, swatting at the birds that still divided their attention between their meal and the werewolf that was decimating them, unable to deal with one threat and unwilling to let dinner pass them by.

— —

This was exciting! There were so many birds! They tasted strange as his teeth sank into their mottled flesh, and it was unusual that their wings made no noise as they flapped about but that didn’t bother the Wolf too much as he wildly shook one of them in his mouth, an overgrown dog with a ratty toy. It was even more exciting because he wasn’t killing them immediately, instead tearing at their wings and attempting to pull limbs from the body. This wasn’t for food, this was for fun. The host had loosed the chain on purpose and Lycaon was taking full advantage. He was enjoying the sport so much that he hadn’t noticed at first when they were joined by a human figure poking from a hole in the ground, smelling of blood and decay but also something different. The birds did, though, and their distraction to change their attacks to the human who was stuck just made Lycaon’s fun easier. Of course, part of him wondered what the human would’ve tasted like and it wasn’t as though it was going anywhere - indeed, it couldn’t even seem to pull itself out of the ground - but again, this wasn’t for food. Lycaon could hunt anything he wanted and some human stuck in the dirt wasn’t nearly as engaging as the flying creatures that now bombarded the human, their focus on one thing lost. So he continued doing what he was doing, almost with a sense of simple-minded joy, burying his fangs into the body of another one, one he hadn’t touched before, one whose bones crunched under the bite force of his jaw when he tilted his head suddenly as though a high-pitched frequency had reached him through the haze of frenzied bloodsport. Feed. Lycaon landed from his spirited leap, the birdlike creature flapping in a panic as it tried to escape his locked jaw though he paid it no mind, neither did he acknowledge that it was attempting to flee. Feed. Amber eyes with their pinprick pupils looked over to the human who was still swatting at the birds that pecked, clawed and cut at it. Gathering the bird he had a hold of in clawed hands to hold it still, Lycaon released his grip on wherever it was and in a swift motion, shattered its spine just below its ugly, bald head with his blood-caked muzzle. Then, without realizing why he was doing what he was doing, he hopped over to the human and dropped the now-dead bird in front of it, just within reach of that swiping arm (and resisting the urge to snap it in his mouth, too). Then, for another inexplicable reason as the two were surrounded by the flurry of broken, bleeding flock of birds that he ignored any passing injury from, he stretched his elongated arms in front of him in a bow, hind legs straight, his rear and wagging tail in the air. Fun! He jumped back with a yip before raising himself to his full height, leaning back and catching another passing bird with a paw. He broke that one’s spine, too and dropped it in front of the human. Then he ran into the brush for a second, circling around a few trees, clawing at the bark as he used them to gain momentum before zooming back and leaping for the flock and snapping up a third one. This one was for him, though, and he shook it, again like a toy before flinging it into the unknown and moving onto the next one.

— — 

If he’d been mentally present in the slightest, Monty would have appreciated how effortlessly Gael the werewolf dispatched the offensive birds. As it was, all he cared about was trying to snatch them from the air himself, groaning stupidly as they bit and clawed at him, furthering his injuries and only sending him deeper into a mindless stupor. That is, until a dead one was dropped in front of him. Milky eyes lifted from the corpse to the werewolf that had left it there, and something small in the back of his mind felt… deja vu? He’d seen this before, hadn’t he? A wolfy creature dropping food at his feet, sating his vicious hunger, saving him from himself. That wolf had looked different, though. That wolf had had deep intelligence behind its eyes, the sort of understanding that he himself now lacked. 

Acting on muscle memory, Monty reached for the corpse and dragged it closer. Another was dropped before him as he lifted it to his mouth, biting down on its neck while reaching for the second offering. He couldn’t eat very easily stuck like he was, though, so he started to wiggle himself out of the crevice in the ground until he dropped back into the cave below, his meal clamped tightly in his fist and jaws. His ankles cracked as he landed gracelessly, sending him toppling into the dirt and rocks, but he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on ripping the strange bird things to shreds, smashing their skulls open upon the stones and wrenching their small brains free. He was slicked with blood and viscera in no time, but the more he ate, the more his blank gaze came into focus. 

Sitting back with a soft sigh, Monty went from eating like a starved animal to picking away at the best parts of the beasts with gentle fingers, though he still trembled from the ordeal. He was thankful that Gael couldn’t see him feasting like this, werewolf or not, for it was not a pretty sight. 

Once he was feeling much more like himself again, the zombie got to his feet, ankles fully healed from the shattering impact with the ground, and tilted his head up toward the crack. He wondered how long it would take for Gael to shift back, since he didn’t have the kind of control over it that Alan did. He wasn’t sure if he could help, or if his presence would be a hindrance… only one way to find out. Climbing back up the rock face, Monty peeked his head out of the hole in the ground and scanned the scene of slaughter, not pulling himself out any farther until he’d assessed the situation as completely as he could.

— —

How much time had passed, he didn’t know. He was a creature driven by the light of the moon and her will. This was fun, to be sure, but it didn’t feel the same as those nights where he had nothing on his mind but the hunt. 

The flock, with its numbers dwindling, had grown scattered and careless and Lycaon wasn’t sure how many he had maimed and killed before the frayed remainders of the flock ultimately decided that the thing in the cave wasn’t worth losing the entirety of the group. With unhappy screeches and irritable clacks of their chipped beaks, they cawed and snapped at the wolf as they flapped their battered, eerily silent wings, collected what corpses hadn’t been offered to the hole in the earth and departed, though not without some challenge from the shifter who still sprang and clawed and snapped at their gangly bodies. 

It wasn’t until they were safely too high for him to reach on his own that Lycaon’s fun frenzy had diminished enough that the wolf finally stopped moving. Panting, licking the blood from his muzzle, Lycaon padded around the destroyed clearing; feathers, pieces of flesh, and fur littered the muddy ground. Blood was sprayed on the grass and small drifts of snow that lingered around the bases of the trees. The wolf himself was caked in earth, mud, blood and lacerations from his reign of anti-avian terror. Speaking of, the animal sat down in the midst of the wreckage and started absently licking at the wounds he could reach - they weren’t healing.

He was made aware of the injuries as they lingered on his sable-and-cream-furred body, only given to him through his interference getting between the birds and their intended goal of the human in the crevice but they still irritated him. Why were they still here? A frustrated huff escaped him as he sat there attempting to clean himself off when he heard movement. Instinctively, his ear twitched before his head jerked up in the direction of the sound to see the human from before emerging from the hole in the ground. 

In an instant, the wolf was back on his feet despite his protesting body (which, now that he had stopped moving, made its soreness acutely known) and the gap between the monster and the human had closed alarmingly quickly. A tongue lolled out of an open maw but something kept Lycaon from mindlessly biting into the human in the heat of the moment. Don’t. The wolf gracelessly crashed into the ground, sliding the rest of the way until his nose was less than a foot away from the opening, where he blinked stupidly.

— —

The feeling of having seen this before was more clear now in his mind’s eye. A silver and gray beast loping through the pasture, paying no mind to the livestock that gave him a wide berth as he carried something in his jaws, headed for the main house on the property. The farm hands that were awake did not try to stop him, nor did they call out in alarm. He was given free passage to the house, where his clawed feet carried him swiftly. Monty waited on the porch, carving something in his hands and glancing up at the werewolf that descended upon him, offering a warm smile. 

“My friend,” he spoke in their shared language, “It’s good to see you unharmed.” The moon shone full and bright in the sky, the reason for this transformation, but an opportune night all the same. The werewolf stepped up onto the porch, the wooden slats creaking beneath his weight, and he dropped the upper half of a body near Monty’s chair. The zombie’s smile grew somber, and he nodded. “Thank you, Alan.” It was food for him, food for everyone on this farm—rationed carefully, mixed with less conspicuous vittles to keep them all going, to keep them from violence. What remained of the person on his porch was, no doubt, a hunter that had gone after Alan. That was their agreement, their pact. And Alan, though massive in size and covered in fur, was still Alan. A skill learned over time that afforded the zombie a friendship not fraught with danger—to himself, anyway. Alan protected him, he felt safe with the werewolf. Even now, as the beast lay down on his porch, capable of ending his unlife with one bite but feeling no desire to do so. 

He was still Alan.

And this could still be Gael.

Monty rose slowly from the crevice, knowing that it was a dangerous thing to do. He stopped once his arms were free, resting them on the ground between them and staring into the werewolf’s eyes. 

“I know you are in there, amigo. I know you can hear me. And I know you can… you can control this.” It would take work, lots of work, and Monty didn’t like the idea of asking the man to do it alone. So he held out a hand, the other arm tucked protectively against his chest, and waited. “Remember when you and I rode up into the mountains? When I showed you my favorite spot, where you could see all the town and the sea beyond it?” It was one he carried with him fondly, and one he had re-lived over and over in his mind after Gael had left town. 

— —

Wild golden eyes stared fervently at the movement of the human. It was slow, deliberate. His nostrils flared as they took in the various scents of the human - decay. Rot. Blood from the birds. Wood and musk. Lycaon’s hackles were raised in hungry anticipation, feeling the muscles tensing and rippling underneath his sable fur. His mouth hung open, saliva-slicked teeth shining in the light that filtered through the trees above them. His blood matted in small sections on his quivering body as he stood at the ready. He was tired, but ever-vigilant and though the man smelled of rot, he wasn’t picky. He wasn’t hungry, but he wasn’t picky. 

And then the human started speaking.

Amber and umber locked together in a clash of wills. And nothing the human was saying meant anything to Lycaon, who… didn’t attack the human. No, he didn’t understand what the human said but something inside him was… unsettled. Resistant. He opened his mouth wider as a growl rumbled out of his bloodied-filmed throat before he took a step back, breaking eye contact by shaking his head. Something buzzed inside him in response to what was being said, but he didn’t know what it was. He growled again, before huffing and his intense gold eyes snapped back to the human. 

What was going on? His gaze drifted to the outstretched hand of the human before returning to the stare. Give it back. Lycaon snarled in protest, but not at the human. Not the human outside, anyway. Give it back. There was a sensation, a memory. Flashes of a horse. A fire. The night sky painted with stars. A friend. The scent of cows. The images of a farm. This forest was familiar. This human was familiar. 

Give it back. 

Lycaon lowered himself into a crouch, his ears flattening themselves against his large head as he whined. Long tail sweeping the ground slowly, he pulled himself along until his nose met the outstretched hand where it took in the scent of rot, of familiarity from the monster inside him. Briefly, with more uncertain whining, he licked the blood off the human’s hand before he laid on the forest floor next to the human to rest. For just a little bit. He’d take it back once he was better. Once his bones didn’t ache, his flesh wasn’t burning with superficial wounds that didn’t heal quickly enough. There was nothing to hunt here, not anymore, as he breathed deeply. Bones started to crack and pop, muscles spasmed and his keen amber eyes fluttered closed, never removing themselves from… Monty. That was the human’s name. 

Gael had made sure that Lycaon knew that, if nothing else. The pain the two were experiencing had been worth it. Monty was speaking coherently. A thinking man, recalling a memory once he had returned from wherever he went when his own demon took over. Reaching through to get to him as he was curled into the subconscious of the wolf’s mind. He’d never been communicated to before while Lycaon was the one with the body, the fear of what the wolf could and would do keeping him away from anyone it could hurt with reckless abandon. But Monty had. 

And thus the transformation worked in reverse. It probably seemed less painful, but it was also slower, shedding fur in clumps, skin grafting over itself to accommodate a shrinking skeletal structure. Whines turned into grunts of very human pain as canine teeth littered the ground. And soon, though he wasn’t sure how soon since he’d somehow never recorded the time it took to transform, Gael was left on his back on the chilled forest floor, shivering yet sweating as brown eyes stared up at the sky. Only the deeper abrasions and lacerations from Lycaon’s bird hunting were left, the rest of which having healed during the shift. 

“Are… you okay?” He asked, breathless, the creak of pain in his voice as he forced himself to crane his neck, looking upside down at Monty.

— —

His eyes were wide as he watched the whole thing unfold. The creature seemed at odds with itself, and Monty could only guess that that meant Gael was fighting for control. He wasn’t intimately familiar with what it was like, because he was never present when his hunger took over. There was no amount of begging or pleading that could reason with the senseless need to feed once it had begun, and the man was always buried deep, so deep he sometimes forgot who he was. 

But Gael had seen to it that he didn’t remain trapped, guiding this other part of himself to do the things that the werewolf who had protected him for years did. It was an amazing leap in the right direction, and for that, Monty was grateful. He started to pull himself out of the crack in the ground once the transformation began, getting stuck part way through and struggling for a bit before finally getting himself the rest of the way free. That was when Gael spoke to him, looking at him from where he lay on his back, and Monty couldn’t hide the worry in his expression. “I’m fine, are you okay?” he countered, shrugging off his jacket as he scooted over to Gael on his knees, draping it over his friend for both modesty and slight warmth. He pressed a hand to the other’s face, shaking his head. “Thank you. You—well, thank you. Let me get your clothes.” He’d noticed them scattered in a small pile while pulling himself out of the ground, getting to his feet to go fetch them now. He was quick about it, returning to his friend and helping him sit up, fretting over the wounds he still saw on the man’s body and knowing they needed to get him back to the house and on the mend. 

It wasn’t until he noticed the shaking of his own hands as they helped Gael redress his torso that Monty realized he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. He was thinking about what could have happened without really realizing it—how close he’d come to being stuck down in that hole, or biting his friend… what would even happen if he bit a werewolf? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out. Stopping and taking a deep (albeit unnecessary) breath, the zombie tried to calm his spiraling thoughts. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he offered, genuine in his words. The shift had been allowed, evidenced by the unripped clothing that’d been removed in earnest. And Gael’s return to his humanity had been fairly swift, commanded when he knew that things were safe again. Allowing his friend some modicum of privacy out here in the open woodlands, Monty turned his back to him and instead reached for a handful of the snow that still clumped around the base of a nearby tree, melting it in his hands and using it to scrub away some of the blood on his fingers and face. “That… was a huge breakthrough, no?” 

— —

If he were a better man, he would’ve helped Monty get out of the crevice - one of Gael’s first thoughts when he came back was worry that Monty would’ve gotten stuck in one of the places that the two of them hated. He wanted to move, he needed to move, but his limbs felt like iron weights, in a state of mild paralysis as he always was the morning after the shift. He felt guilty, like he should’ve been doing more, as the cowboy squirmed out of the small crevice that wouldn’t have fit Gael anyway. He was thankful, for what it was worth, that Monty seemed physically fine, though. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Catching the look of worry on the zombie’s face, Gael smiled; tired, but easily reaching the corners of his eyes. That’s all that mattered to him, really, even if he could already feel guilt bubbling in his gut accompanied with the nausea of whatever Lycaon had swallowed during his frenzy. Monty helped sit him up, which Gael did his best not to seem too needy about (this seemed awfully familiar) and he took the opportunity as Monty was flitting about gathering his clothes to look around at the wreckage - feathers, Lycaon’s sable-and-cream fur, teeth, blood, large claw marks in the base of a nearby tree. What had happened? 

When Monty came back and helped him put his shirt on - something that shouldn’t have been so difficult but the full brunt of the aches, pains and wounds Lycaon had “lovingly” left for him were obvious, now - Gael both noticed his hand’s shaking and that though the man was liberally covered in blood, it was all old, stale; he wasn’t actively bleeding, nor did he seem to be injured in any way, he was able to confirm. Now, mentally, on the other hand… 

Mentally, even though Monty had said that he was proud, that this was a good breakthrough but Gael could feel the same sensation that was in his stomach rising into his esophagus and he found himself trying not to panic. “I’m… sorry.” He apologized first, in between grunts of labor as he scraped the dried blood and mud from his body as best he could and started to dress himself. Clumsy, with quivering hands and pauses to realize that he was accidentally finding new injuries. Fortunately, no bones seemed broken. 

“I-I got scared. I saw that you were being attacked and then you fell into that cave and I couldn’t… do anything so I thought that…’ He faltered as everything tumbled from his mouth. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? What happened?” It didn’t feel like a breakthrough; it felt like a crutch, like Gael the person wasn’t good enough so he had to risk the wolf doing what he wanted without losing himself for God knew how long.

— —

“Sorry?” He waited until it sounded like Gael was done shuffling around with his clothes to turn and look at him, appearing… bemused. “Sorry for what? For protecting me?” Monty knew Gael still had a long way to go in accepting himself for what he was, and he shouldn’t press the matter too firmly at a vulnerable time like this—so instead of correcting him, the cowboy only parroted him. “No, he did not hurt me,” he assured his friend. “He went after the birds. Fought them off until they decided that they’d had enough. The ones he killed, he dropped for me.” There was a pregnant pause, and Monty placed a hand on Gael’s leg. “You told him to do that. I know you think you have no control when you are shifted, but you do. You did. You are getting better at it… Gael, this was a good thing. It is what Alan would have done. You protected me, you fed me, you made sure I was okay before you put away your advantage.” So much for not correcting him. “And you put it away! You did that, mi amigo. This is why I am proud, ¿entiendes?”