The Wolf & The Witch
Rabbit Hunting

Claire’s eyes went wide as saucers and she hacked and spit a mouthful of carrots, potatoes, and human onto the floor. “Oh g-ugh.” She heaved, her stomach turned and retched, and she held onto Lestat; spit and bile- she went down on her knee and spit onto the floor, then wiped her tongue on her sleeve. She reached out for the water and Lestat stopped her. The water had a slight pale tint. He kept Claire and her groaning and spitting back and smelled it. Poisoned. He played this village back in his mind- lanterns to mark the way to the tavern- to signal a meal. Sent here specifically by helpful women, who helped fill their skins, to the guards, to the first thing he saw when he entered this village- a large well. Every traveler that came here would need water. He opened his water skin and sniffed- also poisoned. She didn’t make it very far, the nice woman had said. Of course not. What a devious fucking village- every traveler that came here would arrive thirsty, and they would go to the well first thing. Fuck. But there had to be another source of clean water here- another well, somewhere. He emptied their skins on the ground. “We are going to kill every single one of these bastards until we replace the real well, then we’re forcing a couple of their inbred asses to be our potato mules- they’ll carry our food through the forest with us.”

“No,” she choked. Claire had tears in her eyes from dry heaving. “We’re killing… them all.” The thought of eating mashed potatoes grown in decaying humans turned her stomach and she gagged. Claire dry-heaved, and choked, but slowly collected herself, and stood. Oh goddamn that barmaid. She reached down and unstrapped her bow. Her tongue still felt slippery- human fat, and she couldn’t get it off. She licked her sleeve, and scratched her tongue. Goddamn that barmaid, and this village. Feeding humans to humans is bad enough, but trying to drug them, to eat them, to-

“I didn’t know humans could be composted,” Lestat said, still looking out the window. He looked at her- she was holding her bow. “Any good with that?”

Claire was so mad. Life wasn’t fair. This place should have biscuits, and steamed kale, and carrots with honey; this place should have a hot bath. But no. Lesbian cannibals and dumbass inbred farmers. “Can you hold the bow with me?”

Lestat wrapped his right hand around the bow, with Claire’s, and drew his sword in his left hand. There was a knock at the door. Claire notched an arrow. Another knock. She pulled the bowstring back and brought their arms up. The barmaid opened the door, stuck her head in, and the arrow hit her in the forehead, shattered her skull and flung her dead body backwards into the hall. She bounced off the wall and hit the floor. They walked out and Lestat kicked the body over and Claire reached down and retrieved her arrow. It dripped shiny blood onto the dim hallway floor.

“Pretty good,” Lestat said.

“I hunt rabbits.”

“Trapping them is easier.”

“Shooting them is more fun.”

Lestat looked down at her and agreed; he approved.

“Will you teach me how to make traps?”

“Only if you take me hunting with you.”

Claire smiled. She felt herself falling for him, and fast, and she was certain it wasn’t the cuff- it was him: his handsomeness, his strength, his self-control, his concern and protection, he had changed the way he spoke to her, which meant a lot, and he shielded her from the eyes of other men, which meant a lot; he made her laugh, and held her when she cried, and he didn’t get mad at her when she made mistakes. She thought about how much fun it would be to go rabbit hunting with him- alone, in the woods, just the two of them, talking, laughing, kissing. She blushed. She brought her bow up, notched an arrow, and sent a farmer flying back down the steps, taking others with him. But they needed to talk. She needed to know how he felt. She needed to know how many women he had kissed.

Lestat let go of her hand, and the bow, pulled her close, and leapt down the stairs. He landed hard on two men- his feet drove them into the hallway floor. He backhanded a woman with the hilt of his sword, ducked a shovel and sliced arms, and legs, and necks, and cleared the hallway- ten more down. He repositioned Claire and held the bow with her.

Claire fired off an arrow- it sailed down the hall and hit a woman in the chest and took her by the lung and drove her backwards into more villagers. “How many women have you kissed?” she asked, notching another arrow. She aimed.

“You’re the only woman I’ve kissed.”

She missed. The arrow sailed off into the wall. More villagers came up the steps all shiny and smiling and armed with shovels and buckets and kitchen knives. She lowered her hand, and the bow. What? No way. He was too good of a kisser. She melted every time his lips touched hers. That was impossible. But they promised not to lie, and- Wait, did that mean... “You’re a… virgin?” It was more of an amazed statement than a question.

“No.”

What? She dropped both hands and would’ve dropped the bow if he hadn’t been holding it with her. She looked up at him, speechless. That made absolutely no sense. What?

Lestat pulled her left hand back up- holding the bow. “You might want to shoot. They’re coming.”

“You might want to explain that.”

“Cannibals first.” Lestat let go of the bow, wrapped her up in his right arm, and charged down the hall. He shifted- a little more hair, and a little more muscle, and a little more speed, and hacked down five. He picked up an arrow and she took it. She was studying him, trying to figure out his words by the way his face looked, or maybe by his eye color. Lestat came to the stairs and a bald man with a very shiny head looked up and tossed a torch. The man behind him tossed a torch. Lestat sheathed his sword, bent into the flames and picked up both torches, and turned to the men. Fire spread out low, but fast, on the oiled wooden floors. Their smiles faded. Lestat walked down the steps, kicking, and headbutting, till he was on the lower level. He tossed the torches across the large open room and flames leapt up the back wall. “Where is the well in this village?” he asked.

No answer, but there were over thirty people, and more coming.

A shovel came whirring through the air- Lestat slipped to the left and it hit the steps behind him. A woman charged him with a knife held straight out- he brought his boot up and kicked her in the stomach, then stomped down, shattering her hand. Then two men were on his back- he tossed one off but one stabbed his side with a kitchen knife and Lestat stumbled. Goddamn these fucking villagers- he beheaded one, leapt and came down hard on an older woman, snapping her spine. He ducked knives and shovels and spun with his sword and took villagers apart at the knees. He glanced down- not a bad injury, but he could use a little help. “Claire! Pay attention,” he ordered.

Claire was curious. Was it possible to have sex without kissing? There was only one thing that came to mind, and she was trying hard to think of something else, something other than rape. Surely not. What else could it be?

“Claire!” He squeezed her. “Focus!”

“Don’t shout at me! Explain your damn self.” She didn’t care if they were eaten. She wasn’t doing a goddamn thing until he answered her.

“I had a couple nasty blowjobs. Start shooting some of these damn people.”

“Don’t cuss me.” Blowjobs? Is that what he said? Nasty blowjobs?

Lestat jumped back, killed two more, and his back was at a wall. The second floor was ablaze, and the right side of the tavern was ablaze, and his back was to a wall, and more of these goddamn villagers kept coming. He looked at his sword- that last cut had chipped it. He doubted very seriously his sword would survive hacking down this many people. He looked down at her. “I’m not cussing you- I’m cussing these villagers. Help me.” He dropped to the right, dodging a knife- it clanged off the wall behind him.

Claire glared at him, and growled at him, and hate crawled out of her heart and sat on her shoulders. She didn’t know who gave him a blowjob, but she knew that woman’s future: death. She would kill the woman. Without fail. She would kill her with old wooden sticks and bales of hay- slow death. An appropriate witch’s death. She would beat her to death with a bale of hay. She would go on a holy quest to kill the whore. She looked at Lestat- why did she promise to never slap him? So he was ok getting blowjobs from women, but not kissing them? Nasty. Fuck him. A growl rose up from her stomach that any alpha wolf would admire. She raised her right foot up and stomped it down on his toes as hard as she could then she pulled her right hand back and drove it into his stomach.

Lestat groaned out- the cut from the knife wasn’t severe, but it hurt like hell following a straight punch.

Claire lifted her bow, notched an arrow, and sent it flying- straight through the mouth of the nearest village idiot. Another arrow, and another, and villagers dropped- skulls shattered, lungs collapsed, pinned to the walls and the floor by their kidneys. Arrow after arrow, until she had one left. Claire aimed and hit a barrel in the corner and the wood shattered and beer ran out onto the floor. She reached down, touched the wooden floor, and froze the beer, and the feet of those standing in it. She nearly passed out, but didn’t. “Collect my… arrows,” she ordered, and took his sword, and pulled him along. She was weak- using her own life for magic weakened her, but weak or not, Claire saw red: blowjobs, and fucking cannibals feeding her humans, wanting to eat her thighs, and they were out of food, and had to go back into that goddamn forest- she stomped forward and slashed at the villagers- some frozen in place by their ankles, some not. A shovel caught her in the shoulder and she ignored it. Hack, slash, kill these motherfuckers. She brought the blade down hard on the skull of a man and the sword chipped again.

Lestat retrieved arrows from the dead, and he watched his sword slowly chip and crack. He was growling- his little witch needed to learn to control her jealousy, and she badly needed to work on her timing- fighting cannibals is not the time to talk about kissing and blowjobs. The building was in flames, engulfed, and he followed her outside, picking up arrows and leaving the other villagers frozen to the tavern floor, to burn to death.

There were at least another forty villagers left, and Claire killed them all- arrow after arrow, and when she ran out of those she took his sword again and hacked them down. And when his sword finally chipped and shattered, she threw what was left at a man and killed him, too. She walked over to the dead man and picked up his shovel. Lestat jerked her back- a bucket just barely missed her head. Fine, motherfuckers, Claire thought. I’ll bury your asses with your own goddamn shovels. A woman ran at her with wild eyes, a knife held straight out and Claire spun and hit her in the side of the head with the shovel. The shovel broke. The woman broke, too.

The fire was spreading behind them- the tavern was lost in flames, and the houses nearby were burning. Smoke rose up into the pale, purple sky.

Claire had another idea. The sword was broken, the shovel was broken, but she had more arrows. She notched an arrow and fired if off down the street, hitting a lantern and sending burning oil into the street and against the house. She shot another lantern, and another, until the village was ablaze. Lestat turned her towards two men running down the street. Two arrows to the head, and they stopped running.

Lestat looked around. Was that it? No more villagers? Or, more likely, whatever few were left were smart enough not to attack. There was nothing left to do but wait for the fires to die and hope they could replace the well. He retrieved as many arrows as he could, but some were broken, and some were in flames, and he led her out of the village, when-

“We need to talk.” She glared at him.

“You’re right, we do.” He glared back at her.