#cleff

Haven't drawn this lil guy in a year or smth here's a default airbrush doodle except i try to add color too pffff i miss u, Cleff...

Part 5

Hunter was irritated. He’d been kept from returning to the brooding site by his pup’s injuries, but he felt the itch to hunt, and a stronger instinct urging him to protect the cub from future threats. He knew how long a haunt could hibernate, knew that in the last two generations at least from what the townsfolk that had tormented him had said, there were no people that fell to the usual haunt issues. 

What he needed to know was what happened to the adult. Haunts were notoriously protective of their broods, and they seldom had only one offspring at a time. Even a haunt so… different from the rest of the species was unlikely to be abandoned. 

He knew there was little chance he would get answers. Two hundred years was a lot of time for tracks to be buried, after all. It would settle something in him, though, to scout out the place for himself. 

The pup was healing well, much faster with nightly feedings and time to bask beneath the moon. He still hadn’t spoken a word, but his little questioning clicks and trills conveyed what he was wanting clearly enough. The last injuries that lingered on him were the awful burn scars on his face, and even those were faint traces of discoloration on his pale skin. Hunter felt comfortable leaving him for a while; he would stock up some meals for the boy, make sure he had some good cuts of raw meat to gnaw on while he teethed, and make it clear that he was allowed into the gardens after nightfall. He needed to find a babysitter. His cub never liked waking up alone, even when he knew it was coming. 

He stroked thoughtfully through the boy’s curly chestnut hair. The cub still had no name; haunts never shared their names aloud -- not in a language anyone else understood, in any case. Although this was the first time Hunter had been around a haunt he wasn’t trying to kill, so maybe that was a him thing, not a haunt thing. Regardless, the pup didn’t seem to mind his terms of endearment, so they would stick with that. Now he just needs to introduce the little biter to someone willing to look after the child while he was away. 

The cub snuffled in his sleep, seeking out Hunter’s scent. He smiled down at the boy, scratching his scalp. A sleepy chatter rose from the cub’s throat, muffled by the way his cheek was squished into Hunter’s stomach. 

He was going to miss the boy. 

“Hunter! You so rarely leave your cabin. I haven’t seen you since your last mission report. How is your little house guest doing?” Cleff’s tone was full of curiosity, scent lightening as he saw the werewolf striding through the courtyard. 

Hunter grinned toothily, fangs on full display. He clapped him on the shoulder, nearly dislodging a book from the man’s overstuffed satchel. Without looking, he caught the tome in his palm and nudged it back into place. 

“You’re one to talk. Haven’t seen you for years on end, before. Finally visiting on a more regular schedule now that your initial survey of the mountains is done?” 

Cleff’s grey eyes crinkled as he smiled, old habit keeping it from becoming the wild grin Hunter knew he wore while in the wilderness. The castle courtyard was abuzz with movement, and the sounds of a busy keep tended to remind the man of his years in armor, dealing with strict regulations and a stricter code of conduct. He fell in step beside the wolf as they walked to the servant’s entrance near the kitchens. “You wouldn’t believe the properties of some of those plants! The high altitudes have altered them in ways I hadn’t considered before, let alone the way they interact with magics, and Brianna says they speak a different dialect than the plants here in the valley forests!” 

Hunter hummed, nodding along as the man rambled on, doing his best to make witty little quips and ask questions where he could. He had been in the mountains before; had lived there for years before descending into the valley, but his mind had been on things other than botany. Besides, though Cleff’s long blond hair was now streaked with grey, his face creased and weathered by his years of study in rough conditions, something about him still reminded Hunter of the quiet, determined teen that he had met all those years ago. In some ways, he would always be his first true friend, the first human to see something in Hunter beyond his strength and capability to kill. Spending time with the man was never a hardship. 

They sat in the corner of the kitchen that Cleff favored, until the man realized he had been going into a tangent that Hunter was struggling to follow. He laughed, shoving a finger in the wolf’s face, not even flinching when Hunter snapped his teeth -- which, rude. “You should have shut me up, old man! I know you can’t tell what the hell I’m saying when your ears sag like that.” 

“Shut up,” Hunter rumbled. “I was following you perfectly. Thunderberries is a great name for a bush borne fruit that sizzles on your tongue.” 

Cleff grimaced. “It really is not. The things we do for love,” he sighed. Hunter quirked a brow. 

“You could have told your nephew to pick something else.” 

“And reneged on my promise? Broken his little heart? He was eight years old, it could have been worse. That’s not what we were talking about though.” 

Hunter smirked a little. “Not what you were talking about, maybe. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” 

Cleff snorted, waving a hand. “It’s been eighteen years, Hunter. You should see him blush when I bring it up.” He turned his cup thoughtfully, falling silent, studying the wolf with the calculating look that had first caught Hunter’s attention. The werewolf sighed. No escaping it, he supposed. 

“I need a favor.” 

Cleff’s thin eyebrows shot up. The naked astonishment on his face almost overrode the embarrassment that surged up when Hunter uttered those words. It was a point of pride to be able to do things on his own; it had taken him nearly two and a half centuries to learn to accept support, let alone ask for it. Clarissa had been the one to finally get through to him. He still missed her. “There’s something I have to do, but the cub that I brought back -- he can’t be left alone. I’m headed back to where I found him, going to take a look around, and I won’t be able to bring him with me.” 

Cleff frowned, lifting his cup. He twirled it between his palms. “I don’t know anything about haunts, Hunter.” 

“That’s fine, because he isn’t one.” He relished in the scent of shock before adding, “Not fully, anyway. Think he might be half-human, only thing that makes sense. He won’t be any trouble to you.” 

“You said he was tortured for weeks before you picked him up. What makes you think he won’t run for the hills the moment he scents me coming?” 

Hunter snorted. “I know how to keep someone in one place, Cleff.” He cut the man a dark glance, fur bristling. “Need I remind you who I was when we first met?” 

“Certainly not someone who was asking me to babysit a nearly extinct human predator,” Cleff murmured. Hunter leaned back. He knew what Cleff’s answer would be. This was far from the worst Hunter had asked him to do over the years. The man still harbored a lot of self-doubt, especially when it came to attempting something new. Hunji had been a good man, but driving Cleff so hard for perfection when he was young was one of his major failings. There had been good reason for it, but still. They always had to do this song-and-dance when Hunter brought up something Cleff had never practiced before. In the end, the man’s unfailing curiosity would always win out, and thank the gods for it, or Cleff would never leave the apothecary. 

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Cleff’s tone was resigned. Hunter smirked. 

“Not longer than a week or so. Doubt I’ll find anything, but I can’t hold off any longer. It’s riding my ass, the urge to get out there and make sure that stretch is locked down. Probably be scouting a good twenty miles or so out from the brood nest to make sure he was the only one.” 

Cleff hesitated. “What if… he isn’t?” 

Hunter’s eyes flashed gold. He fell silent. He could almost feel the silk of colorless hair slipping through his fingers, could almost see the crimson hatred in his enemy’s eyes. He lifted his lip absently, baring one silver fang in a snarl. 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” he murmured. Cleff nodded. They somehow ended up on the topic of blueberries and their properties in clothing dyes. 

In the back of his mind, that biting metallic scent lingered, half-remembered.