The Wolf & The Witch
A Letter From Home

The edge of the wasteland was a wall too high to climb, solid stone, and fifteen feet from it, surrounded by six hungry horses, Owen and Rana lay dead in the snow. Blood loss killed one and frostbite the other.

“Well, I was kind of hoping they would burn to death, or be eaten by rats, but this works,” Claire said. “Don’t you usually have to pee in the morning?”

Lestat looked at her, curious. “You want me to piss on their corpses?”

“Well it’s a hell of a lot easier for you to do it than me. Get ’em in the face.”

He raised his left eyebrow- was she serious? Lestat was not a religious man, and clearly no one would be burying these two anytime soon, and no one was around to watch this, but still… pissing on corpses felt like a unique kind of sin- this would earn him a very special place in hell.

“Hurry up.”

The wall of the wasteland loomed behind them, and in the long shadows of early morning Lestat turned, and pissed on their corpses, per the witch’s orders. Face, clothes, what did it really matter? They would be frozen mummies within days, and the coyotes would replace them, and eat them, and he didn’t like those damned animals, either, so enjoy the flavor, stupid dogs. He pulled his pants up and turned back to the witch.

She was looking up, thinking, her mouth twisted up in the corner.

“What is it now?” he asked.

The witch looked at the wolf, deep in thought. “It just occurred to me- they might have something useful on them- in their pockets.” She shrugged.

Lestat shut his eyes and lowered his head. Oh goddamn this witch. The fever had weakened him, and he wasn’t thinking fast enough to prevent these kinds of stupid situations. He should know better than to listen to her. Searching the pockets of the dead was bad enough- a task made no better by adding fresh piss to the job.

Lestat dug around and found a letter, because the witch sure as hell was not digging through their piss-soaked pockets, and they stood side by side, faces nearly touching, and read it together in the gray morning light:

This world is dying. The lands are dying. And if you couldn’t tell that before leaving the forests of Itthon, you can certainly tell it now, after waking up in the lands controlled by the Witch of Dust. The next land you will cross, on your way home, is ruled by a wolf, and you will discover that land, like Itthon, like the wasteland, is also dying.

The reason this world is dying- the reason the lands are dying, is because the lands of this world were not meant to be governed by a witch alone, or a wolf alone. Land will suffer and die unless it is governed by both a wolf and a witch. The packs, and the covens of Itthon have been at odds for decades, and have seen too many failed mates. Our land suffers, and we have tried to encourage mating, we have tried to encourage proper governance of packs, and covens, we have encouraged amicable trades, peaceful relations with the human settlements- all in the hopes that those efforts would transition into prosperity for our land.

But our land is not prosperous, and our efforts have failed.

The metal cuff on your wrist limits your abilities and will force you to work together to return home. Five couples have been sent to the wasteland, and we expect all five couples to make an effort to return home, to Itthon. And to encourage that return, please be advised- there are four borders to cross before you return home, and the last couple across any border will die, one couple, per border, per land, will die as the other faster couples cross ahead of them.

Be advised: the border of the wasteland is a wall- the cuff will allow you to pass through, but not all lands have distinct, clearly marked borders, and this cuff will not open every gate, and every wall.

Be advised: you have not been authorized to enter any of the lands you will cross. Do not expect hospitality.

Be advised: if you try to cut your mates arm off, the cuff will kill you. There is only one way to remove the cuff- be the last couple to enter the forests of your home, and it will fall away.

And to the last remaining couple that returns to Itthon, we, the packs and covens of Itthon, grant joint authority to rule all the land- every coven, and every pack, every village, town, and city, will be under your joint rule.

This is the only way our forest will survive.

Lestat and Claire looked at each other, eyebrows raised. “What fucking bullshit is this?” Claire asked, anger rising up in her chest.

“You know what we should do?” Lestat hadn’t shaved in weeks and stubble was growing black and thick on his face- he scratched his chin, thinking, but this really didn’t require much thought.

“Fucking kill that goddamn priestess and those stupid pack alphas.”

“That too. But why don’t we just kill the other three couples?”

“Sure, why not,” the witch agreed, then frustration and anger resettled in her chest. “God damnit!” she shouted, and her voice echoed over the snow and dust. “You know what this fucking means?”

He sighed, and let his breath out slow and measured. “Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Five couples- you know what they did? They allowed Adra to select her mate, and the alpha’s son his mate, then they dumped the rest of us in with them like it’s some kind of competition, or some horseshit like that. We’re the losers who are supposed to motivate the golden couples. God damnit!”

“Yeah, and these fuckers had a note, and we didn’t.” He started to fling the letter into the snow, then stopped, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. “That means some couples woke up a little better prepared than others. With food, money, clothes... maybe right beside the wall.” He looked at the stone wall.

Claire was seething. This shit wasn’t random- drinking water was not random. Claire, Rana, and Sarah. Claire knew she wasn’t the most popular in her coven, and she knew she struggled with magic, and she didn’t care. That’s no goddamn reason to throw her off into a death sentence. And the coven made it known they did not approve of Rana’s whoring ways, and the coven definitely did not approve of Sarah seeing a man from the church- so they bundled up the three women they didn’t like and got rid of them. Easy. All in the name of saving a dying land.

The wolf and the witch looked at each other, glaring, angry, pissed- but this time, not at each other.

The witch gritted her teeth. “Lestat, you are not my mate, but… you are my friend, and from one friend to another, we’re going to make it home, and we’re going to burn that goddamn, motherfucking, piece of shit forest to the ground, covens, packs- all of it.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Yes. Friends. Don’t say anything stupid to mess it up.” It was snowing, and the world was white and gray, and the clouds were thick and piling up overhead.

Lestat smiled at her. Being a friend with this witch was ok, so long as it did not go any further than friendship, and it would be easier to travel together if they were getting along. Maybe she would be slightly more useful. “I guess this means that we were the most hated of the couples? To not even wake up knowing we would die unless we moved fast?” He looked back at Owen and Rana- they almost made it. Fifteen feet.

Claire hadn’t considered that. “Fuck that coven! Fuck! Those motherfuckers!” She kicked at the snow and nearly kicked the boot off her foot- it was too big. “I swear to god I’m going to kill that priestess, and that alpha- all of them.”

“You said that wrong, little witch friend,” Lestat said. She looked up and blushed just slightly- the lightest tint of red ran across the bridge of her nose. “We are going to kill them, and then we are going to burn that forest to the fucking ground.”

Claire nodded agreement, took one last look at Owen and Rana, and they walked to the edge of the wasteland, and held their cuffed wrists to the wall, and the stones dissolved away.

The horses went through first and immediately started eating- long fields of grass stretched out before them. They looked up- the sky was clear and blue. Odd. The temperature had jumped up by thirty degrees and the day felt like the first day of fall- cool and crisp. They looked over the wall and saw clear blue skies on the other side, but knew that wasn’t right, because they had seen gray clouds on this side. Was that how much power the witch of dust had? Or was that how much power the wolf who ruled this land had? To change the weather and the landscape at the border? Then they wondered who built the wall- the witch, or the wolf.

Lestat slipped his cloak and shirt off and draped it over a horse, and Claire slipped her cloak off and did the same. He was shirtless and, despite the slight chill in the air, the morning sun felt warm on his skin. His muscles were hard and proud in the morning light, and his chest, and shoulders, and back had missed the sun. It was mid-August, and the air was clean, and smelled like grass and apples.

Claire wore a flannel shirt with the top buttons unbuttoned, and a pair of pants too big for her tied to her hips. She rolled her right sleeve up. They both wore their shirts crooked- they couldn’t dress completely with their arms cuffed together, so the left side of her flannel shirt hung off her shoulder, exposing her left side and stomach. She fished around one of the horses for some rope and held it in her teeth, then tugged his hand over and put her hair up into a ponytail.

The wolf had one goal: make it to the next border as fast as possible, killing any wolf-witch couple they found along the way. And that really shouldn’t be that difficult with six horses.

And the witch had one goal. Or two: a hot bath, and, if possible, some fried chicken and goat cheese biscuits with chives, and if they were that lucky, then a cozy bed to sleep in, a massage, and panties would be nice. Finally. She needed to shave, too. She looked at Lestat- he needed to shave. Then she wondered- how could she take a hot bath cuffed to him? This required some thought. She also wanted apple pie- the smell in the air was making her stomach growl.

The witch reached down and unbuttoned another button of her shirt, letting the cool air hit her cleavage. This place was nice- long fields of flowing grass, gray rocks sticking up out of the ground here and there, the smell of apples- this was the perfect place to fall in love. She looked up at the wolf: nope, definitely not falling in love with him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Ready?”

He nodded. “Ready.”