Tags:  Awoo, Lewd, Slice of Life, Werewolf

Syntax:
“Speech”
[Thoughts]
*noises*

Chapter 1:  Love at first Bite
Late September, 1974

“Well the Illi-noi-is Central, and the Southern Central Freight, Got to keep on pushin’ mamma, ‘cause you know they’re runnin’ late!  Without love, where would you be now...”
The new Doobie Brothers tape lilts over the speakers in your new - to you - truck, as you make your way home from the trailhead.  3 weeks on, 1 week off, and brother, this week couldn’t have come soon enough.  250mi north of you, there’s a logging crew that should have a week and change worth of pipeline route plotted, marked, and ready to carve into the dense hardwood forests of interior Alaska.  

You are Nikolas Bodhan, senior surveyor for the Trans-Alaska Pipeline project - okay, the road project that precedes the actual pipeline.  Today has been a rough one, even as far as oil-and-gas workdays go.  12 hours on shift, and your junior surveyor was MIA.  Still, you managed to more or less wrap things up in time to consider cannonballing back home.  The coffee, 8 tracks, and greasy food have helped keep you up and alert - well… alert enough - but the long hours of wind, tire, and engine roar are starting to take their toll. It hasn’t been a half-hour since your last stop, and you’re already starting to nod off at the wheel.  [Hey, just a few more miles to go, and you should be home.  Come on, man.  Can’t fall asleep now…  Maggie would kill you if you hit a tree and died.]

As the B-side of the first tape clicks over, you decide to pull off to the side of the road and wake up a bit. You step out of the cab and walk around the truck, checking your tires, and making sure your gear hasn’t shifted around in the bed.  Satisfied, you stretch your legs then your arms, letting the cool night air chill some alertness back into you.  Before you climb back in, you open the back door and snag your backup thermos, a fresh pack of sunflower seeds, and a ragged-out Zeppelin II tape.  Refreshed(ish), you climb back into the driver’s seat, and settle in for the final push home.

“Ah, man…  what a day… night?...  whatever“ you mumble to yourself, as you pull off the state highway, and onto your driveway.  Ha. Driveway…  when you (more or less) own a square mile and change of untouched wilderness, your front drive tends to be more of a fire road. [2AM?! Does it really count as tomorrow if you haven’t gone to sleep?] absent questions for idle minds.  Thank God you’re almost home.

A couple of hundred yards in… and it looks like you’re hiking the rest of the way.  A huge old birch lies splayed across the road, more than likely knocked over by a fall windstorm while you were up at the trailhead.  There’s no way that your crew cab Highboy is going to make it around, over, or through.  That tree must have been 80ft tall, the trunk is at least a foot around, and it’s absolutely going to need cut up before you can think about towing it out of the way.  Sounds like a job for future Nick…  Oh well, with a nightcap and a warm bed just minutes away, a walk in the woods doesn’t seem too bad… even if your carry piece is sitting locked up in the house.

Hey, at least the real cold hasn’t really crept in just yet.  It might be the first of October, but it’s still sweatshirt weather - even if it is two in the morning. Speaking of, you toss on your bright red Waffle weave zip-up hoodie, grab your day bag, and set off towards home.  [God, the forest is gorgeous tonight.] The full moon still hangs high in the arctic sky, casting an ethereal light through the trees and onto the drive.  Shadows play through the overgrowth, the light rustling of leaves in the wind is the only sound to break the night’s silence.  ...Okay, that last bit might be a bit unnerving.  This time of year, the crickets should be out in force, playing the sound of their people as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.  As it stands, though, the only consistent sounds you can hear are the crunch of gravel under your feet and your own gentle breathing.  Almost subconsciously, you change your gait, stepping that much more softly, and rolling that much more gently off the balls of your feet.

As if on cue, a lone howl can be heard in the distance, though not quite as distant as you’d like.  The wolves around here can get a bit dangerous, and with the local deer, elk, and moose going into rut in the next few weeks, their normal hunting grounds must be all stirred up.

You pick up the pace a bit, just to be on the safe side.  Trying to quiet your steps further, you shift from the gravel packed ruts of your access road to the grassy center.  All sorts of questions start forming in the back of your mind…  [Which way is the wind blowing?] [Is this a single wolf, or a pack of the fuckers?] [Why does this grass have to be so soakin’ wet?! Fuckin’ dew...] You pull at the zipper of your hoodie and sniff at the flannel shirt underneath it. [Do my clothes really still reek like that fry house outside of Eielson?]

You calm down somewhat when the trees change from spruce to hazel, marking the orchard you’d planted around the clearing for your cabin - a gorgeous two story A-frame.  Alrighty! You’re at the home stretch.  Just another fifty yards to go and - *CRACK!*

The sound of a large branch breaking behind you snaps you from your thoughts. You spin on your heel, searching for the source of the noise, only to find yourself transfixed.  From the shadows of the forest, ice blue eyes stare into yours, so bright they almost seem to glow in the moonlight.
...of course, the effect is slightly ruined by the similarly luminescent fangs bared at you from within a massive snarling maw.  The element of surprise gone, the creature lets loose a feral growl, moving towards you on a rightward diagonal - quickly closing off any chance of retreat along the road.

You begin to walk backwards towards the house, not wanting to turn your back to your pursuer.  The Creature, trying to flank you, slowly creeps out of the forest, content - for now - to let you maintain distance.  As it moves from the shadows, you catch its outline.  Sharp canine features play across a monstrous frame.  Its ears and muzzle are like that of a wolf, but stretched and elongated to near parody.  While you can’t tell exactly how tall, the creature is massive, easily dwarfing you. Stalking you in a bipedal crouch, this wolf’s  every fiber and every movement scream apex predator.

Pausing its advance, the wolf rears its head back and howls again, declaring its presence to anything in earshot and announcing the hunt. The moment it looks away, you turn again, ditching your rucksack and sprinting as fast as your boot clad feet can carry you towards the front door.  You have your keys out of your pocket a good 10 feet before you hit the stairs of your sizable front porch, which you bound up three at a time.  You slam into the front door, hands first, not wanting to waste the time slowing down.  Panicking, you try to jam the key in the deadbolt, only to drop your keyring.  Wasting precious time, you desperately fumble around trying to pick it back up.  The longest second(s?) of your life crawl by, as you manage to get the key in the lock, yank the door open, and pull yourself through the doorway.  Before you can get your keys back out of the lock, however, the monster has sprinted the distance to the house, vaulted the stairs in a single bound, and slammed into you. You're launched bodily into the main room, landing on your back before sliding headlong into the couch. 

It takes you a moment to get sat upright, the wind knocked clean out of you somewhere between the hit from the wolf, the impact with the floor, and the collision with the couch.  You just manage to glimpse the wolf as it - she - ducks under the door frame, into the cabin after you… and closes the door behind her?

Under the living room lights, you finally get a decent view of the wolf - wolfess - pursuing you.  She’s easily 7 feet tall, though it’s hard to guess exactly while she’s hunched over in a predatory pose.  Her thick black fur does little to cover the taut, wiry, muscles coiled underneath her skin. Your repose lasts only a moment, as your adrenaline spikes again and you regain your wits.

As she starts advancing on you, you struggle back onto your feet, vaulting the couch, and running back into the kitchenette, trying to put something solid between you and the snarling wolfess.  As she advances towards you again, you just manage to get to the opposite side of the table as her.  As she tries to juke left, you cut right, keeping the table evenly between you and her.  She changes direction, but you’re familiar with this game and match her movements.  Her growl reaching a snarling crechendo, she stops for a moment, takes half a step back, then lunges over the fucking table at you! The centerpiece, salt and pepper shakers, and odd bits of paper all scatter, as she plants a foot on the table, dramatically increasing the range of her leap.  You dive to the left, trying to avoid her grasp, but it’s too little too late.  Massive, clawed, fingers latch onto the hood of your sweat shirt. She yanks hard enough to stop you dead and send your feet out from under you.  You land hard on your back, the wind knocked out of you for a second time in as many minutes.

Not wasting any time, the wolfess jumps on top of you, straddling your supine self.  She pins your midsection with her powerful legs and holds your wrists above your head in her vice like grip.  You put up a token struggle, but she snarls, her massive canines inches from your face.  You stop squirming, resigned to what’s bound to come next as close your eyes and turn your face away from the enraged wolfess.  You hear her growl taper off, followed by a quick sniff.  The growling stops…  Another short set of sniffs, followed by a long one, reach your ears, then you feel an ice cold nose pressed into the nape of your neck.  Surprised, you open your eyes, only to be met with those deep, ice blue pools staring back at you.  You see a hunger in them, stronger even than the urge to kill and eat.  

As she nestles her snout deeper into your the crook of your shoulder, you feel the crushing pressure around your wrists start to dissipate.  Feeling you didn’t realize had left slowly finds its way back into your hands, starting with pinpricks at the tips of your fingers and warming into a static fuzz in your palms.  You look back down into her eyes, watching them soften and dilate slightly before your own.  Something about your smell seems to be putting her at ease… She licks you!  It’s just a quick brush across your cheek, but it’s quickly followed by a longer, firmer, more passionate one along your neck.

While the wolfess continues her ministrations, you try to take advantage of her distraction.  You twist your wrists ever so slightly, slowly trying to slip your arms out of her grasp.  The change is almost instant as she takes notice, her eyes hardening and pupils snapping down to pinpricks.  Her grip tightens painfully and she jerks your arms sharply above your head, slamming them hard against the floor.  Jowls pulled back, she presses her teeth around to your larynx, growling threateningly.

You take the hint and immediately go limp again.  Clearly, you’re not getting out of this. Her growls eventually start to subside and she returns to sniffing at you,though she seems a little bit slower to really get back into it.  She again sniffs up and down your neck, moving to your chest, her snout stretching the collar of your shirt tight. With her straddling you like she is, you can’t help but catch a whiff of her fur.  Surprisingly, you can smell hints of lilac, honeysuckle, and ...forget-me not(?)

She must have decided she likes likes you, because she makes a quiet contented growl, almost a purr.  It’s actually kinda cute, considering it’s coming from the apex predator currently pinning you to the floor.  You decide to relax a bit, now that it seems less likely you’re going to be ripped apart.  She takes a few more sniffs, before giving you a long, slow, breathy lick from your left collar bone clean up to your ear.  She nips at your earlobe, then shifts herself up, scooching her knees forward and sitting a bit more upright.  As she moves, you get a spectacular view of her surprisingly perky breasts and taut stomach.  If you had to guess, she’d be a strong C-cup, but they’re decidedly more pronounced on a creature as lean as she is.  You’re quickly broken from the entrancing view in front of you by a distraction a bit further down.  The wolfess takes advantage of her new position, sitting heavily on your hips and rocking her naked - and apparently soaking - lips against your groin.

You respond almost immediately, growing painfully hard within the confines of your jeans.  Noticing your reaction, she picks up the pace, grinding against your bound manhood with a mounting sense of urgency.  With her excitement building, she lets go of one of your wrists and lifts herself up for the briefest of moments. Shoving her free hand down the front of your pants, she roughly pulls your shaft upright, leaving it pressed between your stomach and your waistband.  She shifts further up your waist, still grinding against you, her new position allowing her to lean forward and press her soft breasts and thick grey chest floof into your face.  You respond, rubbing your nose through the valley between her cleavage.  You work your way up from the soft underside of one mound, deep into the fur of her crest, and back around the other side, only to repeat the process in reverse.  You keep going for a while, enjoying the lusty chuffs and growls that the wolfess has started making, before deciding to press your luck a bit further.

You can’t use your hands - she grabbed your free wrist as soon as she was done adjusting you - so you seek out her nipples with the tip of your nose.  Sensing what you’re doing, the wolfess sits up just a bit, to give you better access.  You find her left nipple, give it some quick, darting, licks to get it fully hard, then move over to the right one.  You give it just a bit more attention, circling it with your tongue and grazing the tip of it to ensure its as erect as you can get it.  Once you’re satisfied it’s standing proud, you grab it with you lips, pulling and twisting, firmly but gently.  This sets off a cascade of happy purrs and whimpers from the wolfess, her grinding getting harder and more erratic.  You’re starting to feel the beginnings of that familiar pressure welling up within you, so you step things up a bit.  You move over to the other nipple, now hard and chilled from your previous ministrations, pinch it in your teeth, and give it a bit of a tug.  The wolfess lets out a surprisingly effeminate *YIP!*, stops her grinding, and pulls her chest away from you.  She hunches her back to let her look you square in the eyes.  

You panic for a moment worried that she might be rethinking whether she wants to eat you, but that fear is washed away when you see her face.  She still has the look of a predator, but between her leering grin and lidded eyes, you can’t help but wonder if being her prey will be so bad after all…  You break eye contact first, glancing away towards the stairway up to your bedroom loft.  She follows your eyes, her grin only growing wider. She heaves herself back to her feet, dragging you up with her.  As soon as she’s off of you, you feel a sudden chill at your groin. She must really have been getting into it, as your pants are absolutely soaked in her juices.  You notice, a bit more bashfully, a similar - smaller - spot on your shirt caused by your own leaking precum.  You suppose you were getting into it pretty heavily, yourself.  

You’re no small man, standing at near as makes no difference 6 foot, and weighing a (mostly) muscular 200lbs.  It comes as a shock, then, when the wolfess grabs you by the waist, throws you over one shoulder, and carries you up the stairs like a sack of concrete.  She rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, being surprisingly careful to avoid smacking your head or hers on the sloped ceiling, and drops you bodily at the edge of the bed.  She lets you sit up, only to grab at the front of your sweat shirt and button-down.  Not wanting her to shred various beloved pieces of clothing, you start pulling both of your shirts off all at once.  She gets the hint and grabs the hems in a bunch, pulling everything off.  The sleeves turn inside out as they hang up  on your wrists, but another tug pulls them free.

The wolfess pushes you back into the bed, her powerful hands almost crushing your shoulders.  With your back pressed against the bed, she drags her massive claws down your chest, then over your abs, stopping at the waist of your pants.  She traces the claw of her index finger down the exposed head of your member, running it gently along the underside of your shaft until she reaches your belt.  Without taking either set of claws off your skin, she runs her hands down to your sides and wraps her fingers under your pants and boxers like she’s about to yank everything off in one sharp tug.  You panic, knowing your belt is WAY too tight to fit over your hip bones, and rush to undo your buckle and fly.  The quick movements spook the wolfess, who grabs your wrists - again - yanks your arms wide apart and snarls at you, massive teeth bared.  Undeterred, you relax your arms until she lets your wrists go again. SLOWLY you bring your hands down to unbuckle your belt and unbutton your fly.  

As you work to undo your pants, the wolfess teases your abs and obliques with her claws, working her way around from your front towards the small of your back.  As soon as she sees you’ve finished, she grabs at your waist again, hoisting your ass up and off the bed as she almost tears your jeans off.  Unfortunately, your boots, still very much tied to your feet, leave your pants locked around your ankles, bunched up like makeshift manacles.  Finally free of its denim prison, your manhood springs upright, flailing about as your ass lands back on the bed.  The wolfess stares hungrily at your member as it bobs in time with your rapid heartbeat. 

Grabbing you thighs, she wrenches them open and kneels down at the edge of the bed. She buries her nose around your groin, drinking deeply of your scent.  Working her way under your painfully erect shaft, she slowly, sensually, laps at your balls.  She drags her tongue up one, then the other, pulling on your sack with her teeth when it contracts.  You hiss your approval, trying to encourage her to move on to the main course. Still slowly, she licks up your the underside of your length, starting at the base and flicking her tongue in a flourish when she reaches your tip.  She sticks to teasing you with her tongue for a bit longer before finally pulling you into her mouth.  As inch after inch passes through her pursed lips, you can’t help but growl out a moan. Even with you filling her maw, her tongue still manages to work its magic, the languid undulations a welcome measure of extra stimulation.

As the wolfess starts to work your length in earnest, it becomes difficult for you to stay focused.  A haze of pleasure threatens to cloud your mind.  Without thinking, your hands drift down towards the bobbing head in your lap.  You reach both ears at the same time, pressing your thumbs into their cupped insides while cradling them at the base of her head with your fingers.  For the shortest moment, she seems to soften, tilting her head forward and pressing her ears into your hands.  Not a moment later, a predatory growl freezes you in place.  She’s glaring at you, her fangs barred, your manhood still cradled within her worryingly powerful jaws.

Calming herself, the wolfess reaches up and grabs your wrists - again - and pulls them away from her ears.  Without letting go, she stands up, climbs up on the bed, and straddles you again, stretching your arms over your head.  She drags you up the bed by your wrists until your hands hit the headboard, your ankles hanging off the foot of the bed.  She shifts her grip, moving both of your wrists into her left hand.  With her right, she grabs your manhood, now slick with her saliva, and positions it at the entrance of her sex.  For the briefest of moments, a playful smirk plays across her face, as she rocks back ever so slightly, increasing the pressure against you until with a final push she’s spread wide.

The wolfess seizes up for a moment as your head slips past her entrance, her back stiff and knees nearly crushing your ribs. The tension passes as quickly as it comes, and she slowly, sensually, lowers herself until her engorged black lips are pressed hard against your hips, the entirety of your length inside her.  Just the feeling of her wrapped around you is bliss.  Her insides are absolutely sweltering, and even with her massive size, she’s almost painfully tight, gripping hardest at your base and tapering off some the deeper you go.  Fully bottomed out on you, she stays still for a few long moments, clearly savoring the feeling of being filled.  

Slowly, she starts rocking her pelvis back and forth, opting to grind into you as opposed to bouncing on your length.  While this feels nice, in an awkward first time sort of way, it’s not going to get you anywhere in a … nevermind...  The wolfess has started gripping at you with her pelvic muscles, contracting in time with her motions,  As she rocks forward, she clenches tight, pulling hard enough on you that you’d swear you’re being dragged further up the bed.  She relaxes as she rocks her hips down and back, pressing hard into your pelvis, burying your length as deep into her as it’ll go.

She starts at a leisurely pace, clearly enjoying her control over you, but as the excitement starts to build, so does her speed.  Her muscle control starts to falter somewhat, no longer squeezing in perfect time.  Whatever she's lost in technique, though, she’s more than making up for in force.  Her contractions are walking a fine line between pleasure and pain, and she’s grinding into you so hard, you can already feel the bruises forming.

Somehow, she picks up the tempo even further, changing from a rocking motion to a bounce with a bit of a hip twist when she hits your lap.  She’s breathing heavily now, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her breath hot enough to fog as she exhales.  With her pace picking up, you start to feel the pressure of your peak building, starting at your base, and radiating out through your legs.  Juuust before she can push you over the edge, she slams herself down one final time, doubles over, and cums incredibly hard.  Her knees dig into your sides hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.  She lets go of your hands entirely, instead grabbing your shoulders to keep herself upright.  Spasms rock her stomach, her legs, and her channel, sending waves of pleasure over you - buried to the hilt - and bringing you right to the brink… just not quite over it.

As she rides out the last of her orgasm, the wolfess seems to soften a bit.  She keeps her position on top of you, your manhood still buried deep within her, but she’s no longer restraining your arms, instead using her hands to caress your body.  She starts by rubbing from your shoulders to your neck, then down your chest, trailing her claws behind her surprisingly soft finger pads.  She traces her way back up to your neck, caressing your jawline before swooping in to lick your face.  She moves to the side of your head, her hot breath making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.  Then, she gives your ear a surprisingly sharp nip.  It doesn’t break the skin, but it’s plenty to draw a yelp out of you.  She presses a hand hard into your chest, and sits back a bit so she can stare  into your eyes.  You stare right back, not wanting to show weakness.  After a long moment, she brings her hands to your cheeks, rubs your earlobes, then runs her fingers down your neck.  You close your eyes and growl in pleasure, bowing out of her little challenge as gracefully as you can.

With your arms freed and forgotten by the wolfess, you take the opportunity to sneak your hands up her flanks, slipping your fingers into the thinner fur above her hips.  She stiffens, and her hands stop their ministrations around your neck and shoulders.  You open your eyes to a hard stare, but she hasn’t made any sort of move to stop you.  As calmly as possible, you work your fingers up her rock-hard sides, fluffing up her fur as you work against the grain.  You make you way up to her arms, your thumbs caressing around the sides of her breasts, before working your way back down to her hips.  You work your hands further back, digging your fingernails into the thick fur above her tail, then work your way up her back gradually increasing the pace and firmness of your ministrations.  As you start to run out of reach, the wolfess hunches over you again, allowing you to reach all the way up to her shoulders and nuzzles her muzzle into your neck.  

She growls low and sensual, nipping gently at your neck, before licking the same spot.  She works her way from one side of your neck to the other, while you massage her back, eventually finding your way around to her breasts.  You cup them firmly, doing your best to rub their sensitive undersides while tracing circles around her areolas with your thumbs.  You tease each other like this for a while, the wolfess quickly regrouping from her recent orgasm.  Gradually, she starts working at you with her hips again, this time opening with building thrusts.  The heat of her insides, a pleasant white noise in the back of your mind while she was stationary, comes crashing back to the fore.  She’s squeezing you rhythmically again, practically dragging you off the bed on her up-stroke.

With the wolfess still amped up from her orgasm just minutes ago, she’s much faster to get into the swing of things.  Her pace quickly picks up from walk, clean past trot, and straight to canter, and she’s gone from gentle thrusts to massive bounds, your length coming almost all the way out of her before getting ridden to the hilt.  She’s still assaulting you with affection, her breath coming in heavy huffs, as she buries her muzzle under your ear.  Her hands press hard into your chest, just trying to keep her from falling over as she rides you to your fast approaching orgasm. You grab her by the hips, supporting her while encouraging her to go even faster.

 She must be getting close now, her powerful thrusts becoming more feral.  She shifts position, pulling her left knee to her chest, planting her foot flat on the bed, and shortening her channel.  You take the opportunity to start thrusting in time with her, working yourself ever deeper inside and threatening to bottom her out completely.  You’re flying towards the edge, her frantic thrusting sending bolts of lightning all the way down to you toes. She’s almost there as well, making cute gasps and whines in your ear, and thrusting even more frantically.

You feel her her start to cum, her legs shaking and her sex clamping around you like a vice.  She tries to stifle a moan, mouth wide and pressed against your shoulder, but she’s still riding you hard.  You’re flying towards the brink, yourself, muscles coiled tight in your groin, and the pressure becoming unbearable.  You come as hard as you can ever remember, kicking down with your heels and thrusting as deep as you can into the wolfess.  You bottom out hard, crashing tight against her cervix, and unloading like you’ve not had relief in years.  The instant you hit the end of her channel, she seizes solid, claws digging deep into your shoulders, and hips slamming down hard enough to pin you back against the bed.

---  *click-click*  ---

You hear it before you feel anything…  The sound of teeth crashing into each other, and not your own, either.  
...pause... two…  three…
You’re snapped violently from the torpor of your mid coital high, as white hot searing pain rips through your left shoulder.  You feel warmth spilling over your chest and down your back, radiating from the base of your neck at an alarming rate “Silver! SILVER!!! OW!! Fuck! Maggie! OW!!!”

Chapter 2:  Putting the Pieces Together

As you shout the safeword, Maggie - the giant wolfess currently riding you - comes to the same realization you have and absolutely panics.  Her eyes nearly bug out of her head, and she rocks back hard, inadvertently spearing herself on you all over again.  She nearly convulses, her body still in the throes of orgasm, even if her mind is reeling from what just happened.  As her spasms start to subside, she covers her mouth in horror, but not before you can see the blood - your blood - staining her teeth and the edges of her muzzle.  

“Oh, holy shit Nick, I’m so sorry! Oh, God! What do I do Nick, there’s blood everywhere!” she cries out, tears in her eyes.  She’s in a full-on panic, hopping off of you, grabbing you, letting you go, and generally freaking out.


“Maggie, it’s alright *ungh* just, uhh.. Just calm down a sec.”

“Oh, God.  I’m sorry! I’m so Sorry!!  Nick, what do I do? What do I do, Nick?!”  She’s off the bed, pacing away from you, then back, then away again, hugging at her arms, tears streaming down her face.

“Maggie. Calm down.” you try, desperately trying to remain calm, yourself.

“Jesus, I don’t know what happened! I just got so into it, and then you…”


“Maggie, please!”

“Oh, God, there’s so much blood!”

“GODDAMNIT! MAGUYUK!  STOP!!!” You bellow at the top of your lungs. Maggie, shocked out of her panic, completely deflates at your rebuke, her ears pressing flat against her head, and her posture hunching visibly.  
“Look, baby, I’m not mad, but I need some help here.” You try, reassuringly.  “D’you think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah, I … I… j-just give me a moment.” tail tucked tight between her legs, she comes back to the side of the bed, eyes focused firmly on her own feet.

 “Hey. Hey now…  Look at me, babe.” her eyes move up, but remain well below your own.  “Hey, c’mere.”  You reach up towards her with your good arm.  She refuses to look up, but sits at the edge of the bed, allowing you caress her under her muzzle.  Thumb massaging the side of her face - and wiping away some of the blood and tears - you gently pull her chin up until she’s facing you.  Her eyes remain pointed firmly down, unable to meet your gaze.
“Maggie, it’s okay.  It’ll be alright.” you try again.  This earns you a quick glance, but then she’s back to looking intently away.  Trying hard to avoid moving your left arm, you sit up and pull Maggie into a quick kiss.  She kisses you back hard, arms wrapping around you like a life vest in an ocean of chaos.
“Lets go downstairs and see if we can’t find that first aid kit.  I’ll talk you through what we need to do to patch me up.  It’ll be okay, alright?”

“O-okay” is all she’s able to manage, still shocked, frightened, and ashamed.

Speaking of shock, it hits you hard the moment you try to stand up.  You nearly fall forward, dizzy and confused, but Maggie catches you, and helps keep you upright.  The world spins, and you try mostly just to fight back the urge to puke.  She slides an arm under your good shoulder, hunching down to keep you from having to reach too far for support.  You grab your pants, still stuck around your ankles, and struggle through getting them back on.  Maggie for her part, keeps you steady.  As you get to the stairs, you both realize they’re way too narrow for you to make it down side-by side.  You move to let go of Maggie and guide yourself down, only to find yourself hoisted into her arms and being carried down the stairs bridal style.  

Normally, you’d absolutely refuse something this emasculating, but the post trauma shock is still in full swing.  Besides, it’s giving Maggie something positive she can do - a lifeline of control she can cling to.  She carries you over to the kitchen table, pulls out one of the still-upright chairs with a foot, and sets you down gingerly.  She heads off into the store room behind the kitchen, to try and find the first aid kit, while you focus on your breathing and try to get your head straight.  

You hear errant clattering and rustling from the back of the cabin, indicative of a frantic but fruitless search.  Maggie must really be freaking out - she’s the one who reorganized the pantry, after all.

“Baby, the kit’s in the corner to the right of the door.  Third shelf from the bottom.  Green bag.” you holler, sounding less calming than you’d hoped.  The worst of the spins and confusion are starting to clear, arcs of pain radiating from your shoulder rushing to take their place.  You notice you’re still bleeding profusely, trails of blood running down your front and into the fabric of your jeans.  “Grab some extra rags, and the ‘shine from above the fridge.”

Maggie appears a few moments later, carrying everything in a clumsy bear hug and dumping it out on the table, cleared off by tonight’s earlier antics.
“Alright, Maggie.  First thing, we need to slow down this bleeding.  Grab some towels and - uh - and apply pressure.”  You point towards the bag.  “Make sure you grab the sterile ones.”  She puts down the dish towel she’d just grabbed and roots through the kit until she finds a stack of cheesecloth rags in a cellophane pack.  She’s still shaky.  Tears are streaming down her face, and she’s desperately muttering apologies to you and to any deity that might be listening - like an incantation that might undo the damage if only she wills it hard enough.  You flinch 
and groan out a hiss as she firmly presses the rags to your shoulder, causing the pain to flare.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry! Is this alright?!” She practically begs, painfully aware of your reaction.

“Yeah, you’re fine.  Keep going” you wince, out.  Slowly the sharp pain of initial contact fades into the background.   Your shoulder throbs significantly harder, but it’s at least more manageable.  Maggie stands behind you, obediently pessing into your shoulder.  She’s shaking more now, the silence hanging over her like a guilty verdict.

Your heart breaking for your distraught wolf, you reach back and grab her right hand with yours.  She lets you remove it from the wound, shifting her left hand over to compensate.  You guide it down over your right shoulder, pulling down until she gets the hint and kneels down behind you.  You wrap her arm around your neck, nuzzling into her bicep.  She responds almost immediately, pulling you into a firm hug, and rubbing her head against yours.  You sit there for a while, letting the bleeding slow down while whispering quiet reassurances to Maggie and giving her the occasional kiss along her muzzle. She’s started to calm down some, now.  The crying has slowed to a trickle, and the worst of her shaking has stopped.

“Hey, can you hand me that dish towel you had earlier?” You ask, reluctant to break up the moment. 

“I thought you said it wasn’t clean?” she asks, hyper-aware of any corrections from before.

“Doesn’t need to be, just hand it over.” You take the offered towel, drop it in your lap, and grab the jar of shine. Being careful not to move your left arm too much, you open the bottle and take a couple of deep swigs before setting it aside. 

“Alright, now…  we need to clean out these punctures before we try to close them up.  There shouldn’t be any ‘stuff’ in there, but it still needs sterilized.”  Maggie pulls the rags off your shoulder as carefully as she can, but they’re stuck in places and she can’t do much about re-opening some of your cuts, or pulling the edges of others.  You grit your teeth and try to avoid tensing up. You don’t want Maggie feeling any worse about all this than she already does.

Finally getting a clear look at the damage, Maggie drops the rags, bringing her hands to her face. “Oh, Jesus!  This is really bad...  I’m so sorry!” she practically whimpers.

“Gee! Thanks, doc...” you mutter, the sarcasm spilling out of its own volition.

Before you can say anything else, you can practically hear Maggie’s heart breaking behind you.  A soft sob cuts like a hot knife through the calm you’d been building, and you can hear her start walking away behind you.
“Shit... I’m sorry honey! I didn’t mean it like that.  It’s not your fault.  I know you were just letting me know.  It’ll be alright.  You can do this.  I trust you....”
The whimpering doesn’t stop, but she comes back. Before you can say anything else, she’s wrapped her arms around you again, crying freely, and holding you tight like you might disappear at any moment.

“Yuh-you must hate me… I di.. *sniff*  didn’t want this to happen.  N-not any of it.” she pleads into your ear, barely audible through her shuddering breaths.  You wiggle your right arm free and reach behind you, catching the back of Maggie’s head and hugging it against yours with everything you have.  You sit for a while, holding each other tight while Maggie gets herself back under control.

“I love you, Maggie.  I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.  I know it was an accident… You must not think much of me, if you think I’d hold this against you.”

“NO! I… I didn’t mean it like that at all! I jus-”  You don’t let her finish.  Pressing her mouth closed, you turn your head and place and plant a lingering kiss on her cheek.

“I know, honey.  I know… Just please.  Stop beating yourself up.  Let’s finish up here and get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay, Nick…” she manages, much more composed.  “Tell me what to do.”

“Alright, let’s get these cuts cleaned out, and we’ll go from there.  Grab a syringe and some Hydrogen Peroxide.”

“Okay, got it”

“Wait, hang on.  Get the kitchen lights, would you?  Some bottled water, too, please.”  In your distraction, you only just realized that you’d been working in the dark.  While maggie gets the lights, you snag the kit, rifle through it until you find the ibuprofen, throw 4 of ‘em down the hatch, and wash it down with another mouthful of moonshine.  It won’t do much for the pain - that’s what the booze is for - but it’ll at least keep the swelling down some.  Last, but not least, you pull out a cheapo mouthguard stashed in one of the side pockets.

“Got the lights and the water, what now?”

“Clean everything out with peroxide, then rinse it out with that water.  When you’ve got that done, take a peek in the bigger holes.  There’s a flashlight in the front pouch of the kit.  Let me know how deep into the muscle you got, and whether it looks like any major blood vessels are nicked.  We can make a call from there if we need to head up to the hospital in Fairbanks.”

“I can do that... Stop me if any of this hurts, okay?”  She asks, getting the peroxide ready

“It’s a bit of a foregone conclusion for this part.  Just take your time and don’t mind me.  I’ll be alright.”  You toss the mouthguard in, and get the towel ready to catch the runoff.  No sense bleaching your clothes.  To her credit, Maggie is extremely gentle - if still a bit shaky - as she starts in on the first major puncture.  ...Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop the peroxide from lighting off raw nerves, sending electric arcs down your back and up your neck.  You bite down hard, and try to keep from tensing up.  The second major puncture goes much like the first.  Gentle hands mixed with the frenzied pain of a caustic antiseptic.  Trying to distract yourself, you focus on trying to mop up the drainage the runs down your front.

As she finishes up, maggie unexpectedly starts laughing.  It’s faint. Just a nervous chuckle, but after everything that’s happened tonight, it’s a welcomed change.
“It’s good to hear you laugh again.” you ask, looking to keep her spirits going in the right direction. “What’s up?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, just you.” she mentions, drawing a syringe of water and getting ready to rinse out the extra peroxide.

“Humor me?” you ask, trying to keep your tone as light as possible.

“Well…  it’s just you and that dish towel, trying to keep your bloodsoaked pants dry.  You know I’m going to have to use peroxide on them anyway, right?”

You chuckle a bit, buying time to think of a response…  “Fair point, but that’s stuff’s cold.  What say we hold off on washing ‘em until I’m done wearing them, ‘eh?”  
[it’ll do…]

Maggie makes quick work of rinsing out your cuts, her movements getting less shaky and more confident the second time around.  Thankfully, the water rinse is way less painful than the peroxide, Some of that might be the NSAIDs and the booze kicking in, though…
“Hey, Nick?  How do I know when I’ve rinsed enough?”

“When things stop fizzing, you should be good.  You’re probably going to have to have a look inside them before you try to dry ‘em off.  They’re liable to bleed some now that they’ve been washed out.  The water should make it easier to see in, though”  
Maggie splashes some water on your shoulder one last time, then pokes and prods around for a little while, occasionally pouring some more water to keep things clear.

“Umm…  I can see some torn muscle in there, but the bleeding seems manageable.”  
[Okay…  That sounds promising.  A 3 hour drive wasn’t sounding appealing tonight.] 

One last check before you make the call.  Carefully, you pull your shoulders back and shrug. You gasp out as pain lances through your trap. Things are bleeding again, but your shoulder does comply.  “Well…  it doesn’t feel like a full tear…  I think we should be able to deal with this ourselves.”

“Oh, Nick… I’m so sorry…” she whimpers, your pitiful display of a self check setting off her guilt again.

“Hey… Don’t worry about it! Baby, I told you before, it’ll be alright, and now I know we can handle this… ‘Tell you what.  Let’s not bother with stitches.  There’s a box of Steri Strips somewhere in the bag.  They’re like tape, but way better.  Just take one of those vials from the box, wipe some around the holes, then tape them shut with the little strips.  Don’t use too many, though, the holes are going to need some room to drain.”

Maggie gets to work on patching you up, reading packet directions as she goes.  You, for the most part, leave her be as she works, occasionally giving some minor corrections.  You’re especially careful to make sure she gets the tension on the strips right.  They don’t come off easy, and they can cause havoc if there’s a localized tight spot.  When she’s done, you have her give everything one last wipe with alcohol and cover everything up with a dressing to keep it from pulling in your sleep.

“Good as new!” you exclaim, standing up and giving your very much relieved wolfess a big one armed hug.  You stay like that for a while, letting the relief wash over her in waves.  For the first time since she bit you, her ears are forward and her gorgeous fluffy tail is back out from between her legs.  You reach up and bury your fingers deep into the fur at the back of her head, and pull her in for another kiss.
“Hey, you… It’s almost sun-up.” *massive yawn* “What say we go to bed, eh?”

You both head up stairs, opting to leave the mess in the kitchen for tomorrow.  ...uuuun-fortunately, the kitchen isn’t the only room the worse for wear.  When you turn the lights on in the loft, you’re greeted with a sight somewhere between a Pollock Painting and a murder scene.  Clothes are strewn everywhere, and the bed and floor are a mess of blood and sexual fluids.  Defeated, you sigh deeply, trudging over to one of the cupboards to get a fresh set of linens.  Before you can make it, though, Maggie calls you back over.

“Nick, don’t worry about all that tonight.  We can take care of it in the morning.”  You can see she’s pulled the bedspread and blanket off revealing (mostly) unscathed sheets. “Don’t worry about the blankets.  You’ve got me to keep you warm.” You can see some of the old confidence back in her eyes, tired though they may be. Her tail is even wagging.

“That your plan all along, Fuzzball?” you ask playfully.

“Maybe…  c’mere and find out.” she responds in a low sultry voice, eyebrow cocked suggestively.  You plop down on the edge of the bed and struggle through taking off your boots and socks - finally - then your ruined pants and boxers.  While you do this, Maggie slips behind you, rubbing your your back, letting out the occasional contented growl.  The instant your boxers clear your feet, you’re wrapped in a velvety embrace and pulled tight against Maggie’s chest. carefully, she pulls you into bed and onto your right side, laying down behind you as the big spoon.  With her left arm keeping yours stable, and her fuzzy warmth at your back, you’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.

Chapter 3:  Hangovers

<Nick>
You’re not sure what time it is, but it’s definitely way too early to be awake again…  also, who put the sandpaper under your eyelids, and why does everything hurt?  You lie still for a moment, letting your surroundings come trickling in. Your head is pounding and your stomach is tied in knots - likely courtesy of Julien's home brew. You’re home, thank God, and things are pretty good, all considered.  You’re lying on your own comfortable bed. There's a light chill on your front, but it's held easily at bay by the soft warmth at your back. You snuggle just a little bit deeper into Maggie's embrace, rubbing her forearm gently. You'll be good to wake up in a bit. Just 5 or 10 more… hours.

From behind you, a pained whine escapes from Maggie, her grip tightening around your arm and torso.  The cries grow louder as she begins shaking and twitching, as if in the throes of a nightmare.  You snap fully awake, knowing what’s coming next. You do what you can to shift your weight off her right arm without waking her. She doesn’t need to be aware for what comes next... She goes rigid, her left arm clamping around you like a vice.  Epileptic tremors rack her body as rapid shaky breaths force their way past clenched teeth.  You do what you can to comfort her, stroking her left arm and whispering reassurances to her.

The heat coming off of Maggie surges, threatening to scald you, even through her fur.  She releases you, rolling onto her back, her arms pressed hard against the mattress.  You roll out of the way as Maggie curls into a ball, hugging her arms around her legs.  She convulses so hard, you can hear bones snap and tendons tear, healing rapidly, only to splinter and tear again.  Slowly, the color starts to drain from her fur, going from a rich black to gray, peppered with silver.  As the change reaches its stride, things get hard to watch. Where muscles shrink faster than bone, her joints bend in obscene directions.  Where bone shrinks faster, muscle knots and cramps visibly.  The whole process only lasts a minute or so, but standing there, helpless to do anything, time seems to stretch onward into eternity.

Maggie, the lithe anthro wolfess you first met, lies before you, curled tight in the fetal position and shaking so hard she can barely breathe.  Her Jaw is still clenched tight, and her eyes are closed so hard that tears have formed at the far corners of her eyelids. Her breathing is shallow and rapid.  Pitiful half noises escape from between her clenched teeth, but she’s too exhausted to even whimper.

You walk around the edge of the bed, straightening the sheets knocked askew, before crawling back in behind her.  You slip your good arm around her waist and pull her tight against you, tucking her head under yours. You hold her tight while her spasms settle down, keeping gentle pressure on her waist and whispering soft words of encouragement in her ears. It takes a few minutes, but her jaw eventually unclenches, her breathing becomes deeper and more even, and her shaking settles down to a persistent shiver.  With Maggie seeming at least stable, you settle in to try and get a bit more sleep.

<Maggie>

I can’t remember what I was dreaming about, but it must have been good, as consciousness comes back to me so softly I don’t even twitch. My senses still dramatically heightened by the change, I drink in my surroundings, savouring every delicious sensations that come rolling in. Nick’s scent easily presses its way to the fore of my attention, made heady by last night’s exertions.  His smell mixes with my own, marking my fur… among other things… and making my head swim.  Even now, my insides itch just thinking about it.  The stale smell of fear sours things just slightly, and to my embarrassment, most of it is coming from me.

{How can he trust you so thoroughly when you can’t trust yourself?!}

[no...No.  No! NO! Snap out of it.  He’s here with you.  Asleep in your arms.  Focus on the here and now.  Don’t let the voice take hold…]  Trying to break that line of thought, I focus on Nick, curled up in my arms.  He’s out like a light, no twitching, no mumbling, just deep even breaths.  I give him a light squeeze, savoring the tight, dense, muscle running down his arm and across his chest.  He groans and stirs a bit, but I can’t tell if he’s awake just yet. Oh, my heart! He’s snuggling deeper into my arms, pressing his back into me! ...and rubbing up against my chest...  I forgot how much more sensitive the girls got during the change.  [Down, girl. Enjoy the moment.  Don’t ruin things by getting amorous now.]

A dark thought lances through my mind, as I can almost feel his flesh rend under my claws, I can almost taste his blood anew, almost hear his screams taper off into a whimpering gurgle...

*Whimper* [Oh no! Not now! Not yet!] My spine locks tight, the muscles of my back cramping so hard I can feel vertebrae snapping. Scalding heat flows out from my core, running through my veins, my blood boiling.  Every nerve in my body screams out in agony, as they all fire indiscriminately.  My muscles tense so hard I can’t move.  I can’t breathe.  My chest locks tight, as if wrapped in bands of glowing hot steel. A rib buckles under the tension. I can taste blood, hot in the back of my throat.

{He would die for you, you know?  ...will you hold him to it?!} 

[...that voice. Why won’t it leave me be?! Why can’t it focus on something else? ..why can’t I focus on something else - anything else?!] 

As the pain reaches a crescendo, something breaks through.  There’s an ice cold touch on my forearm trailing waves of relief through the searing pain radiating from my skin.  Reflexively, I grip him tighter, desperate for a lifeline from this torment.
“It’s okay, baby.  Just relax.  I’m here.  Don’t fight it. You’ll get through this..” his voice sounds muffled, distorted as if coming through a bad phone connection.  Still, it anchors me...

{You’ll hurt him.  You’ll cut him deeper than any knife could pierce…  Inflict more pain than any barb… He’ll wish for death before his time!}

Fresh agony springs from my paws piercing through the background din of pain.  I guess I must have dug my claws through my palms…  It feels almost detached… like a memory...

[Oh, Jesus! - Nick! - He’s still in my arms!]

Marshalling every last bit of concentration I have left, I throw my arms wide.  The command goes through garbled.  My shoulders over-rotate, dislocating only to violently pull back together, tighter than before.  My legs lift my torso high above the bed,hamstrings locking solid before giving out, dropping me back down in a spasming pile.  A fresh wave of agony shatters whatever control I had, as I curl into a ball, and sink inside my own mind.

I don’t know how long it lasted, or exactly what happened, but everything still hurts.  Christ, my HAIR hurts...  I can’t open my eyes.  I can barely breathe. ...when did everything get so cold?!

...

Warmth! I thought I’d never want to feel it again after the change.  Gentle pressure at my back…  A chin presses lightly on my head… an arm around my waist, pressing against my knotted diaphragm, coaxing it to release.  I… I can breathe again.  The whistling I didn’t even realize I’d been hearing starts to quiet down…  I can hear gentle breathing, and a voice.  … different, this time… Clearer. His voice. Barely a whisper.

“There, there. It’s over now. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Too exhausted to think anymore, I slip into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.

<Nick>
After another fitful hour or two of not quite sleep, you give up on trying to get caught up on rest and drag yourself out of bed.  No sense laying around until the moonshine /really/ starts to turn your guts.  Shambling over to your inset wardrobe, you dig up a fresh pair of undershorts and pants.  Shuffling around the loft, you hunt down your shirts from last night - No sense getting all new stuff before you get a chance to clean up... 

As you struggle through getting dressed, you notice Maggie is still huddled and shaking.  ...Might as well let her sleep a bit more while you get things going for the day.  Speaking of, you’re not exactly feeling in top shape, yourself, so you shuffle your way downstairs and into the pantry.  After a bit of rooting around, you find a Lemon-Lime Kool-Aid packet, a box of table salt, and the tin of sugar.  You head back into the kitchen and mix up a pitcher, using about a third the sugar called for and a couple of tablespoons of salt.  After pouring yourself a tall glass, you root around in your now thoroughly utilized first-aid kit for some K-Tabs and some more Ibuprofen.  You slam the first glass of Drunk-ade, using it to wash down 3 of each tablet, then pour yourself another.  You pour a mason jar of the stuff for maggie and, thinking for a moment, grab her a trio apiece of K-Tabs and Ibuprofen.

As quietly as you can, you sneak back up the stairs, carrying the jar and pills.  When you get to the loft, you can see she’s still scrunched up and shivering, but at least she’s still asleep.  You grab the blanket from off the floor and float it over her to keep her warm.  You leave the comforter where it is… y’all can decide whether to wash or burn the thing later.

You creep back downstairs to try and get started on your morning chores, buying your stomach time to settle before breakfast.  First things first, you get put the med kit back together, pitching the opened single use stuff, repacking the things that can be reused, and taking inventory of everything you’ll need to replace.  Finishing up, you lug the pack back to its designated spot in the pantry, making sure it’s facing the right direction and easy to see.  Next up, you get the kitchen back in order, resetting the table and picking up all the crap that got scattered in last night’s chase.  By the time you’re done, the Drunk-Ade has just about settled your stomach so you get the ball rolling on some eats.

Checking the fridge, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that Maggie has it fully stocked.  There’s a fresh crate of eggs, milk, cheese, and butter, a massive butcher’s pack of sausage, a merely large pack of bacon, and some rather choice looking cuts of deer(?) elk(?) Whatever - it looks good to you. Knowing what you’ve got in the fridge, you head back into the pantry and grab some dry goods.  Perusing what you’ve got available, you decide to keep things classic, albeit with a bit of a twist.  You scrounge up some flour, a can of diced chilis, an onion, a trio of potatoes, and a sack of raw hazelnuts from your orchard.  Ingredients pinched under both arms (your right more than your left), you waddle back into the kitchen and dump out your haul on the counter.  You track down your biggest skillet and cookie tray, fire up the oven and the stove, dump the hazelnuts on the tray, and toss ‘em in the oven.  

Bacon is the first thing in the pan, and you’ve got no intention of cooking healthy.  You keep the pan bottom laced tight in cured, frying, deliciousness, only pouring off the grease when the strips are well and truly drowning.  Even then, you leave a decent pool in the bottom of the pan.  Between turns on the bacon, you wash, rinse, and shred the potatoes for hash browns.  Halfway through cooking the pack of bacon, you finish shredding potatoes and move to chopping onions...

Fuck!!!  The Hazelnuts!  You drop what you’re doing, onion bits scattering everywhere, and grab a couple of towels. Dashing over to the oven... and you just about see stars when you try to yank the door open with your left arm.  You nearly fall over, dropping the towels and reflexively supporting your left arm with your right.  Uttering creative curses you didn’t know you knew, you gingerly pick up your dropped towels, pull the nuts out of the oven, and set them aside to cool down for a bit.  They’re…  well…  let’s call them “well tanned’, but whatever.  They’re going in a spread anyway and you can always doctor it up a bit.

By the time the pack of bacon’s fried up, you’ve got your potatoes mixed with some of the onion.  A bit of pepper, a heaping spoonful of garlic, and they’re ready to go.  It dawns on you that you probably shouldn’t have fried up the whole 2lb pack, but Whatever.  It’s bacon…  It’ll get eaten.

Nibbling on a particularly crispy strip, you toss the hash browns in the pan to fry. You pour a bit of bacon grease back in ahead of the potatoes, just to keep ‘em from sticking.  While waiting for your hash to brown, you get the ball rolling on your omelette fixin’s… and grab another piece of bacon.  You mix a half a dozen eggs with some milk, most of the chilis, and the rest of the chopped onion.  For giggles, you throw a bit of salt and some dried cilantro into the mix - some being a relative term.  Omelette mix ready, you just need to wait for the hash to brown.  ...and wait. ...and grab some more bacon  … and wait.

Screw it.  You give the hash browns a quick flip, then start in on the batter for some fancy-pants pancakes.  You get a soup pot out and throw it on one of the spare burners, setting it to low heat.  In goes some milk, a stick and change of salted butter, and a pair of eggs, all of which stay on the burner until the butter melts.  You splash in some ground nutmeg and almond extract for flavor, then throw flour at it until the batter and the omelette mix look about the same.  After a medium eternity - and several bacon strips worth of waiting [Fuck that boiling water analogy... A watched hash will never brown] - you’ve finally managed to get the pile of potatoes golden on both sides.  If there’s a silver lining to your golden-brown time sink, it’s that the insides are damn near steamed into mash.  You cut your portion from the pile, plate the rest for maggie, and remind yourself cook in smaller batches next time.  A little more grease goes in the pan, and so does some of the omelette mix.  You let the one side solidify while you help yourself to some hash browns (and some more bacon).

You flip the omelette - /your/ slightly burned omelette…  [shit, shouldn’t eat and cook at the same time] and kill the rest of your potatoes.  You manage to get your omelette - and some more bacon - down while you cook up a pair of omelettes for Maggie. Pan still hot, you turn the burner down just a fuzz, then go straight into cooking crepes.  After the first pour, you add a bit more flour to the mix, noting that it needs to be ‘beaten egg’ consistency and not ‘omelette mix’.  Oh well, scrambled crepes taste just as good as over easy.

By the time you’re done cooking crepes, your Drunk-ade is just about empty, your hangover is just about gone, and your stomach is just about packed.  You break out the percolator and throw some coffee on.  One last thing, then it’s onwards and upwards with brunch in bed.  You root around in the appliance cabinet, swearing and struggling as you try to exhume your ancient food processor one armed.  With a loud clatter - and a seismic shift of cookware you’ll deal with later - you emerge victorious with your prize.  You toss in the hazelnuts, a splash of oil and some salt, lock the lid, flip it on… and damn near jump out of your skin as the cantankerous old rock grinder of an appliance roars to life.
[Jesus! I didn’t realize I’d been so quiet until now.] 
You let it run until the nuts are whipped into smooth butter, praying that Maggie’s headache isn’t as bad as yours.  You figure you should taste test it - you know - just to make sure that everything’s in order.
[...huh. Damnmit…] *sigh* [I guess those Hazelnuts were a little less ‘lightly toasted’ and a little more ‘French roast’.]
… You sprint back to the stove and pull the percolator off the fire before you burn the coffee, too.  [Fuck, Nick…  You sure you aren’t still drunk?]
You pour yourself a cup and sip on it a moment, thinking of how to fix the bitter butter sitting in the mixer.  About your fourth sip in, it strikes you.  You get some of Maggie’s cocoa powder, some sugar, and some milk, and set about doctoring up your - let’s face it - burnt offerings. It takes you a couple of iterations - and enough racket to be heard back up at the pipeline - but you manage to kill the bitter aftertaste.  The chocolate hazelnut combo isn’t exactly bad, either!

Preparations ready, you stack the various plates of food on the breakfast tray, and head up to the loft.  You wind up having to make two trips, partially because you don’t want to spill scalding coffee everywhere and partially because carrying a mountain of food is awkward with your gimped left arm.  That’s the last thing on your mind, however, as you clear the last stair with the first load of food.  Maggie is burrowed deep in the covers, the tip of her little black nose the only thing visible.  Her shaking is almost completely gone, but from her huddled posture, she’s probably not feeling spectacular.  Setting everything from the tray on the bedside table, you’re pleased to see that her jar is empty and the pills are gone.  [...shoot, must have woken her up after all.]

You hurry back downstairs to collect the last few things you couldn’t get on the tray, mainly the coffee and some condiments.  You make it most of the way back upstairs before remembering to grab some cups and silverware.  You tromp back down the stairs, frustration competing with your desire to be discrete, then hustle back up to the loft a couple of cups heavier.

As quickly as you can manage, you set the tray down at the side of the bed and slide in next to Maggie.  She stirs a little, letting out an extremely cute, if pained, whine.  You roll over on your side, reaching out with your left hand to caress the far side of her muzzle.  The sharp pain of stretching your arm out is more than made up for by the soft comfort of her fur.  You run your hand down her jawline, pushing back the covers until you get to the base of her neck. You cradle her head with your hand, thumb pressing gently into her ear, and pull her into a light, chaste, kiss.
“Mornin’ darlin’.” you pause, kissing her again.  “Hope you’re feeling okay.”

“*mngh* Morning, love.” she mumbles, clearly still exhausted.

“I brought you a little something…  See if it might make you feel a little better.”

“Mhmm…  sounds nice.” she rolls onto her left side, scrunching further into a ball and burying her head deeper into the pillows.
[Okay, getting her up is going to require breaking out the big guns… ]
You roll away from her for a moment, leaning down to pour a cup of coffee from the percolator. Splashing a bit of cream into the mix, you roll back towards her, being careful to avoid spilling coffee everywhere.  Without saying another word, you run the cup past Maggie’s nose.  As it passes she follows it, sniffing deeply.  
*Sigh* “Okay, I’m up...  I’m up.  Breakfast smells great by the way, hon’.”

Maggie struggles her way out from under the covers, hardly able to push herself into a sitting position.  Too weak to sit up outright, she shimmies back against the headboard until she’s upright.  Unable to effectively help her from your position, you get up and grab the breakfast tray, waiting until she’s settled to set it over her lap.  While she finishes preparing her coffee, you get to work moving plates over from the bedside table, helping yourself to a bit more bacon while you’re at it.

Maggie starts out slow with the Crepes, eating a bit, waiting, then eating a bit more.  You note, with some sadness, that she’s probably testing the waters to see if she’ll be able to keep her food down.
“I wasn’t expecting breakfast in bed, much less fancy pancakes.”

“Nothing but the best for you, babe!”

“Mmm…  best burnt butter ever.  The chocolate was a nice touch, though…”

“Well fuck you too.”  You say as lovingly as possible, leaning in for a quick smooch.

“If you’re lucky, maybe…” she says, dropping an octave and snuggling up against you.  You lean into her as well, throwing your right arm around her slender shoulders, and pulling her into a one armed hug.  She looks up at you with her ice blue eyes, leaving you momentarily transfixed.

“Beautiful girl? …Cabin in the woods? ...a week all to ourselves?  If I had to say for myself, then yeah.  I’m pretty damn lucky.  Though I s’pose you’ll be the final judge of that.”   Pulling her tighter, you kiss her on the head for emphasis.  

“Well… breakfast isn’t exactly hurting your scores, hon’.” She almost growls, running her fingers across your chest.

“Then eat up, Babe.  We’ve got a long day before we turn in for the night.  Well…  long half-ish day.  It’s gettin’ towards noon, and the sun sets pretty early this time of year.”  With that last sentence, Maggie’s cute little wolf ears droop, reminded of the change to come this evening.
“Hey, don’t get so down about it…  Tonight should be the last one this cycle. Tell you what… I’ll make a big early dinner.  Should have you feeling like /you/ right after the change.  … Though if you were to ‘find’ some more venison tonight, I certainly wouldn’t complain!”

“I…  nevermind.” She still seems bothered, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it, it won’t help to pry.  For now, you clear the empty plates off the tray and grab some more from the end table.  As she eats, Maggie starts coming around a bit, slowly getting away from ruminating about her pending change and focusing more on plans for your upcoming week.  You discuss some of the books you both want to pick up when you make it back into town and talk about some of the things you’d like to do to the cabin.  You complain about the lack of indoor plumbing - well notwithstanding - and lament the cold winters that keep you from putting in a real septic system.  Maggie teases you for being a spoiled southerner, too used to warm weather and easy living.  Before long she’s killed the remaining omelettes, hash browns, and the sizeable mound of bacon you’d managed to not demolish, yourself.  You take the opportunity to grab the tray from her lap and set it back down off the bed.

“Well… you did forget to add cheese to the omelettes, but I think I might let it slide just this once.” She says with playful grin.  “Thanks again hon’!” With that she throws her arms around your neck, pulling you into a tight hug.

“*Hrk* Ow! Easy!” you shout, her arms pressing into your ruined shoulder shooting lances of pain to your very core.  She practically jumps off of you, her surprise at forgetting your injury morphing almost immediately into lowered eyes, flattened ears, and mumbled apologies.
“Hey, now…  it’s alright. Really! I told you before.  It’s not your fault.  Just need to take it easy on me for a while is all.” With that, you reach over, your left shoulder screaming in protest, and grab both of her hands in yours.  Tenderly, you guide them around your waist until Maggie gets the hint, diving into a firm hug and pressing her head into your chest.  You wrap your good arm around her back, pulling her tight and resting your chin on her head.
“I love you, babe.  Now and forever, whatever happens.  Your condition? my arm?  It’s all just noise.  I just want to see you happy.”

“How are you so calm about all this, Nick?! I’m a monster!” She almost cries, burying her face in your chest. “I still don’t know what happened…  Everything was so wonderful, then the first change came, and I became a beast.  You almost shot me! Plus, I’ve got these dark urges, and last night happened, and…”

“Maggie…  Maggie, please.  Stop for a second.”

“Nick, I just…  I can’t.  Let me finish, please.”

“Maggie… you remember the first time I saw you change?  What you said to me?”  Her face goes dark, dragged back to that fateful night.  You can almost see it yourself, the faint glow of radium dots leveled at the bridge of her long muzzle.

“I-i-it’s me…  It’s…. It’s your Maggie…” she barely whispers, sounding worryingly like she did that night. “C-c-can't *sniff* can’t you tell its me?”

…

Your focus shifts from the front blade of your sights to the eyes of the beast in front of you.  Those ice blue pools, set deep in the hulking figure before you…  leaking heavy trails down the side of its face. ...her face.  Tail tucked tight between her legs…  claws outstretched - no… hands raised. She’s terrified. You loosen your index finger, backing the trigger down from the wall.  Your Colt, moments ago an extension of your own hand, feels like a lead ingot, pulling your arms down. You manage to flip the safety on, before it falls from your hand, your feet numbly carrying you over to the crying hulk in front of you.  She’s shaking, now, one arm wrapped around her waist, one hand covering her face, heaving sobs wracking her body.

“This can’t be real.  This can’t be realA  Please, Nick, Make it stop! Nick, Say Something, PLEASE!”

By the time you stumble over to her, she’s collapsed against the wall, sobbing hard into her hand.  You hunker down, shifting to one knee.  You reach out to her, taking a pause you hadn’t noticed taking before, and slip your hand under her massive jaw.  You lift gently, pulling her face up to look towards your own. You hold her there, gently, until her hand falls away from her eyes.

“Maguyuk...

…

“Forgive me…  I lost myself for a second. Of… of course I recognize my own.”  ...it takes you a moment to realize you’re back in the here and now.  You take a few ragged breaths, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.
“The first time you changed, you came straight to me looking for help.  Does that sound like something a monster would do? Hmm?”

“N-no.”

“What happened the first few full moons after that?  Where’d you go when the change happened?”


“I… I hid in the woods.  I didn’t want you to see…”

“Doesn’t sound like a monster to me.  How about last night, huh?  When I got hurt, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so sorry or so worried.  It’s obviously still bothering you now.  That doesn’t sound very monster-y, now.  Does it?”

“I guess not…”

“Nor do I.  Hey, can I let you in on a little secret?”

“What?”

“ You were so beautiful last night.  ...I mean that.”

Maggie squeezes your hand, but looks away from you, not saying anything further.  You sit for a while, just holding each other. You notice Maggie start to fidget, struggling to twist enough to keep her hold on you while seated, so you lie back across the bed, pulling her down alongside you. Maggie responds in kind, curling up against your side. She shifts her her arms down a bit resting her head heavily on your chest. Right arm still holding her close to you, you rub her ears with your left.

Slowly but surely, you feel her tension drain, breaths coming deeper, even the hairs along her neck start relaxing. You let your right hand wander a bit, running your fingers through the plush fur of her back, massaging her neck at the top of its journey and rubbing her well curved hips at the bottom. Maggie lets out a small, pleased, growl, pressing her chest more firmly against your side and wrapping her leg around yours.

“How do you do that?” she asks, tilting her head up to look you in the eyes.

“ do what?” You ask, running your hand more firmly up her back.

“Make me feel like everything’s going to be alright.” She replies, the faintest undertone of sadness sneaking its way into her words.

“Just returning the favor. You don't have the market cornered on worry, after all!”

“What are you worried about?!” She sounds almost incredulous...

“Hahaha, presumptuous are we today?  Nothing that having you by my side can’t fix.” you lie, hugging her tighter for a moment. “Like I said... Beautiful girl, cabin in the woods, and a week all to ourselves? Let's make the most of it, eh?”

“Ok” she scooches up a bit, kissing you lightly on the lips.  You lie there a moment longer, staring into each others’ eyes before you pat Maggie on the back and nudge her to get up.  As she walks, naked, to her built in wardrobe, you can’t help but stare.  Even at 5ft 5, and even with her downy silver fur, her proportions scream lithe.  Taut shoulders give way to a narrow waist, her tail swaying suggestively in time with her perky ass.  *mnf* and those legs… you’d give about anything to follow them all the way up. ...again.

“Like what you see” She teases, looking back over her shoulder and flashing a toothy grin.

“Best view in Alaska” you respond, more jokingly than you feel.

“Apple polisher” She turns around in a mock pout.

“I prefer cherries, personally”

“Mhmm…  I’m sure you do” she growls out in a sultry tone.  Reaching the cupboard, she reaches deep into the bottom drawer…bending over far further than she possibly needs to…  and hiking up her tail, her jet black lips glistening in plain view.

*Wew* “Uhh… You know… That - uhh.  That work /could/ wait until tomorrow.  We do have all week, after all” You try, as Maggie pulls out a disappointingly comfortable looking pair of panties.

“Down, boy.” she teases, pulling on her favorite Pendleton flannel.  “I’ve got a mountain of laundry and you’ve got a road to clear” She glances over at you with a sly grin.

“So that really was you, then?” 

“Got you out of your truck, didn’t it?  Besides, that tree was dead anyways. It needed to come down and we could use some more wood for the stove.” she steps into a ¾ length jean skirt.
“Besides, we both desperately need a bath. I’m not sure if you noticed, but we made a bit of a mess last night.”

“I suppose you’re right” you ‘feign’ a disappointed frown.  “Give me a hand getting some water on the boil.  We’ll need all three tubs today.”

Chapter 4:  Bucking Wood

While Maggie finishes putting her clothes on, and starts cleaning the bedroom, you tromp back downstairs.  [Okay, enough playing around. Time to knock out the ol’ to do list.]  First things first, you get the ball rolling on dinner prep.  Maggie might love the taste of wild game as is, but you could never really get used to it.  ...blame it on parents whose idea of hunting was sweet talking the local butcher into cutting them a deal.  Whatever… easy enough to remedy.  You grab a Casserole dish from the pantry, the steaks from the fridge, and lay out the latter in the former.  You coat the steaks in powdered ginger, dried cilantro, some onion powder, and minced garlic.  In a mixing cup, you pour some soy sauce, some balsamic vinegar, a healthy squeeze of lemon juice, and a tablespoon of honey.

While you wait for the seasonings to bleed into the meat, you grab the wash tubs from under the sink and get to work filling them up.  Flipping open the pressurized tap, you thank God for the electric well pump Maggie insisted on having installed. Filling 6 tubs worth of water would have sucked immensely if you were stuck using the old manual pump sitting next to the tap.  Still, better to have it in case the Genny goes out.  As the first tub comes up on full, you go to lift it out of the sink, only to find that …well…  there’s no way you’re pulling an awkward 40+lbs of water out of the sink one-armed.  [To heck with it, time to send up the bat signal.]  Walking into the living room to get a better angle on the loft, you holler, “Hey Maggie, you got a moment, here?  I could use a hand!”

“Just a moment.  Coming!”
You hear her before you see her, tromping down the stairs with a stuttering gate, heaving a massively over-full laundry basket with every other step. Not thinking, you head over, meeting her about a third the way up the stairs and offering to help her with the basket.  Dodging your help with a quick “I’ve got it, hon.” and a side step, she continues down into the mud room behind the pantry.  
“What was it you needed a hand with?” she asks, stepping back into the kitchen.

“I don’t suppose you could give me a hand getting this tub up on the stove?”  Noticing her features drooping… again… you quickly add,
“I figured you weren’t feeling appreciated enough! Really, I’m asking for your sake, babe!” throwing in a head tilt and a wink for good measure.

“Oh, so glad you’re thinking of me, love.”  She piles on the sarcasm and walks back towards the stairs, a playful gait in her step.  As she reaches the landing she pauses,
“Though…  I suppose it would be nice to get at least /some/ appreciation around here.”

“Oh, I see how it is.  Guess I’ll have to do all my appreciating for me.” You ogle her blatantly, letting her see you stare. As she walks by, she gives you a light hip check. In turn, you give her butt a quick grope.  Looking over her shoulder, she sticks her tongue out at you.

“Game on, love.”

With each of you manning a handle, you quickly get the tubs filled, with two of them going on the stove and four of them going into the mud room.  If you’re being 100% honest with yourself, Maggie could probably lift the things on her own, but where would the fun be in that? Job done, Maggie heads back into the mud room, while you pour the marinade over the steaks.

As you wait for the water to boil - [isn't there a saying about that?] - you figure you’ve got an opportunity to go get your gear from the Highboy.  You consider hiking out to the truck for a moment, before promptly disregarding that whole notion.  There’s a month’s worth of gear in there, and you didn’t have much call to pack light.  That /is/ the point of a big truck, right?  [Whatever.  Time to go bug Maggie…] You stroll up to the door of the mudroom, and lean on the frame, striking as casual a pose as you can manage.  Maggie, meanwhile, has started sorting clothes by color and material on the back counter.

“Hey babe, have you seen the keys to /my/ Scout?” You ask, Cheshire grin in full effect and heavy emphasis on ‘my’.

“Funny, when did you get one?  You wouldn’t be talking about /my/ truck, would you?”

“Naah, I’m talking about mine.  You know.  The orange one with the white top.  Picked it up about three years ago?  Some cute girl talked me into letting her borrow it a while back. I’m just not sure where she left the keys.”

 “I’m not sure about all that…  Can’t you just take your /other/ truck?  Seeing as you have two?”

“Not until I clean up the mess /you/ made.”

“Says the man watching me sort /his/ laundry.”

“Shoot, I s’pose you got me. Okay,” *big dramatic sigh* “Fine…  do you have /YOUR/ keys  to /YOUR/ truck handy?”


“OH! Yes, of course! Why didn’t you just ask?!  I have them right here.” Turning around, she pulls the keys out of her breast pocket, drawing your attention to the tuft of fur teasing from out the top of her cleavage.  As you walk over to her, she holds them out to you, only to snatch them back away as you reach for them.  You stop for a moment, hands snapping to your hips, trying your damndest to shout ‘unamused’ telepathically.  As you stand there glaring, Maggie holds the keys out for you again.  Again, you grab for the keys, only for her to snatch them away from you a second time.  She smiles serenely, before sticking her tongue out at you again.
“What’s the matter dear, don’t you want to borrow /my/ truck?”

“Oh, babe,” you croon, changing tack and making your voice as sultry as possible, “There’s oh so many things I want.”  You step inside her radius, wrapping your right arm around her waist and pulling her hips against yours.  You lean in, craning your head towards hers.  She doesn’t even wait for you to pause, moving her lips to yours and locking you in a firm kiss. You break for a brief second, pulling back just far enough to look her in the eyes before diving back in for another taste.  You move your left hand to her right and… with a quick tug pull the keys from between her fingers.
“...and right now, one of them is the keys to the Scout.”
Cheshire grin back in place, you swoop back in for a last quick smooch from your now pouting wolfess.

“You’re no fun... Spoil sport.” She crosses her arms putting on a big showy display of disappointment.  

“Love and war, babe!” Still smiling, you turn on your heel and saunter back towards the front door.  ...albeit with a quick jaunt upstairs to snag your boots.  As you make it to the front door, you spot your day pack, placed neatly against the boot-bench next to the front entrance.  Checking it over, it appears neat and dry, with no signs of having spent the night outside.
“Aww, Maggie,” you shout, “thanks for bringing my bag in! I was worried it’d be sitting outside soaked from last night!”

“Oh, you mean /my/ bag?” she shouts from the laundry room, still getting things ready.  “I found it just laying outside last night, and brought it in.  Finders, keepers, after all.”

“You’re a riot.” You shout, checking through the contents.  “Seriously, though.  Thank you Maggie.  ...It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, honey.  I wouldn’t want your things to get ruined over some silly role play.”

You rummage through the contents, checking whether anything wound up broken.  A change of clothes, your toiletry kit, a water bottle, a fresh jar of Julien’s moonshine, some snacks, your work notes, and a couple of pulp sci-fi novels all appear to be undamaged, despite your dropping them the night before.  Last but not least, you check your pistol and Jackass shoulder rig.  What started out as the Colt 1911a1 your father used back in the old country now wears a Jim Hoag slide and barrel bushing, matched to your frame and lapped smooth. A cold hammer forged supermatch barrel with a beveled and polished feed ramp rides inside. A clearanced ejection port, spade grip safety, novak sights- their dots painted over with radium phosphor paint, cocobolo double diamond grips, and… why are you sitting here thinking through your build list?

In any case, you drop the magazine, click off the extended ambi safety, clear the round in the chamber, then give it a quick once over, rolling the gun end over end in your hands. The deep, glossy bluing of slide and frame shows your hazy reelection, nigh flawless save a single dent just ahead of the front sight post - a souvenir from the first night Maggie changed.  Arvid has offered to regrind and reblue it a couple of times, now, but you can’t bring yourself to have him fix it.

{… Are you really that scared of how close you came to ending her that night? Do you /really/ need a souvenir to remind you?}

 You snap back from your distraction, finding yourself rubbing the dent with your thumb… [shit, how long was I gone, there?!] Before you can start drifting back into your own thoughts, you press the loose round back into the magazine, slam the mag home, and snap the slide back, dropping a round into battery.  Safety on.  Gun In Holster at condition one.  Struggling a bit, you get your left arm threaded through the holster side of the rig then shrug your right arm into the mag holder side.  You snap the anchor ties around your belt, throw your hoodie over the ensemble, and head out to get your stuff.

Outside, you stroll to the side of the house where Maggie typically parks the Scout. A ‘72 v8 Rallye Pack, with a 4 speed.  It rides on 33in Formula Desert Dogs. The truck is stock, save for A DOM rollbar, tube bumpers, a big Warn winch, and a pair of KC Daylighters up front.

Climbing up into the truck, you're happy to see that Maggie has finally started to treat the truck a bit more like her own. Across the trans tunnel, a tote bag lays splayed open, tissues, brushes, Combs and various Knick knacks scattered within. A Caribou fur blanket covers the back seat, adding a homey touch to the otherwise spartan interior.  By far, the most intriguing addition is the small totem lashed to the transfer case lever with rawhide.  You start the truck, the engine kicking over on the half-crank but idling high under heavy choke.  While waiting for it to warm up a bit, you decide to look a bit closer at the totem.

Carefully undoing the lashings, you see it’s a fantastically intricate carving, though the style seems to stray a long way from what you’ve seen around town.  At the totem’s base sits what can only be a grizzly bear, it’s head hung low.  On its back rests a coyote its paws covering the bear’s eyes.  It’s head is tilted to the side, as if to whisper in the bear’s ear.  Between the coyote’s massive ears sits a frog - an oddity for an Arctic totem - its gaze fixed upward, as if looking to the night sky.  While beautifully made, everything about it feels just that little bit ‘off’ to you... [Eh, something to ask Maggie about later.]  You re-tie the totem to the shifter, careful to match the lashings Maggie used, and to keep the more delicate parts of the carving from rubbing against steel.

Satisfied that the engine’s warmed up (more or less) you ease the Scout out of the side yard, before backing it down the trail to where you left the Highboy the night before.  With you going in reverse, it takes a good minute or two before you make it to where it’s parked.  

*...huh.*  You’ve got to hand it to her, the girl certainly knew how to make DAMN sure that you weren’t getting around her roadblock.  The tree in question had previously been standing in a hardwood seam running as far as you could see in either direction.  The tall trunks of mature birch and aspen grew so close together, you’re surprised it managed to thread its way down to the ground.  What’s more, the upper branches are massively tangled with the trees on the opposite side of the road, effectively locking the tree in place.  There’s no way you’re going to be able to budge the thing - much less tow it out of the way - without carving it out from around the live trees and bucking the trunk into logs.  Now certain that you’re not getting the pickup back to the house, you walk around the fallen tree to get your stuff from the Ford.  

Four (okay, maybe 5) trips in, you’ve managed to lug all your gear from your truck into Maggie’s.  With the back of her truck now worryingly full of your stuff [seriously, how did we manage to fit all our crap back there before Otto sold me the Highboy?!  To think, he sold it to me cheap because “It is like a freight train on the highway to drive.” Hah! - It doesn’t handle any worse than the average grain truck!  What a sucker!]

Loaded up, you peel back towards the house, cutting the trip time way down with the Scout going in the right direction.  Not worried about keeping a clear path from the drive to the front door, you park just off the front steps, looking to minimize the amount of walking you have to do loaded down with gear.  Grabbing juuuust a bit more than you should for a single trip, you frog march your a duffle bag up the stairs, a similarly huge bag hanging off your back.  As you come barging through the front door, Maggie jumps from her spot on the couch, almost falling over.  Apparently she must have finished sorting clothes, and figured she’d try to sneak in a bit of reading while waiting on the water to heat up.  “Jesus, Nick!  I about jumped out of my skin!”

“Couldn’t hear me coming up the steps, there, radar?” You jest, tilting your nose toward her ears.

“I’ll have you know, I was just getting to the good part of my book.”


“Oh, was the brave explorer about to - ahem - tame the noble savage?” you waggle your eyebrows for cheesy effect.

“Jesus, you’re terrible!  You’re lucky you’ve got better moves than ol’ Hawke Smith, here.”

“Mmmh, well you’re just such good inspiration, my little savage”

“Wow, you really don’t want to get any - any time soon - do you, dear?”

“Only *hmmph* playing, love.” You grunt out, lowering the duffel in your right hand, and heaving the one off your back.

“Seriously, though… You need a hand bringing anything in?” She asks, setting her book on the end table.

“Naah, I got it.” You reply, a bit more winded than you’d like to admit.  “Besides.. these two are all yours! Mostly dirty laundry.  Let me know if you want a hand dragging them into the mud room.”  Maggie sighs deeply, rocking back to heave herself up from the couch. The irritation seems genuine this time.  “Sorry, babe.  Too, too much?”

“No…  no.  It’s alright.  Just thinking about how tall the pile is already.  Plus I still have to go through all my stuff from work, too.  Then… Then I have to try and save the bedspread and your clothes from, well… last night...”

“Hey... Hey now, babe.  If you feel like you need a hand, all you have to do is ask.”  Upon hearing that, she softens a little, likely relieved at the affirmation that your earlier banter about appreciation was really just that.

“Don’t worry about it, Nick.  I’ll manage.  Besides, you’ve still got dishes to wash, and I’m not sure I trust you around my delicates.”  Her playful tone change at the end puts you at ease.  You’ll take a girlfriend who’s throwing jabs over one who’s shutting down any day of the week.

“Says the woman who shrank my favorite shirt.  ...even if it does fit you nicely now.” You grab at the hem of her flannel, pulling her close and rubbing noses.  “You sure you didn’t do that on purpose?”

“You sure it was me and not Steffen who ‘shrank your shirt’?”

“That’s Rich, coming from someone who out-eats me two to one!  C’mon.  Let’s get these bags to the mud room, then we can grab the hot water.  It really oughta be done cookin’ by now.”  The both of you head to the back of the house, each carrying one of the massive duffel bags to be sorted.  Before dumping your bag on the ground, you give a quick look to the piles Maggie made, noting where she put darks, lights, and whites, and where she drew the line between work clothes and delicates.  Unzipping the bag you carried in, you pull your pre-sorted dirty laundry out in big groups, more or less mirroring what she’d already done.  You don’t say a word, though you take a moment to glance back at your wolfess.  She’s done much the same as you have, opening the bag she carried in, only to find your clothes pre-grouped for easy sorting.  A small smile plays across her face if only for a moment, your earlier efforts to minimize her work noticed immediately.  Before she can pull the first armful, you’ve got your bag emptied into the appropriate groups, and hung up on the wall to air out.

As you pass, you hear a quiet, “Thanks, Nick” from Maggie, her hand brushing against yours. “...Though if I find out you really do know how to do laundry, it’s your job next time.”

“That a chance you want to take?”

“Not a chance in hell, monkey boy! I've seen how you clean dishes. I swear one of these days you’ll bleach the white off the china!”

“Well there you have it, then.  Let me give you a hand with the water, then I’ll get the rest of my stuff.”

You and Maggie grab the now nearly boiling water off the stove, mixing some of it into your rinse tub, some of it into her washing machine, and setting the rest aside for your scrubbing tub.  She gets to work on the first load of clothes while you head back to the Scout for the rest of your gear.  Three trips worth of outdoor equipment and furnishings later, you’re ready to start in on the dishes. You set up in the mud-room as well, ostensibly to minimize the chances of spilling soapy or bleach-y water in the house, but mostly to let you spend time chatting with Maggie.

You power through the dishes and silverware, knocking everything out before she’s managed to get through rinsing and wringing out the second load.

“God you’re slow” you joke, grabbing the laundry basket with the clean - if still damp - clothes.  “At the rate you’re going, you probably won’t get to these” You point to your well lived in shirt, “ ‘till our next week back from the trailhead.”

“Hey, I’m almost on load three, here, mister!  If I run out of stuff to wash before you get the sauna ready, I’m /TAKING/ them from you.  Then you’ll have to run outside and build the fire naked!”

“Is that a challenge or an invitation?” You give her your best fake sultry look and cock an eyebrow.  “You sure you don’t just want to see the goods?” You do your best strongman impression, flexing your chest, shoulders, and arm, all while maintaining the same goofy expression.

“If I wanted to see ‘goods’ I’d have invited Julien over.  As it stands, you’re extremely lucky that I happen to like your ‘okays’.” she declares, trying - and failing - to keep a straight face.

“You /WOUND/ me dear!” You look away bodily, throwing your right arm over your eyes and generally putting on a display that would make a high-school play-actor cringe.  Holding your pose, you ‘surreptitiously’ sneak a long glance to gauge her reaction.  Maggie, for her part, has folded her arms over her chest, trying for incredulity, but failing to keep a goofy smile from creeping onto the edges of her muzzle.

“Fine… bring those ‘okays’ over here.” Without any further prompting, you stride over, wrapping Maggie up in your arms.  Apparently, goofy smiles must be contagious, because as you press your forehead into hers, you can’t help the one spreading across your face.  Savoring the comfy moment together just a little bit longer, you tilt your head to the side, letting her move in for a quick smooch.  
[Jesus, even after last night she smells amazing...]  As much as it pains you to do so, you loosen your arm around her, but wait for her to pull away before heading back into the front of the house with the clean clothes.

Back in the main living area, you pull the clothes lines from the ‘dining room’ wall, and stretch them across the cabin, width-wise, to the hooks in the ‘living room’.  Tossing another log into the wood stove, you pin the laundry up, putting the heaviest (and least likely to shrink) stuff nearest the stove.

While you’re up and about, you take the opportunity to ‘clean’ your cast iron skillet and pot. You fill the pot with some water, maybe an inch deep, and put it on one of the burners. Leaving that to heat, you take the pan that you’d used for cooking everything, give it a quick scrape over the garbage, then set it on a burner as well. You wander over to the pantry to snag a bit of steel wool and arguably the greasiest rag in the world.  By the time you’ve found your cleaning utensils, the pan is already starting to smoke.  You give it a quick buff with the steel wool, brushing away the last of the crepe crispies, before pouring a bit of the bacon grease in and smearing it around with the rag.  You stick it on the burner for a  minute or two to season up, before cutting the gas to let it cool.  Once the pot comes to a boil, you scrub the caked on batter out of it using the wool and the scalding water.  When it’s clean (enough) you walk the pot over to the kitchen window, toss the water outside, and give the pot the same treatment as you did the pan.

Your part of the cleaning wrapped up, you head back into the mud room to check on Maggie's progress. 
“Hey, slowpoke! How's it coming?” you ask, as she cranks the last few clothes of the second load through the wringer.

“It was going swimmingly until just a second ago. Why, what's up?”

“Well, I figure you're probably about ready to change out water and it's already getting to be a little late in the day. What say we try to get that tree cleared out of the road?”

“What do you mean ‘we’? I've still got a mountain of clothes to go through.”

“Yeah, and that's a big-ass tree you decided to drop on our driveway. I'd kinda like to have another person there while I’m using the saw.  God forbid something happens while I’m working, at least there'll be someone there to laugh at my misfortune.”

“Well…  when you put it like that, I suppose I could tag along.” You grab the dishes and Maggie grabs the second load of laundry before you head out to put things away.

You both pile into the Scout and head out to the tree. Hopping out of the driver's seat, you leave the keys in the ignition and Maggie sitting in the passenger seat, clearly lost in thought. You're tempted for a moment to shake her out of it, but you've already spooked her once today and don't want to make a habit of it. […Might lose its impact after a while.] Slamming your door shakes her from her thoughts and she follows you over to the highboy. You drop the tailgate and  climb into the bed, a maneuver made decidedly more awkward using only one arm. Popping the ratchet straps securing it under the bed box, you grab the chainsaw case and yank it out. You crack the case, pull the saw, and give it a quick once over. Fuel tank is still pretty full.  Plenty of chain oil in the reservoir.  Chain's even tight! Off to a good start.

“Hey Maggie!” You call, popping open the bed box, “give me a hand, here!” you grab a couple of lengths of webbing, some chains, and a pair of massive pry bars, handing them to her, one by one, over the edge of the bed.

“What do you need all this stuff for?! It's just a quick buck and drag!”

“Babe, you dropped the thing into a grove. There's no way we're getting it out without breaking it out limb-by-limb, and I'm not sure if you noticed but I'm not exactly 100%, here.” You wave your left hand from the elbow for emphasis, letting your upper arm hang limp. “We'll start with the loose branches at the top and work our way down. I'll hack away with the saw, and you guide the branches. /Try/ to keep them from pinching the bar, eh?”

“You know, I've done this before. With you. I know how to break down a tree.” Maggie makes no effort to hide her indignation. You might have stepped over a line there, but hey. It’s bound to happen when you’re trying to keep up the banter.

“Just trying to keep it light, dear.” you suppose you'll have to keep her spirits up some other way. ...something to worry about later. Right now? It's go time! You snatch up the saw by it's front handle, standing upright and walking straight off the tailgate, springing off your trailing leg to keep from tripping. You land on your leading leg, letting the impact press you into a deep crouch. Without breaking stride, you stand back upright and walk around to the front of the truck, trying to work out where to start. Without thinking, you try to shift the saw from your right hand to your left. Pain explodes from your shoulder, shooting down your arm and into your fingertips. You hold tight, fighting the urge to drop the thing.  Part of it is that you don't want to worry Maggie, part of it is that you really don’t want to bust up your saw.

<Maggie>

The ride out was quiet, something I normally love,  but today it just gave my mind a chance to wander places I wish it wouldn’t.  Even the smells of the forest couldn’t keep the thoughts about my new reality from closing in.  I know /I/ would never hurt someone like that intentionally, especially Nick.  The way it seemed to /revel/ in it though…  To hold it over me.  I just don’t know.  Can I even trust myself at this point?!  I tried to distract myself earlier, making a bit of progress on ‘The Last of the Powhatans’ but I just kept getting side-tracked thinking of the parallels to my life.

*Whump, THOCKA Thocka thocka...* the tell-tale rattle of glass inside the door signals Nick’s exit from the truck and snaps me back to reality.  God, I wish he’d close the doors a bit more gently, that rattle is only going to get worse the more he slams it.  [...Heh, I guess I must have been serious when I said this was ‘my truck’ after all.]  He’ll probably need a hand with something, so I hop out of the Scout and follow him around to his truck.  He must really be in a hurry, here.  By the time I make it around the stump and over to the bedside, he’s asking me to pull rigging out of his tool box.  That, and a couple of digging bars.  [What do we need those for? We should just be able to chop the thing at either edge of the road and drag the center back to the house!]

“What do you need all this stuff for?! It's just a quick buck and drag!”

Nick goes on about how the treetop is all tangled and how this is going to be so much work.  [Come on…  I dropped the tree without taking out any of the healthy ones.  I didn’t pinch a blade.  I didn’t have it walk.  I didn’t need someone with a guide rope, either.]  
“You know, I /have/ done this before. With you. I know how to break down a tree.” 

“Just trying to keep it light, dear.”  He doesn’t seem to get why it bothers me, and it seems like he’s set on cutting up everything.  I guess if he wants to play, that’s fine.  Just so long as we get dinner and a bath taken care of before sun-down.  He practically leaps off the tailgate, trying just a /little/ too hard to play it cool.  Strutting around to the top of the tree, he shifts the saw to his bad arm, and goes stiff…  Oh, Jesus, he shouldn’t be doing this. He’s going to hurt himself.  I can’t help my ears from pressing back, and my tail from tucking.  Thank God, he can’t smell fear.

VERY carefully, he sets the saw down on the ground, priming the carb and generally checking things over before starting it up.  Okay... things definitely aren’t right.  Even with a big bore saw, Nick always pull starts the the thing from a hold. If he’s trying to put me at ease, he’s doing a terrible job of it. He drops a stick inside the front guard, pulls the choke, stuffs one foot in the rear handle, and the other on the stick.  He takes a couple of half-hearted pulls, his left arm tucked up against his side.  It hurts to even watch.
“Honey, are you sure you want to do this today?  We’ve got all week before I need my truck.  We’re going to take yours to town anyway.  Please, let’s just go back to the house.”

“Don’t worry about it, Maggie.  I’ve got this.” [Waaay wrong response.]  I feel my hackles stir.  “Besides, we’ve got plenty of daylight, still.  I don’t want to have to transfer everything from truck to truck when we get back from town.” [Is that /irritation/ in his voice?!]

“Okay.  Nick...  Just be careful.”

“C’mon babe, I’ve got this. “ He turns away, grabbing the pull-cord yanking ferociously.  The saw actually comes up off the ground when he runs out of rope.  He goes again and then once more, the saw snapping to life on the third pull.  His right foot was so far into the handle, he had to wiggle it back out, the saw screaming away at full throttle the whole time.  I’m so worried for him, I feel nauseous.  Defeated, I hop into the driver’s seat of the pickup, slamming the door hard behind me.  If he’s too hard headed to think through what he’s doing, then he’s hard headed enough to do it on his own.  Still, I put my best glare on, and cross my arms.  Maybe he’ll look back, and think better of this foolishness.

Nick doesn’t even glance my way…   /Gingerly/ picking up the saw, he hikes it over to one of the closer upper branches.  He starts cutting, keeping the saw in tight so he can keep his arm tucked up against his chest.  As he presses through the first cut, my nerves fray further.  He doesn’t have the bucking spikes against the log like he told me to do, and the bar is walking all over the place.  When the branch finally breaks away, the saw drops with it, almost falling out of his hands.

I roll the window down, cranking away as fast as I can.  “Nick, please!”I shout at him,  Sticking my head out of the cab, “Let’s just go get dinner and get cleaned up.  You’re scaring me!” Whether he can hear me or not, he doesn’t respond.  Instead, he goes for another limb, just a little further in.  He heaves the saw up with his right arm, his left more or less along for the ride.  The bar catches on the limb - JUST - bouncing around a bit before finally biting in.  Try as he might, Nick can’t seem to keep the saw in position.  As it slips further and further away from the cut, the tip of the bar bites in, then bucks hard.

“NICK!”  Time comes to a stop as my heart climbs into the back of my throat.  I swear, I can see the individual teeth sailing along the top of the bar, as it flies upward towards his head.  I can’t stand to watch,looking away as I grapple madly for the door handle.  I spill out of the cab, almost tripping over my skirt in my rush to get to him.  Looking up, I see arguably the most beautiful thing in my life.  Nick is standing upright, the saw idling away in his right hand.  He mops his face with his left hand, ducking his head so he can run his hand through his hair.

“NIKOLAS BODHAN! You put that saw down.  NOW!!”  I don’t think I’ve ever been so mad at him.  I storm over, Teeth bared, ears forward, and hackles up.  To hell with Decorum.
“What is /WRONG/ with you?! Don’t you care about yourself? Don’t you care about me?!” He stares blankly for what feels like forever, but he eventually complies, thumbing the kill switch before setting the saw, tip first, on the ground.

“Look, Maggie, I’m sorry.  What do you want from me?”  I can’t take it anymore.  I slap him hard across the face, red lines forming across his cheek.  I can feel tears rolling down my my own and into my fur, but I don’t care.

“I want you to think about you!  About us! What would have happened if that chain caught you?!”
He pauses for a second, apparently caught off guard.  He goes to say something, catches himself, tries again, stops, and settles on standing there, his head cast down.
“Nick...  I love you so much.  I never want anything bad to happen to you... I couldn’t stand to see you get hurt, and here you are risking yourself for what?”  As he stands there, shaking a bit, I can’t help myself.  I throw my arms around him, catching him at the elbows and squeezing as tight as I can.  “ I need to know, Nick.”  I sob into his shirt... “Why?  Why wouldn’t you stop?”

“Maggie, I…  I don’t know.  I guess I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”  He tries to put his arms around my waist, but I just squeeze tighter, earning a wince from him.  “I…  I guess I was trying to show that I was still alright?  ...that I could still take care of things on my own.  Look, I’m sorry.  I was being stupid.  I should have paid you more mind.  I’ll try to be a bit more careful in the future, I promise.”

“T-thank you nick.”  I don’t let go of him, but I loosen my grip, just a bit, letting him shift my arms up above his elbows so he can hug back.  It takes me a while to get myself back under control, the anger having melted into a leaden pool of guilt and regret in the pit of my stomach.  Still, I can’t shake the irritation that he’d be so oblivious about my worries or his own safety.  Then it hits me! The perfect opportunity to show Nick how frustrating a hard headed partner can be.

“Hey Nick, how about we get back to work?”  I ask, finally able to force a bit of calm confidence back into my voice.  I shift my grip around him, running my paws up then down his arms.

“Sure, just let me get everything put back away in the truck and we’ll head back to the house.”  As he turns to go and grab the saw, I put a paw on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“Honey, that wasn’t what I meant.  Like you said, we still have plenty of time, and clearing up the road will make everything better.  Let me do the cutting.  You can help guide the branches for me.  You know, help keep the blade from getting pinched.”

He turns, ready to say something, but catches himself.  After a moment’s pause, he moves out of the way, his jaw clenched.  I feel a little guilty as I step forward and heft the massive saw, thumbing the ignition switch starting it with a half pull.  I can tell this is burning him up, but then that's the idea.

I pick up where he left off, starting with the branch he half finished.  Taking care to keep the body of the saw up against the cut. I walk the chain through the branch, letting the bumper spikes drive the bar.  In seconds, the limb is down, falling hard, and smashing into my shin.  ...okay, that really - REALLY - hurt.  ...must. ...Not.  ...Flinch.  A skirt was a bad decision for today… Okay, it’s settled to a background throb.  Time to call in the cavalry.
“Hey Nick, could you help me with this?”  Irritation flashes over his features for the shortest of moments before he squashes it, again clenching his teeth.  ...for not having a tail, hackles, or movable ears, humans really are easy to read.

Somewhat reluctantly, Nick moves to the next branch he’d have chosen, grabbing it with his right arm and pulling bodily down on it.  Okay, if he wants to call the cuts, I’m fine with that.  I lay into it the branch just above where it meets the trunk.  Nick’s help, the cut opens nicely.  As the saw reaches the end of the cut, Nick picks up on the branch a bit, keeping it from splitting at the bottom. We work like this for a couple of minutes, taking most of the bigger limbs off wherever they’re hanging off the ground.  As we work, the main trunk of the tree rises little by little, pressed up by the limbs still resting against the ground.  As we pick our way through the branches, Nick’s mood seems to sour.  Irritation gives way to disappointment, as though he’d lost something.

“Hey, Maggie, hold off for a moment.” Hearing him finally say something put into sharp relief the quiet that had fallen between us.
“That ought to be plenty for now.  Let’s get some of this stuff chopped up so we can focus on the trunk.”  With that, he grabs the nearest limb and drags it over the edge of the trunk, giving me about a foot and a half of suspended wood.  I cut the free end, letting the log drop away.  Nick immediately shifts the limb, giving me another free length to cut. We do this for the remaining branches, bucking them until they’re too small around to make useful logs.  Once we run out of limbs, he starts stacking wood under the trunk near where it split off into branches.  He stabs the pry-bars deep into the ground on either end to keep the pile from shifting.  

“Maggie, start here.” he points to the furthest spot up on the trunk,  just below the branches holding it up.  “Cut just a little bit on top, then go from the bottom.  BE CAREFUL. ...please.”  Funny, it’s almost like he’s worried for me.  I wonder if he sees the parallels here…

Either way, he knows what he’s doing with this sort of thing, so I follow his lead. I cut a quick v-notch in the top of the trunk, then slip the bar under the log, in (more or less) the same spot as the notch.  Cutting upward, I can feel the tree start to droop around the saw, the top and bottom starting to bend away from each other and shifting ominously.  As the main trunk touches down on the log pile, I breathe a little easier, continuing the cut until the top pulls free.  The top drags the saw with it, nearly pulling it out of my hands, but I manage to keep the bar out of the dirt.

“Nicely done.” letting the saw idle down and setting it aside, I see Nick standing across from me, chewing a nail, his left forearm wrapped across his waist.  For being as worried as he was, I’m more than a little impressed that he didn’t get over-bearing or try to stop me.
“Okay, we’re almost there.  We’ll save bucking the big log properly for another time, but we do need to cut it in half so we can get it back to the house.  You got one more in you?”  

“Why didn’t we just do that in the first place, then?” I ask, a little irritated that he's  taking my original suggestion as his own...

“Simple.  The whole thing was held up by its branches, and locked into place by the other trees.  If you’d have cut the trunk in the middle, the top half would have dropped to the ground, still locked in against the other trees.  We’d have never gotten the second cut all the way through, at least not without cutting trenches with the saw.”

“Oh... Well alright then.”

“Just like before - Wait, let me get a choker around each end. It'll be easier than us trying to roll them after they're cut.” He grabs the chain, double-wrapping it around the larger of the logs - or soon to be logs - and sets a webbing choker set around the smaller one.
“Okay.  Like I said.  Notch the top, then cut from below.”  I fire up the saw one last time. Just like before, I start into the cut, making a small-ish V. Before I can get the bar under the cut, I get a tap on the shoulder, and a quick request from Nick.
“Go deeper on that top notch.  It’ll make the breakaway more gentle.  I don’t want this under-cut any more sketchy than it already is.”  I don’t respond - no sense in both of us shouting over the saw - but I do cut the notch a good bit deeper before switching to the undercut.  Just like he mentioned, the lower cut opens much quicker than the previous one, with the two halves of the log dropping softly to the ground before I’m all the way through.  Once down, it’s easy for me to slice through the remaining few strands connecting the two logs.

Final cut made, Nick tosses the tools into the back of his pickup, then walks over to my truck and pulls it up next to the larger log.  Without a word, he loops the chain around a tow hook, climbs back into the cab, and backs the truck up, pivoting the log to one side of the road.  He repeats the process for the second log, though he drags it significantly further up the road.  Hopping out again, he tosses me the keys to /his/ truck.
“Pull up past the second log, here, then back up to where the choker is.  I’ll hook it to the tow hitch.  We’ll drag them back behind the wood pile by the house.”

“Why don’t you drive your truck, and I’ll take mine?”

“Mine’s an auto, yours needs driven backwards up the driveway, and I don’t feel like changing a clutch this week.” I’m a little taken aback by the terse response, and a lot aback by his questioning my driving.  ...Then again, I suppose he’s been a little touchy since I yelled at him.

“C'mon. Let's get to it!” he calls, shaking me from my train of thought. With him already walking over to the log in question, it's clear he's not looking to discuss the matter, and I don't really feel like having another argument. Climbing into the pickup, I'm reminded how much I hate driving this thing. It's like a train with a steering wheel. I start the truck, give it a few seconds for the engine to smooth out, then pull past Nick. He stands next to the log while I throw it into reverse. As I get backed up to about where I think I should be, a loud *thump* scares the hell out of me.  I stand on the brakes and throw the truck into park.   [...oh God, what'd I hit?!]  Looking out the back window, I can’t see Nick! I jump out of the truck, running back to see if he’s alright.  As I round the back of the bed, Nick pops up from behind the truck, like nothing happened.
“You’re all hooked up.  Follow me back to the wood pile.”

“What was that thump?!” I ask, relieved but still on edge.

“Oh.  Yeah, you missed my signal to stop, so I smacked the tailgate.  You got closer than I’d have liked, but you’re alright.  I need to get you some more practice backing up.”  Wow…  He really must be bothered to be that blunt.  Apparently done with the conversation, Nick has already walked over to my truck, hopped in, and is backing up the drive.  Feeling a bit defeated, I climb back into the pickup, and follow him back behind the house.  We get the logs dropped off and the tools put back away without incident, but Nick still seems distant.

Cooking dinner, it’s more of the same.  I offer to help with whatever I can.  Nick asks me to chop some vegetables for stir fry, but doesn’t comment further. While I work on the vegetables, Nick gets some rice going in the pressure cooker, then heads out to get a fire going in the Sauna. It takes me a while to get the broccoli, onions, peppers, and mushrooms cut to size. Claws may work great for most things, but lining up food for dicing isn't one of them.  As I'm wrapping up, Nick tromps back into the house. It seems like he closes the door harder than strictly necessary, though I can't tell if I'm just hearing things.

“Fire’s on and the rocks are soaked down.  It should be ready to go by the time we're done eating.” Still so clinical… I wish he'd play off the joke about not needing to work naked. … At this point, I'd even be happy if he started yelling at me. At least he’d say for sure what's bothering him.

Starting with the rice, Nick cracks the cooker open and splashes in a little rice wine vinegar. He pulls a pair of skillets from the wall rack and sets both of them on the stove. He starts frying up the rice, using tons of butter. While it browns, he throws the veggies and some oil into the other pan. I'm a little surprised that he didn't preheat anything, but at this point I don't know if I should mention it. As if to try and compensate, he turns the burners up as high as they'll go. Before long, both pans are smoking heavily, with the distinct smell of charred food coming from the stove.

“Nick, please. It smells like things are burning. Could you please turn the stove down?”

“What? It's fine. Look.” He flips the food in both pans with a spatula showing browned but not blackened rice and blanched but not burned veggies. Leaving it at that, he lets the food cook for a couple of minutes, constantly stirring one pan or the other.
“Hey, Grab me the soy sauce, the garlic, and the ginger. Quick as you can.”
“...Please.” he adds, almost as an afterthought. Not wanting to provoke him further, I rush to the fridge, then the pantry, grabbing ingredients as I go. Just as I find the last of the things he asked for, he calls out “Just remembered. Honey too, please.”

I run the first batch of requested ingredients to him, before hurrying back into the pantry to track down the honey. In my rush, it takes me a couple of tries before I remember exactly where it's at. Slightly winded, I dash back into the kitchen brandishing the jar.
“Thanks, babe. Appreciate it.” He says offhand, taking it from me. I'm almost ashamed to admit how nice it is to hear his favorite pet name for me again. Nick spoons a healthy dollop into the veggies, giving them a last thorough mixing flipping the pan’s contents with a flourish. Shortly after, he dumps the contents of both pans into separate serving bowls. 

After a quick deglazing and re-oiling if the pans, Nick throws them both back on the burners - still turned all the way up. When the oil starts smoking, he sets a pair of steaks into each pan. While Nick cooks, I lean up against the counter next to him. I want more than anything to chat with him like we did earlier today, but I just can't seem to think of the right thing to say. The steaks don't take more than five minutes, but the silence makes it feel like hours.

Looking for something to do, I fish out place settings for both of us. As I start setting the table, though, Nick stops me.
“Maggie, just bring those plates over here. I need something to set the steaks on when they're done.”

“Oh… okay.” I mumble, defeated, before bringing them over to him.
“Can I- Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Sure. Could you grab me a beer?”  Perhaps a bit too eagerly, I head to the fridge, snatching a can and popping the top for him. 
“...Thanks?” he asks, looking almost taken aback as I practically thrust his beer at him. Setting it down, he gives the steaks one last check to make sure that they're seared enough on both sides. Satisfied, he pulls them off the heat and onto the plates.
“Hey, grab the sides so we can get dinner going.”  He lifts both plates, balancing the one with a single steak on the beer in his left hand, and the one with three in his right.  He dumps the heavier plate in front of my seat, before setting his own place  I set the serving bowls between us and take my seat. Pulling his chair back, he glances at me, then my place setting. 
"Not having anything to drink tonight?"

"Oh… uhh sorry. I forgot."

"Hey, don’t be. I'm still up. What do you want?"

"Oh, umm, just a water would be fine."

"Sure thing." While he grabs a glass, I take a portion of rice and vegetables then wait for him to get back.
"Eat up! You'll need the energy for tonight!" He hands me the glass before sitting down himself and digging into the sides.  At his request, I start in on my food.  Nick, meanwhile, chews idly on some rice, clearly lost in thought.
“You know, I’m not saying that this is bad” he mumbles mostly to himself, “but still, it’s nothing like the Oriental places down in California used to make.  ...there’s something about the texture that’s just not the same.  I dunno - What do you think, babe?”

“It’s great, Nick, but I wouldn’t know.  Your government doesn’t want my kind going out in public, much less leaving Alaska.”  Though I hadn’t thought about it in a while, saying it out loud makes me feel like a prisoner in my own country all over again.  ...and here I am shutting out the one person who wants to be here for me...  Our cabin, normally so bright and airy, feels claustrophobic.

“Well, hey.  So long as you like it, I’m happy.  Still, I need to figure out how to make it like they do, or it’s going to drive me nuts.  Hey, maybe when I talk to Davey tomorrow, I can ask him about it.  He gets takeout all the time, so maybe he can get me an answer.  Hey, at least I know how to sear a steak! Let me know how they are, though.  I didn’t overcook ‘em did I?” 

“The steaks are fine.  Really.  Thank you.” In all honesty, dinner really does look and smell amazing, but with Nick shutting me out and the full moon closing in on me, all I can taste is ash... 

Chapter 5:  Cleaning off and Moving On

<Nick>
 
[Shoot, man...  There’s gotta be something about dinner she can’t stand.  Definitely going to have to hold off on the fried rice for a while.  Still…  what else are you going to serve with Asian style Caribou.]  At this point, you’ve about given up trying to get a read on Maggie.  She’s been everywhere from whimpering apologies, to feisty sparring, to what now feels like a spring wound to the breaking point.  Mulling it over as you eat, you glance up from your plate at her.  You catch her eyes for the briefest of instants before they snap back to her plate, giving a piece of mushroom entirely too much attention.  [...whatever.  If she wants to talk, I’m more than happy to, but no sense in trying to strike up a conversation myself.  It’s not worth pissing her off again.]

Save for occasionally insisting that Maggie eat up - she hit a bit of a roadblock while working on steak number two - an ‘ever so slightly’ tense silence hangs over the two of you.  Taking the hint, you eat fairly quickly, excusing yourself and setting a pot of water to boil while she finishes.  You skip using a 5 gallon tub, as you just need enough hot water to take the edge off the cold from the well. That, and you can actually lift the pot onto the stove on your own.
“Hey, I’m going to go round up the toiletries and stuff.  Take your time with dinner.  Just leave the dishes by the sink.  I’ll take care of ‘em tomorrow.”  

“Oh?! Um, sure thing!”  

[Again with the over-excited responses?  …Okay, she really is being weird, but whatever.]  Taking the now boiling pot, you head to the mud room, grab the soap caddy, and slip out the back door towards the sauna.

Without your sweatshirt, the short walk from the back steps to the stout cedar outbuilding is pleasantly brisk.  If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve felt downright filthy since last night.  This afternoon’s chores, followed by an hour in the kitchen, have got your core temp up, making things even worse.  A light breeze cuts through your shirt pulling some of the stickiness off your skin, and drying you off a bit.  You - carefully - raise your arms up a bit - Pot and caddy still in hand - to let your sides vent some as well.  As a matter of fact, you’re enjoying the weather well enough that you leave the front door of the changing room open while you strip down, letting the now biting wind in to chill you even further.  By the time you make it into the sauna proper, you’re shivering.  

The scent of cedar almost overpowers you as you open the door, steam billowing out around your feet.  The water you’d tossed over the lava rocks has long since evaporated, soaking down the walls and rolling past your feet in billowing clouds.  You take a deep breath, savoring the taste in the back of your throat before slipping inside and basking in the warm, cloying, air.  You douse a clean towel in the water trough and set it on your seat before rocking onto the bench. Your skin tingles as it swings violently from fall’s harsh chill to the sauna’s oppressive heat. Your shoulder, effectively forgotten since getting back to the cabin, makes its presence known by throbbing softly as blood rushes into your skin and muscles.  Pain flares from scratches on your face, the salt from your sweat setting off the nerves under your still-hardening scabs.  As you acclimate to the hot air, both fall away, settling into a dull white noise at the back of your mind.

Closing your eyes, you feel the exhaustion hit you like a wave.  Last week’s long hours, last night’s (mis)adventures, and today’s chores finally catch up to you.  All you want to do is catch your breath - physically and figuratively.  Letting it wash over you, you sit here for a minute?  Five?  You aren’t really keeping track of time, as you bob along on the edge of consciousness.  The only things passing through your mind are the thrum of blood in your ears and the four beat cadence of your breathing.  [So what if I fall asleep for a moment, here?  Maggie should be by any time to join in washing off…]

A clicking of the door latch, so faint you aren’t sure you hear it, brings you back to the surface.  You don’t stir just yet, hoping to catch just a few extra moments of rest.  Maggie walks into the room as silently as a ghost, though you sense her all the same.  Maybe it’s the brief chill from outside, maybe it’s just her presence.  Either way, the company is more than welcome.

“I, uh...  I noticed that you hadn’t brought out a change of clothes so I brought you some.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mmmph, thanks.”  You groan out, sinking deeper into the bench.  [...almost time to stand up.]

A ragged breath from across the room snaps you awake, eyes open and alert.
“Nick, I know you’re mad at me.  ...I- I wish you’d just say something instead of just closing me off like this.” 

“Uhh…  what?”

“You’ve - Well…  you seemed so frustrated when I took over on the saw, and since then? It’s like you’ve been pushing me away.”

“Again, what’re you talkin’ about?!” Your incredulous response catches her like a slap across the face.

“What do you mean, ‘what am /I/ talking about?!’ “  she snarls, her mood changing in a heartbeat.  “You’re telling me that I’ve been worked up this whole time, and you’ve been completely OBLIVIOUS?!” She practically snaps the last word through bared teeth, her hackles standing on end and eyes wide.  You’re not sure you’ve ever seen this sort of rage from her.  The sauna suddenly feels way too small, the pressure inside it ready to knock the walls down.

“HEY!!!” You bellow, your own temper finally flaring.  “RELAX!!!!”  Silence fills the room, though you can see Maggie is still practically shaking with fury.
“Look!” you explode off the bench, your own irritation boiling over. “You’ve been all over the fuckin’ map /all/ fuckin’ day - and frankly - I’m at a loss for what to do.  First, you lose your sense of humor somewhere between the house and the truck. /Then/ you call me out for being reckless ...okay, you had a point there…  After that, though - you what?  Try to teach me a lesson?  Show me you can do it yourself? Prove you’ve got one on me? Fine. whatever.  I thought I took it gracefully enough... thought you’d get it out of your system.  After /that/ though? You’ve been acting like a goddamn spastic, and I don’t know where your mood’s going next, or what I’m supposed to do! So TELL me, Maggie! Tell me what I’m supposed to do, huh? …how am I supposed to be feeling?  Tell me what I’m supposed to say, because I’m /all/ out of ideas.
YOU.
TELL.
ME.”

You finish your rant towering over Maggie, your face about six inches from her nose.  At some point, something in her must have snapped under the strain, as she’s looking back up at you, anger completely drowned by abject terror.  As her gaze falls to the ground, so does her temper.  She turns away from you, her head held low and her shoulders quaking.  Between the haze in the air and the low light, you can’t see if she’s crying openly, but you can hear the hitch in her breathing plain as day.  Not knowing what else to do, you shuffle back over to the bench, sitting heavily.  You run your hand through your sweat dampened hair to slick it back.  It takes you a long moment and some measured breathing, but you manage to collect yourself.  With one final sigh, you lean back in your seat, and softly pat the bench beside you.

“Hey…  C’mere” you ask, as gently as you can.  She doesn’t respond, but the pause in her breathing lets you know she heard.
“...Please?” It takes a moment, but slowly she turns, arms wrapped around her midsection.  She shuffles over to you, stopping a foot or two away from where you’re sitting.
“Please, babe?  ...for me?” you hold your arm open, inviting her into your embrace.  Another long pause ticks by, but she slowly closes the distance to you, sitting down.  As she sits, you catch her by the side, pulling her back to your chest and wrapping your arms around her.  Already leaned forward, you nuzzle the side of her head with your cheek.  Slowly, you start rocking her side to side, to try and comfort her.
“You know I still love you, right babe?”  A sharp sniffle, and a tiny nod are all she can manage.   It’ll do.
“You know I want what’s best for you, too, right?”

“Yeah… *Sniff* I know...” You hug her a little bit tighter.

“Well, I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask of you, here. You promise me you’ll give it a try?”

“I- yeah, I’ll try” 

“Thank you.” You kiss her on the top of her head. “I know it’s not that easy, but…  but can you please try to come to terms with your umm…  condition?”

“I won’t bring it up again… *sigh* I promise.”

“Honey…  I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not what I asked.”  She twists around to look at you, confusion in her eyes.
*sigh* “Maggie, the last thing I want is for you to bury all that. You know as well as I do that sort of thing doesn’t just go away.”

“I- Nick…  What do you want from me?”

“I want you to come to grips with what happened.  I want you to quit worrying about it so much.  Most of all, I want you to forgive yourself. If that means we need to talk it out, now or later, that’s fine.  Honestly, worrying about things bubbling below the surface with you has been way worse than the little love nip you gave me,”

“Nick, it’s not that easy…  I can’t just will my feelings away.” Maggie hunches forward, pulling away ever so slightly away from you.

“Well thank God for that! Hopefully that means you’ll keep loving me despite my best efforts.” You wrap yourself further around her, nuzzling the rim of her ear.

“Hey, don’t joke! I’m being serious!”

“So am I, baby.  So am I…” *Sigh* “Look, Maggie.  I don’t expect things to just be alright because I said so.  I know it’ll take time, and that’s okay.  Just…  please - talk to me if something’s bothering you, even if it seems stupid and even if you don’t know why yourself.  Maybe I’ll be able to help, maybe not, but at least we’ll get it out in the open.  That’s got to be better than this evening’s little argument, right?”

“Okay, Nick… Okay.  I uh…  Can we actually not talk about it any more for now?  I don’t think I could stand any more of this tonight.”  She fidgets some in your grip, trying to get away from the subject, if not from you.

“As you wish.”  You let her go, leaning into the backrest to give her a little space.  She swivels in her seat, twisting her torso to look you in the eyes.
“Though, if you don’t want to talk right now-”

“-We can talk if you’d like! I just don’t want to talk about /that/ any more.”  You chuckle at the defensiveness of her interruption, gingerly cupping her cheek with your left hand.  You rub from her Muzzle to the base of her ear with your thumb to quell any additional protest.

“Relax, babe.  I was just going to ask you if you’d wash my back for me.” You boop her lightly on the nose with your index finger.  “I was kinda hoping you’d be willing to put those talented hands of yours to work.”  You cock an eyebrow, but leave it at that.

“Oh - Um…” She starts, trying to change gears mentally.  “Well, I- uh… When you ask nicely, like that, how could I not?”  Her tone is a million miles off of sensual, but it’s adorable that she’s trying to be flirty for you, so soon after an argument.  Maggie gets up and heads for the toiletries, while you grab the pot of hot water.  While she picks out her soaps and yours, you pour some of the hot water from the pot into the trough, checking the temperature with your fingers, and repeating until it’s tolerably cool.  It may be topping 170 degrees in here, but there’s no sense in having a shockingly cold bath.  With the water comfortably cool, you step around the trough into the tiled portion of the room, 

Taking a breath to mentally prepare yourself, you pour a ladle of cool water over your head, immediately dropping your core temperature and snapping your mind to attention.  Pushing your hair back out of your eyes, you turn to find Maggie standing behind you, Shampoo, bar soap, and wash cloth in hand.  
“I’ll wash yours if you wash mine...”  you offer, throwing in a goofy grin for emphasis.

“Are you sure you’re talking about my back?” she asks a little more convincingly, throwing a smoldering look your way.  As quick as she can conjure it, however, it falls away.  “Hey, could we - maybe - not play coy tonight?  I’m exhausted and just want a moment of peace before the moon comes up.”

“Oh… Hey, no worries!” you reply almost too cheerfully.  “I mean, uhh…  you know that playful’s just kinda my go to when I want to cheer you up.  If you’re not feeling it, then I’ll leave it be.”  Looking a bit more relieved, Maggie collects her own stuff and starts rinsing off.  You run through your routine without much fanfare, washing from top to bottom, section by section, rinsing yourself periodically with cool water ladled from the trough.  Maggie does much the same, though it’s much slower going with her double coat.  She doesn’t really use soap, per say, instead just rinsing off and conditioning with some of the essential oils she picked up back in the village. 
Her legs and womanhood, you note, are the exception, needing actual, if unscented, bar soap.  With a strange sense of satisfaction, you note the fur matted down her inner thighs, almost to her knees.  Were this any other time, you’d make a comment, but you let it go for now.

You finish washing most everywhere you can easily reach in short order, but wait until Maggie’s finishes before bothering her.  Even with her simplified routine, it takes decidedly more time to tend to her fur.  While she’s finishing up on her legs, you reach into the tote, and pull out the dense bristle brush Maggie uses for pulling knots and debris out of her coat.

“Hey, you!  About ready?”  You ask, brandishing it with a bit of a flourish.

“I am.  Thanks.” She replies with a bit of a tired smile.  Pouring one last ladle of water over herself, she takes a half step closer to you before presenting her backside, her limply hanging tail covering her more intimate parts.  While you wish she was a little less closed off, can’t deny how nice it still is to be enjoying a bath together.

Closing the distance to her, you place your left hand on her upper arm before starting in with the brush, working from the tops of her shoulders and down her arms.  You skip the oils for the moment, focusing instead on helping her relax.
“Sorry that today’s been so rough”  you add, as much to break the silence, as anything.  

“Nick, it wasn’t your fault.  Not really.”  Moving past her shoulders, you run the brush from the nape of her neck, fanning outwards towards her shoulder blades.

“Oh, I know.  Still. I know how difficult a full moon can be for you, and this one has been well…  more eventful… than usual.”  You work your way down her back in long, firm strokes, being careful to brush to the skin without hitting bone. Every few passes, you pause to strip the loose, wet, hair from the bristles.

“Nick, could we please not talk about that?” She responds after a long pause.

“Wasn’t my intention.  Just felt weird brushing my girlfriend’s back hair in silence.”

“That’s back /fur/, dear.”

“It is, but it’s not near as funny to say.” You continue working your way down to the small of her back, though she seems to be acting a bit self conscious about your jab.
“I love your gorgeous coat, by the way.  It’s so nice to snuggle up against on a cold night!” Without warning, you crouch down behind her and throw your arms around her waist.  In one fluid motion, you hoist her off her feet, rolling your lower back to lift her even higher off the ground.  

“Hey, stop! Get off! I’m all wet and gross!!! Nick!”  Laughing, you try to snuggle the side of your head against her upper back.  Unfortunately, all you manage to do is get whacked in the temple as Maggie kicks and flails around in equal parts shock and irritation.
“C’mon, I smell like wet dog right now.  Stop!” Struggling even harder, she inadvertently kicks you in the knee, sending your right foot flying out from under you on the slick tile.

“Whoah, shit!” you stammer out, just barely catching yourself.  Somehow you manage to keep your left foot under you, swaying wildly while trying to maintain balance.  Survival instincts kicking in, Maggie goes stiff to brace for the inevitable fall.  With her no longer struggling, you get yourself back under control and get your right leg back under you.  carefully, you lower her back down.  Holding her just inches off the ground, you wait for her to un-tense.  It takes a long moment, but she slowly, cautiously, sets her feet back on the ground.  You let her stand up out of your grasp, waiting until she’s supporting her own weight before releasing your grip.

“What the /hell/ was that, Nick?! I thought we’d just talked about you doing stupid, dangerous things!  What’s more, you could have laid /me /out!”  You can tell she’s definitely mad, but if you had to guess, you’d say that this was more of a ‘heat of the moment’ mad than an ‘existential crisis’ mad.  

[At last! Something I can work with!]
“Oh, come on babe, I was being careful. I didn’t even tweak anything when you tried to leg sweep me.” you playfully retort, sticking your tongue out for emphasis.  “Besides, you looked like you could use a ‘pick me up’!”

“That’s not what- ...okay, that was pretty good.”

“I’ll be here all week!” you say with a wink.  “After that, it’s back to the salt mines…  I mean…  Oil fields.”

“Come on, give it a rest.”

“Yes dear.”  At this point, you really do set aside the word play, instead picking up the bottle of oil and getting to work on Maggie’s fur.  While she’s still putting on a show of being irritated, you can tell she seems way more relaxed.  Her hackles have finally settled and the tension has drained from her shoulders.  You note both of these as you massage the oils into her thick silver fur.   You work against against the grain, running your fingers all the way down to the roots before curling them back out again, careful not to pull too hard on any one particular spot.  The smell of wildflowers, the same as last night, pushes through the cedar that pervades the room, you drink it in, reveling in her favored bouquet.

By the time you’ve worked your way down to her shoulder blades, Maggie’s started making pleased little growls and leaning into your hands.  You move your ministrations outward and downward, going so far as her sides, but steering clear of her breasts or her underarms.  You are, after all, trying to keep things serene, even if that means not trying to get her riled up.  Moving downwards towards her spine and lower back, you do your best to turn a bath into a massage, holding her by her sides for leverage and digging into the muscle with your palms and thumbs.  Whenever you find a knot - and there are plenty - you do what you can to press it out, rolling over it until it starts to break up.

With cramping fingers and sore palms, you finally make it to her rump.  At this point, she’s clay in your hands, wobbling on her feet.  Even once you’ve finished, you keep your hands on her hips, stabilizing her.
“Hey baby, you want me to get your tail while I’m at it?”  You surprise yourself with how straightforward you keep the question.  ...though thinking about it, you’re more surprised that you’ve been naked, standing behind your equally naked girlfriend, giving her a back massage, and your manhood hasn’t even so much as twitched.  [Hey, just be happy she finally seems content…]

“Oh, no.  Thanks.  I already took care of it.  I could use a rinse, though…”  Her delayed response pulls your train of thought back on track, if only momentarily.

“Comin’ right up.” Grabbing the ladle out of the trough, you pour a gentle cascade over her shoulders while doing your best to keep from shocking her with the cold water.  Wherever it hits, you can still see her muscles tense and her hair stand on end, but she does seem to enjoy cooling down a bit.  Using your off hand, you work your fingers through fur wherever you pour, helping to flush the excess conditioner away.  As before, you work you way from the tops of her shoulders down to the top of her butt, a feat that takes almost all of your willpower not to turn into something more piquant.  As you finish rinsing off her waist, she catches the hand working her fur and laces her fingers through yours.  Taking the hint, you put down the ladle, and lend her your other hand.  Her hands on your hands on her hips, she leans back into you, her head coming to rest just under your chin.  

“Hey, Nick, this is nice…  I don’t suppose we coul-” she cuts herself off mid sentence, as if someone had interrupted her.  Almost immediately after, her grip tightens almost painfully around your hands as she pulls your arms tight around her, tucking up into your embrace as though it would shield her from some unknown foe.

“Sorry, Nick. ...I need to go.  I’ll”  *wince* “I love you…”  She wraps your arms tight one last time before letting you go and abruptly pulling away.  With that, she runs from the room, crashing hard into the door, and stumbling out into the dressing room.  You hear another thump as she tumbles through the front door and out into the night.

“Love you too, Maguyuk” you whisper to the suddenly lonely room.

Still reeling from Maggie’s sudden departure, you stay in the sauna just a little bit longer, just mulling over things in your head.  You didn’t want to bring any of it up while she was around, but there’s so much you still need to do before you can even think about going to bed.  All the bills from last month need checks cut and envelopes filled out.  You still need to read through the summons from the National parks service about your ‘homestead’, as well as Maggie’s.  What’s more, you need to get a grocery list - made longer with first aid supplies - and you need to do all this before you can head to town tomorrow.  Still, for now, you push all that to the back of your mind, just focusing on your breathing. Deep breaths of hot cedar air curl their way through your nose, the tannins drying your airway all the way down into your lungs.  On Exhale, the feeling in your chest returns to normal, only to be dried again by the next breath. [Just don’t fall asleep.  There’s no one coming to wake you up if you pass out…]

{She won’t ever forgive you, you know.  She can’t. She can lie to herself, but you know what you done.}  A quiet voice from just behind you(?) startles you out of your reverie.  You snap your head around to see who might be there. As you twist, what feels like a lance of white hot fire pierces through the wound in your shoulder, down into your chest.  You seize up, the muscles in your back cramping tight from the unexpected pain, pulling even harder on your injured trapezius.

{mur-der-er… you took her kin.  Her flesh and blood.}  The stench of iron fills your nose and lungs, as cold fingers run down your chest.  Your back locks tight, the frayed remnants of your trapezius pulling apart, skin tearing out from around your stitches.  The agony radiates through your entire body, as frayed nerves are laid bare once again.  You spasm against the bench, unable to get your feet under you.  You swear for a moment you see stars, your mind in sensory overload as time slows to a crawl.  {You killed ‘em in cold blood, too...  Snuffed ’em out like it was nothin’.  You set your third eye between each of their own two.  The fires of your malice washin’ out their own light.}

As quick as it started, the agony comes to a halt. The spasms in your back suddenly relax, letting everything go slack.  Getting your feet back under you, you push yourself flush with the bench’s backrest, sitting upright,with your arms hanging limp and your head resting against the back wall.  After the torment you just went through, returning to normal feels like nirvana.  You aren’t sure how long it lasted, and you aren’t really keeping track of how long you’ve sat here since, just reveling in the relief.  Twisting in your seat, you roll onto your back and pick your feet up on the bench.  Supine, you try to stop the shakes and get your respiration under control.  

Your composure slowly starting to return, you pull the blood soaked and steaming gauze pad off your shoulder to inspect the damage.  Poking around with your right hand, you can feel the loose ends of the steri strips that have peeled up and curled  Bits of skin still stick to them from where they tore away.  Probing further, you can feel the rough gouges along the edges of your wounds where the strips pulled away.  Much to your irritation, it also appears that the skin has torn between some of the punctures where it pulled tight during your spasm.  
[fuck….  And I thought it was going to scar up bad before. Christ, she’s going to pitch a fit if she sees this.]
If there is a silver lining, it feels like the muscle has knit back together some, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s just the relief talking.  

Finally standing back up, you head over to the washing area.  Between the extra time in the sauna and your reopened wound, your previous efforts to washing has been rendered a total loss.  You run through the motions as quick as possible, looking to get back to the house so you can finish up the night’s paperwork and get to bed.  Scrubbing your back with a soaped up towel, you can’t help but chuckle…  [She never did get to return the favor, did she?]  It doesn’t hit you until you’re almost done, but even with some tentative scrubbing, your shoulder hasn’t bled since the spasm.

As soon as you finish, you run through the motions of closing down the sauna.  You give the floor of the washing area a quick rinse and brooming, just to knock all the soap and grime off.  Then, you snag the wet towels and toiletries and pull the fire box out from under the rocks.  It takes you an extra trip, but you get everything moved into the changing room, leaving the sauna clean and ready to go for next time.

Setting the fire box down, you immediately spot the clothes Maggie left out for you.  A fresh towel, your charcoal flannel, some boot cut jeans, and a set of underclothes have been laid neatly on your chair.  You dry off and quickly dress, luxuriating in the feeling of fresh clothes on clean skin, though you take an extra measure of care with your shirt.  You still need to get back to the house before you can fix your dressings, after all. Dumping the coals from the firebox in the barrel outside, you head back to the house.