In the Moors (M, Fantasy/Gothic)

[SterlingSilver]

*tumbles haphazardly into thread* Hey there, everyone!

Been a while since I've posted in this particular forum, but here I am! The lovely @PuddinPop and I have been writing various stories/roleplays together for over a year now, and we finally cracked and gave OCs a try. I don't think either of us anticipated just how much we would friggin' love it xDD. I adore fanfiction, but there is something so freeing about being in total control over every aspect of the story and characters -- where the dreaded fear of OOC doesn't exist.

ANYWAY, I'll get on with it -- This is a portion of a short story I wrote for Puds for Christmas, and she has so wonderfully given me the OK to post it here >w<. It features my OC, Sterling, as a werewolf. Usually he's not a werewolf, so I had fun playing around with him in this role. His sinuses are weak, so he's like, the worst werewolf in the history of all werewolves, which annoys him at times (>w> heh). He doesn't actually go into Wolf Form in this, so this fic contains fully human snez, for those of you who might have been wondering. This is mostly a character study with some fetish on the side, so it's a bit plotty. I probably won't continue it, so I apologize in advance for the somewhat cliff-hanger ending xD.

Warnings for mild mentions of injuries/blood, and bad language because Sterling likes to swear LOL.

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In the Moors

As soon as the old man’s dim outline faded from sight into the bustling crowd, Sterling knew he was in trouble.

It had happened before, plenty of times. Damn near constantly when he was a pup as they walked through human towns, no taller than Kuma’s hip and refusing to hold his hand because they both hated doing that. His legs had been shorter then, barely able match Kuma’s long, impatient stride down the crowded roads.

But every time he jerked away, wandered off, or fell down, Kuma always sniffed him out and found him again. It never lasted long. In fact, the longest Sterling had ever gotten lost was one bitter, freaky night in the Valley of Sounds when they passed through it several years ago during heavy fog.

Today marked the sixth day of their separation, and Sterling was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wasn’t nervous about being alone or what might happen to them both in the meanwhile, but he knew Kuma would eventually find him and be really pissed about the whole thing. Like he always was. There would be hell to pay when they were together again. Sterling sighed.

“I’m a grown wolf now,” Sterling said to the forest with a snuffle, able to pick out the fine shapes of the leaves and branches even in the black of night. Didn’t change the fact that nothing looked familiar. “He doesn’t have to worry so much.”

The forest didn’t say anything back, but Sterling felt a little better nonetheless. As better as he could be after six damn days wandering lost without shelter. He missed the thick, cloth tent he and Kuma pitched every night when they couldn’t get to a human inn. Or the cool summer evenings when they’d both lay under the stars as wolves beneath moonlight, blood on their muzzles and full from a hunt.

But no. It was the wet season and it had rained almost all week, and would continue to rain for almost another two months. The temperature wasn’t bad, but Sterling hated the way wet fur felt no matter how hot or cold it was. Because of this he was going to stay in human form, which meant he was slow, generally handicapped without his claws or teeth, and starting to get moody.

He always let the moon take him in the wilderness between towns, they both did. It felt right, to have his paws in the dirt instead of his shoes. To run with the wind in his fur rather than his hair. Just as it felt strange to approach a human village on all fours, it felt strange to walk the woods on two feet. His mother’s rhyme, words from deep childhood, echoed in his head:

Human by day, wolf by night. Hands to talk, claws to fight. Laugh to cheer, growl to fear. Two sides, one heart, to those appear.

… compared with Kuma’s advice:

Just don’t get us arrested.

Always the practical one, with the subtlety of a rock. Not that Sterling had any to spare either. He’d been raised by the bastard, so he’d turned out just as sloppy and ill-mannered. That’s what the ladies in the towns they visited always said. It used to bother Sterling when they said those things, but not anymore.

Sterling shook his head vigorously in a futile attempt to shake off some of the pouring rain. His bangs were hanging in his eyes, reminding him that he could probably use a haircut. Every inch of his clothing was stuck to him, but it still didn’t hold a candle to wet fur, so Sterling couldn’t complain. With another deep sniffle, he tried to handle his runny nose hands free. He really wanted to find some shelter, though. Just to escape the deluge for a few hours, catch some sleep, and then keep searching for Kuma.

Casting a slow, steady gaze around the area as he walked, Sterling’s shoulders slumped. Everything looked exactly the same as it had since leaving town – wet bark, swampy soil, thick foliage, barely visible sky the color of clouded, murky water. No moon in sight to offer even the slightest comfort during such a miserable season.

Briefly, a breeze chilled the back of his neck and Sterling jerked his chin up, sniffing deeply to catalogue the scents it carried. Moments later he came to a sudden stop in the sodden dirt, ragged boots squelching in the mud. Standing frozen for several seconds, Sterling squinted into the rain. His eyes fell serenely closed, lips gently parting as his brow pinched just a little. It was coming, quickly –

“..edt-’TZZsch!”

He sneezed openly, head bobbing with mild force of the expulsion. Staying perfectly still, Sterling’s nostrils flared rhythmically with his breathing, debating. His nose twitched just once with a light sniff.

“...edt-‘TZSSH!”

Again, his head bobbed as he sneezed uncovered into the rain. Sighing in quiet relief, Sterling felt the tickle leave as quick as it had struck him. Blinking, he snorted back some loose snot, swiped a knuckle under his nose, and kept his hand fisted as he started to trudge through the woods again. His heels sunk into the ground as he stomped, his skin scratched by the underbrush he pushed through. A branch snapped back and whipped his cheek; he felt the sting of pain, and then a warm glow of blood dripping down his skin. With a low growl, he cracked the limb clear off the trunk and threw it like a spear deep into the forest.

Usually he was quite even-tempered – reserved, patient, and according to the old man, borderline robotic. Sterling preferred to say he was adept at keeping his feelings inside, where they belonged. It was rare for him to show his irritation with people or situations, simply because he knew it to be weakness and that it would give the enemy an upper-hand to know he was upset. The only one who could get him angry enough to show it was Kuma, honestly. Then again, Kuma had that effect on most people.

But fuck, he’d been traveling in the rain so long that he was sure his blisters had blisters at this point, ankles, thighs, and ribs chaffed raw from walking in sopping clothes. Wasn’t helping his sinuses either, which had been temperamental since he woke that morning. Now he couldn’t stop sniffling. It was annoying. The whole thing was annoying.

“Dammit,” Sterling muttered, swiping a soaking wet sleeve under his nose. He shook his bangs out of his eyes again with an almost violent toss of his head. “Always getting lost. Always in a hurry. Couldn’t just wait for me in the square. You know I can’t-…”

Pausing, Sterling’s expression flickered once more. His mouth fell open in a gasp, jaw working, brow wrinkling, nose scrunching with a look of near feral irritation. “ – ahd’JZSSH!..ugh!”

Given the state of his nose, his sneezes were getting less tidy. He’d kill for a handkerchief, but at this point, they were all just as soaked as he was. Whatever. He couldn’t tell what was rainwater, sweat, or snot anymore at this point so he settled to just let his nose run if it wanted and trudge forward with another meager pass of his sleeve under his nose.

The rough material of his shirt against his nostrils only encouraged another tickle, fast-rising, strong enough to halt him yet again. His resulting, echoing, “ – ehd’CHSHtt!” was enough to stagger him a few steps. Sterling’s following growl was louder than the sneeze had been. Rational sense told him drawing attention to himself was a bad idea, but now he was almost hoping something would come preying on him in the night.

So he could rip its throat out and hopefully eat it. He was so hungry…

Shouldering through another bundle of branches, Sterling began to walk faster. Firmer. Angrier. Every stomp of his boots in the dirt was one more moment he wished it was his paws instead. He had better balance on four feet in weather like this. He kept his hands out in front of him, able to see every leafy obstacle in his way despite the lack of light in the woods.

His palms stung. His feet ached. His nose was running onto his lip, burning whenever he rubbed too hard with his wet sleeve. Even faster now, one foot in front of the other, fighting through the wilderness, breathless, heavy, cold –

Wind caressed his face.

For one moment, Sterling was hyper-aware of the change in topography beneath his feet. A shift in the dirt under him. The steep tilt of the incline. And then, he was falling.

He lost count of how many times he rolled, head over feet, shoulder to knee, tumbling helplessly down a craggy hill. A couple times he managed to get his boots angled against the gravel to skid upright for a few moments before he started rolling again. He’d built up so much momentum that he couldn’t stop, body consumed by gravity as he collected scrapes, bruises, and sprains.

When he was very young, he skinned his knee on a skid by the river and Kuma licked the blood off patiently, rubbing the top of Sterling’s head with one huge, warm hand, and told him in a gruff voice, Wolves don’t cry, and they always stand back up.

Sterling finally hit the bottom, plateauing, and took a moment to make sure he could still move all his limbs. He didn’t cry, and he stood back up. Slowly. Because fuck, he was sore. Everything ached, with several throbbing hot-spots where he’d slammed a rock too hard. Rain kept hitting his skin, alerting Sterling to the fact he’d torn his clothes.

He’d lost his knapsack at some point during the fall. All his money. His compass. His emergency food rations. His tools. Changes of clothes. His proof of identification as a professional merchant. Gone. Glancing around the area, Sterling realized he was in a moor. Barely any plant-life to be seen along the line of the mountain, and no sign of his knapsack or its remains.

He tilted a feeble, congested sniffle toward the air, resulting in nothing but a few coughs and the ominous tingle of something in his sinuses, promising retribution if he continued to try and track. Fisting his bleeding hands, Sterling howled a sound of wordless rage, disgusted with his own short-comings. And just because he was spiteful (but absolutely stupid), he took the biggest, deepest, most gurgling breath he could through his nose.

Immediately after, his breath caught like a spring-trap in his throat.

“ – HIH!”

A moment of tortured hang time, nose twitching like mad, completely overloaded. And then…

“.. D’CHZZSST’OO!”

It was enough to heave him forward a couple steps, released uncovered into the air. What meager relief he gleaned from it was stolen away on another gathering breath, stuttering through a buildup as his senses reeled from too much stimulation.

“..TDZZSSH’OO!”

Bracing his hands on his knees, Sterling audibly and loudly hitched toward his next release, as if this might provide enough power to get this tickle out for good.

“.. uh..UH… H’DJZZSSH’HOO!”

No such luck. Sterling shook his head, trying to dislodge the sensation that way instead. It just seemed to shake the itch around, higher into his nose, and abruptly he crunched forward with another barrage.

“..ih’CHZZSHT!... hih’CHZSSH!...” A gasping pause. One more sniffle. “..h’CHZZSHT!”

At last, he was free. Wiping around his nose with both his hands, voice thick enough to notice without completely blunting his words, Sterling recovered. “Piece of shit,” he muttered to himself. “Fucking useless piece of sh – ”

His words died on his lips when he finally turned around to face the other side of the moor. There, stately and expansive across the barren land, was a house. Or rather, a castle. It spanned larger than any place Sterling had ever seen, gorgeous in the way it imposed itself. Even in the dark from this distance, Sterling could pick out the carefully-arranged spires, the hand-crafted glass panes in the windows, and all the little balconies jutting out from massive bay windows.

In the night, it was impossible to tell what color it was, or even how large. Despite his impeccable vision, Sterling couldn’t quite tell when the night began and the castle ended. But it was the first and only of its kind Sterling had ever seen – a patch of dry land amidst an ocean of wet trees. Knapsack forgotten, he began to pick his way across the rocks.

It was slow work because the cuffs of his pants kept catching his heels, not to mention he was limping from a bad blow to his hip. Most of it would heal by the following night, if not sooner. But still, each step blasted shocks of pain to every affected receptor. Annoying. Hopefully there would be at least one couch in that place. And with any luck, no lock on the door.

~ END ~

- Thank you for reading >w< -

Edited January 18, 2017 by BlackScatter
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