Summary: a human man, living alone in the mountains finds a sick werewolf wandering near his house and takes him in.
Andreas stares at the creature laying by the fireplace, his mind focused on it's breathing - a hissing can be heard everytime it inhales - it's alive, at least... But only barely. Thanks to the warmth of the fire, some color seems to have returned to werewolf's cheeks. It looks a slightly more human now, but the finger prints are still deeply blue...
The creature's skin wraps tightly around the bones, very little muscle tissue in between and almost no sign of fat. The check bones and ribs are it's most egregious signs of starvation, while the arms and lower abdomen still retain some defined muscles. The yellowish complexion of the werewolf's skin slowly morphs into a darker one, it's most likely on the darker spectrum, but it's hard to tell right now, specially with the frost bites around it's sunken eyes and thin lips.
Andreas studies it carefully, not believe on his eyes. He has never seen someone in such a miserable state, and now... Now, what?
The man had. Been waiting for the werewolf to come to it's senses for the past hour, yet he has no idea what to do afterwards.
A low groan, barely audible over the fire, signaled the change. The werewolfâs fingers twitched, curling slightly against the fur rug. Then, with an effort that looked excruciating, its eyelids fluttered open.
Andreas tensed, gripping the cup still half-full of broth.
The eyes that stared back at him were vacant. Unfocused. No awareness, no recognitionâjust a hollow, feverish emptiness. The werewolfâs lips parted, and the muttering resumed.
ââŠsorry⊠I tried⊠I tried⊠wasnât my fault⊠wasnâtââ
Andreas leaned forward. âHey.â
The muttering didnât stop.
ââŠtoo much, too much, donâtâdonât let it happen againââ
âHey,â Andreas said again, louder this time. âLook at me.â
The werewolf blinked sluggishly, its pupils blown wide. Its breathing hitched, a sudden shiver rolling through its frail body.
Andreas set the cup aside and shifted onto his knees. âCan you understand me?â
No response. The muttering continued, a mess of fractured sentences and nonsensical apologies.
Andreas scowled. He reached out, gripping the creatureâs shoulder firmlyâbut gentlyâgiving it a slight shake. âDo you even know where you are?â
The werewolf flinched. Its gaze flickered, as if trying to focus, but whatever recognition might have sparked was gone in an instant.
ââŠtoo late⊠too late nowâŠâ
Andreas swore under his breath, pushing himself to his feet. His hands clenched at his sides as he turned away from the muttering wreck of a creature.
What the hell am I even doing?
The thing was dying. Starving, fevered, freezing from the inside out. He had done what he could, dragged it out of the snow, warmed it, fed itâbarely. But was that enough? Was it even the right thing to do?
Andreas exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tangled hair. A part of him whispered that maybe he should have left it out there, let nature take its course. Maybe whatever had reduced the werewolf to this state was mercy in disguise.
But another partâquieter, but far more stubbornârefused to accept that.
With a deep breath, he stepped toward his bedroom, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. The space was small, barely more than a bed and a chest for his few belongings. He pulled the chest open and rifled through the clothesâthick wool shirts, an extra coat, some old trousers. Not much, but better than the rags the werewolf had been wearing.
âsorry⊠I can stillâstill go on⊠on... A-and...c-can carry it, I swearâŠâ The words slurred together, barely comprehensible. âNot broken⊠not yet⊠yes...yet...stillâstill moveâŠâ it's hissed gasps interrupted some of the words.
Andreas exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. The nonsense just kept spilling out, looping back in on itself, an endless stream of fevered delirium. He didnât know what the hell this thing had been through, but whatever it was, it had chewed him up and spit him out in pieces.
Carefully, hesitantly, Andreas reached out and took the werewolfâs hand. It was stiff, trembling, fingers curled inward as if they had forgotten how to stretch.
âHey,â Andreas murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against the ice-cold skin. â?Youâre lying by my fire, in my cabin. Youâre safe, understand?â
The wolf parted it's lips for a moment, eyes flickering. For only a second it looked like the creature had heard him, but then, just as quickly looped back into the nonsense.
"Useful... Full moon... I do...can...useful...."
Andreas sighed, rubbing his temples. âCan you justââ He stopped, then gritted his teeth. âCan you just shut up for one damned second?â
The werewolf flinched, but the mumbling didnât stop.
Andreas ran a hand down his face, frustration boiling beneath his ribs. He wasnât a people person, let alone a psychiatrist , or a doctor!
If it never fully wakes up, what is he going to do with it? He can't keep it! In fact, why keep it? He isn't responsible for it. There is nothing linking the two, he doesn't even know it's name!
The werewolfâs muttering continued, a soft, incomprehensible stream of words, but something shifted in its movements. Andreas noticed it when the creatureâs hand, trembling and stiff, reached out weakly toward his. It wasnât aggressive; it wasnât even fully conscious. But there was a desperation in its touchâa pull, a need to make contact.
Andreas hesitated, uncertain, his gaze flicking between the creatureâs outstretched hand and its vacant, fevered eyes.
With a quiet exhale, he reached out, letting his fingers brush against the werewolf's cold, fragile skin. The hand that had once seemed so monstrous, so capable of violence, now felt frail and clumsy. It was an odd sensation, the stark contrast between what it was and what it had become.
The werewolf didnât react immediately, its eyes clouded with confusion as it continued its endless muttering. But then, slowly, its fingers began to trace the braided string bracelet that circled Andreasâ wrist. The werewolfâs movements were sluggish, uncertain, but there was a delicate focus to them, a quiet curiosity. Its fingers ran over the threads, feeling the texture, the knots, the pattern.
For a moment, the muttering slowed, quieted. The creature seemed less frantic, more subdued as it examined the bracelet with a kind of fragile wonder.
Andreas couldnât help but watch, his brow furrowing. He had no idea why this particular thingâthis simple braceletâseemed to hold the creatureâs attention. But for the first time since it had fallen to his doorstep, it seemed⊠calmer.
With a slight hesitation, Andreas pulled the bracelet off his wrist. He glanced at the werewolf, whose eyes, though still clouded, were following the movement. Gently, he placed the braided string around the creatureâs hand, securing it in place. The werewolfâs fingers twitched slightly as the bracelet settled around its wrist, a thin strand of humanity, of connection, amidst the chaos of its condition.
Andreas leaned back, feeling an odd sense of somethingâsomething like peace, though it was fleeting. He didnât know why it had worked, or if it would make any difference at all. But it seemed to quiet the creature for now, and that was something.
He sighed, rubbing his face again. He still had no idea what to do with it. But maybe, just maybe, the bracelet would help in some small way.
Andreas sat there quietly for a moment, watching the werewolfâs shallow breaths and the delicate way its fingers moved around the braided string bracelet. It didnât make sense, not reallyânothing about this situation made senseâbut he had to try something.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke, trying to inject some normalcy into the madness.
âMy sister made this,â he said, his voice steady, though there was a knot in his chest. âItâs a friendship bracelet. She made one for me, and one for herself. Sheâs... far away now, but we used to wear them together.â
The werewolf didnât respond at first. Its glazed eyes flickered, trying to focus on him, but there was something unsettlingly distant in its gaze, as if everything was clouded over. Its breathing was strained, its lips parted as if it wanted to say something, but all it could manage was a weak, hoarse muttering.
âI can⊠I can still walkâŠâ
The words felt like they were dredged from the depths of confusion, and Andreasâ heart sank. He had hoped for something moreâanything that might give him a clue about what was really going on, or at least a glimmer of recognition. But all he got was that one sentence.
He felt disappointment settle over him like a heavy weight, and it tightened his chest. The werewolfâs words were fractured, as if trying to hold onto something, but it was slipping through its fingers.
âItâs okay,â Andreas said quietly, though he wasnât sure if the creature could even understand. âYou donât need to walk. Youâre safe here.â
But the werewolf wasnât listening. It continued to speak, its voice soft, cracked with exhaustion.
âRiverâŠâ The word hung in the air for a moment, and then the werewolfâs lips parted again. âp-please... 'msorry...â
Andreas stared at it. Still puzzle, even more frustrated. For a moment it seemed like the wolf would reach some reason, but again, they've sunk back to square one.
The werewolf blinked, and for a second, it seemed like it was trying to gather itself. There was a faint shift in its expression, a subtle attempt to focus. But then it slumped, its gaze drifting again.
âR-river... P-please, sorry... River....â
Andreas let out a breath, frustration building again, but he quickly tamped it down. This wasnât the creatureâs fault. It wasnât... whatever it used to be.
"Okay..." He exhaled, trying to stay cool, maybe think of something else he could say to help.
The werewolfâs body trembled, and the muttering continued in fragments. It was clear now that it wasnât responding to his words directlyâit was just grasping for something, anything, in the fog of its delirium. But Andreas couldnât stop the twinge of helplessness creeping up in him.
It was trying, in its own way. But it felt like he was chasing shadows, trying to piece together a puzzle that kept shifting beneath his fingers. At least it wasn't repeating the same words as before.
Andreas leaned back against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. The silence stretched for a moment, and then, with another exhausted sigh, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
âJust... hang in there. Iâll figure this out.â
The werewolfâs eyes flickered again, but there was no comprehension in them, no recognition. Just the endless, scattered muttering.
The werewolfâs muttering came to an abrupt halt as an erratic coughing fit seized its chest. The sound was harsh, ragged, its breath rattling in the creatureâs throat as it tried desperately to clear it, but nothing came out except a dry, painful rasp. Its body trembled with the effort, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over it immediately after, and it collapsed back against the blanket, its mouth half-open as it gasped for air.
Andreas froze, his heart skipping a beat. He could feel his own throat tightening as the creatureâs breathing became more erratic, but he couldnât stop himself from staring. The werewolfâs dry, cracked lips parted, and it attempted to mumble once more, but there was no voice, only a hollow, strained sound that echoed faintly in the air.
The word barely made it past the creatureâs lips, but this time, something in it struck Andreas with sudden clarity. River? Could it be... thirst? Was the creature trying to ask for water? Maybe even clinging to some old, instinctual memory of what it needed?
Without another thought, Andreas sprang to his feet, his pulse quickening. There was something he could do. Maybe not much, but something.
He rushed to the kitchen, his boots pounding against the wooden floor as he made his way to the stove. The kettle was still warm from earlierâheâd heated it up for his own tea, but now, it had a more pressing purpose. The steam rising from the water was a welcome sight, and for a moment, he just stood there, the warm vapor filling his lungs.
Grabbing the kettle, Andreas poured the warm water into a mug, the warmth flowing in, heating up his hand a little.
He hurried back to the fireside, the mug in his hand, and knelt beside the werewolf once again. The creatureâs eyes flickered, still hazy but focused a little more intently now, its breath more shallow.
âHere⊠drink,â he whispered. âItâs water. Youâre thirsty, right? You need this.â
Andreas took a steady breath and carefully tilted the mug toward the creature, letting the warm liquid flow slowly into its dry mouth.
At first, there was a slight resistance, but as the water passed over the werewolfâs lips, its throat seemed to respond. The coughing stopped for a brief moment, and the creature, still trembling, began to swallow, its throat moving with each fragile gulp.
Andreasâ pulse steadied, his hope igniting just a little. Maybe, just maybe, this was the first step.
When Andreas pulled the mug away, the werewolf let out a soft, almost relieved sigh, its body seeming to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. There was a faint, almost imperceptible smile pulling at the corners of its lips, as if it found some fleeting comfort in the water.
Andreas gently wiped the sides of its mouth, his fingers brushing against its cool, cracked skin. The contrast between the warmth of the water and the cold of the werewolfâs face was striking, and his gaze flicked to the creatureâs fingers, still a deep, painful shade of blue from frostbite. The tips of its nose and cheeks were similarly burned by the cold, the frostbite eating into its skin, leaving it raw.
But there was something else. The creatureâs complexion had begun to shift, moving from that pale, almost sickly yellowish hue to something more natural, more in line with its true coloring. The deep shades of its skin were finally starting to return as warmth seeped into its body. It was recovering, even if slowly, and it made Andreas feel a strange mix of relief and anxiety.
The man instinctively reached for the creatureâs hand, his fingers tracing the thin, trembling digits. He pressed the werewolfâs fingers against the bracelet, the small gesture grounding him. Andreas didnât pull away. He let the moment linger, uncertain if the werewolf truly understood or if it was just reacting instinctively. Either way, he stayed.
They spent the next hour like thisâAndreas speaking softly, repeating simple words, and the werewolf echoing them back in a slow, uncertain voice. It wasnât much, but it was something. At times, the creatureâs eyes would flicker with brief awareness before clouding over again. It was exhausting to watch, but Andreas refused to let frustration take over.
Eventually, the werewolfâs grip on consciousness slipped again. Its breathing slowed, becoming more even, and its muttering faded into quiet, shuddering breaths. Sleep had claimed it at last.
Andreas exhaled, rubbing his face. His body ached, his mind heavy with uncertainty. There was no telling how long this recovery would takeâif it was even possible. But the fact that the creature had responded at all, that it had clung to those few wordsâŠ
Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to pull it back from whatever abyss it had fallen into.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. How did he even end up in this situation? His life had been simple, isolatedâexactly the way he wanted it. But nowâŠ
Andreas glanced at the sleeping werewolf.
Looks like he'll have to get used to not being by himself anymore.