Of Wolf

Several hours later and Hans is wandering through the bustling Baracen market. However, this visit to the market is very different compared to any other as his senses over overwhelmed.

The sounds of the chattering people are deafening and are made worse by the shuffle of bodies as people pass one another. As a result the entire scene is creating a consistent grating sound that hurts his ears.

Then the strong smells of sweat, herbs, pollen and meat kicked in and have mixed together to form an almost unbearable texture for his remaining senses. And so in turn Hans continues to keep himself hunched over now that he is clad in simple slacks and a plain doublet.

Again the man wonders why he stated he would pay a visit to the market when Patrice had asked. He still doesn’t know but had he been aware that the market would overwhelm him in this manner he would have declined, undoubtedly. He should have and he knows it, but it’s too late now. He is here in Baracen surrounded by people who are milling about minding, for the most part, their own business while they chat and barter for goods.

Hans isn’t interested in any of it. He marks that as strange because usually he would be as engrossed in the wares of the merchants as any of those around him. But this time is different and so he sticks to simply greeting, nodding and smiling back at those that wish him well as he passes.

To ensure that he misses no one however, his head is forever moving, and were it observed by anyone present would appear as though it is on swivel. This is due to the fact that the well-wishes are coming from every side and almost in quick successive bursts that have him no chance for pause.

“Where you been Hans?” A pretty young woman suddenly calls over a group of high shoulders that she is barely able to raise her face high enough to gaze over and deliver the question.

“Doing work on the cabin.” Hans replies without attempting to pause for a chat. He doesn’t feel like chatting as a strange sensation picks at the very periphery of his mind. He has learned to ignore it as it’s been happening since he set out from his cabin for the market that he is now wandering through. That is not to say that he doesn’t find it desperately annoying, as he does. But he knows better than to focus on it now. When he had dared to at first it had only made the sensation worse, hence why he now refuses to.

The answer he gave the woman is the same he has given the last several dozen that have also levelled an almost identical query in his direction. However, he makes sure his tone and temperament are even as he speaks. After all, he doesn’t want to raise any eyebrows due to an unwarranted outburst that might result in questions being asked that he really doesn’t and probably can’t answer currently. One of them being, what is going on with you? He really doesn’t have an answer and it’s a question that he himself has been trying to mull over without any great success. Suddenly, he is struck by a gnawing sensation that quickly forces him to stop and move onto other thoughts.

Soon after that the next query is delivered Hans’ way. He saw this one coming as the market trader literally jumped out of the crowd, forcing the crowd to part so he could reach Hans. “And where have you been Mister Acillon? I’ve missed my best customer and hope everything is well with you.”

Hans has no choice but to stop now and force the crowd around him to create a void for himself and the curious merchant, who he knows is named Rico, to orbit around. He expects the inconvenience will draw silent half looks of irritation to be flashed in his direction, but this really isn’t his fault. Would these people rather he be rude and ignore the man who has taken his time to ask a sincere question. Well, a partially sincere question. Rico wants to know where Hans has been genuinely, but only because he hopes that means a sale or three will be made as a result. Hans has no intention of buying anything today, though he isn’t about to bluntly deliver such a response to Rico. There is no reason to hurt the man’s feelings or pride after all.

“I’m good, thank you Rico. Just been working on the old cabin, you know. How about you? How goes your sales this day?” Hans asks with as much sincerity as he can muster. Much to his surprise it’s a lot more than he would have assumed and that pleases him a decent amount.

“Not bad Mister Acillon, not bad. Any chance I can interest you in some fine venison? Freshly killed this morning, it was.” Rico replies getting to the root of why he has leapt out into the gathering of prospective customer far quicker than Hans would have expected.

As a result Hans feels bad for wasting Rico’s time, even if it was his own decision to do so and not Hans’. It shouldn’t but it does. And Rico will soon learn that he has wasted his time, time that the merchant will not be happy to have wasted, seeing as doing so results in a poorer return on investment.

Unlike Hans’ own industry of carpentry where a lot of waiting can sometimes be involved. Usually that waiting is for clients to make a decision on what they want, or for the wood which has been carefully chosen to become dry enough to work with.

“Maybe Rico. I want to make a thorough pass round the market before I make any purchases today. You’ll be my first port of call though if I do.” Hans says trying to placate and also gently rebuke the merchant.

Rico seems to take it well as he simply smiles warmly and then nods before stepping aside to allow Hans to continue on his way.

As Hans passes however, he hears what he swears is Rico mutter, “Waster.” Hans turns only to see the merchant smile at him warmly again. Hans blinks but quickly turns his focus forward once more as he continues to shuffle onward through the crowded market.

He wonders whether he was hearing things. Though, he could have sworn he heard Rico call him a waster. It seems uncharacteristic of the man. However, for what reason he thinks that he cannot say as the two men don’t really know one another. Hans may regularly buy meat from the merchant, may know one another by name and share pleasantries, but beyond that they have no dealings. It is a purely business orientated connection.

Hans decides to shove the thoughts of Rico from his mind and just in time for another merchant to question, “Where you been Hans? People thought you were dead.”

“Cabin’s been keeping me busy, is all.” Hans replies while forcing a smile.

If he didn’t know the undertaker any better Hans would’ve taken the comment about thinking he were dead poorly. Seeing as it came from the skeletal grey man though, he knows it’s just how he phrases his exchanges with those he decides to chat with. Still, something about the way he said it irks Hans. But he doesn’t get to follow that thread of thought any further as suddenly he feels a twitch. At first, he ignores the twitch and simply continues pushing forward. Sometimes quite literally through the crowd that seems to be becoming denser the further he dares to wade through it.

Thankfully, Hans seems to have passed the merchants and residents of Baracen who seem willing and capable of querying where he has been, or how he is doing. Just as well as the twitch is becoming more and more prevalent with every step he dares to take. That is why he dares to touch his face. He hopes no one is looking because if they are and his face has somehow changed like it had before then he will undoubtedly be flooded with boundless unwanted attention and questions. Both of which he will have no real way of dealing but would be thrown his way nonetheless.

However, Hans finds that his face is normal. He breathes a sigh of relief to discover that even as the twitching continues.

He can feel it. His top lip shifting and curling as though someone is pulling a string attached to it. He knows no one is but that is the only way he can describe it. Then he notices his hands and almost screams out loud.

Somehow he manages to suffocate the scream into little more than a quiet squeak while he stares at the thick black fur on his hands. Then he realises that anyone who might dare to glance his way will see them, so he thrusts his hands down to his sides. He doesn’t know what else to do but panic is well and truly setting in now and he feels an overwhelming urge to escape the mass of people around him.

Pushing through the crowd when he can’t use his hands will be almost impossible and that is before the worst is yet to come as his hearing bursts full of sound.

He thought his hearing was sensitive before, but this is a whole new level as every sound is now far more pronounced than ever. In fact, the sounds are so clear that he can make out every word everyone around him is saying, no matter how quietly or their distance, which seems impossible to Hans.

However, he has to resist the urge to cover his ears with his hands for fear of the fur on them being spotted. He only hopes his ears are not showing the same tufts of fur as he apologises while pushing through the seemingly oblivious throngs of people heading for a nearby empty street. He can see it, but reaching it seems almost implausible. That is why he again hopes this is all part of some terrible dream. A dream that he will soon awaken from, to find that he is still lying there in his simple bed surrounded by the thick wooden logs that make up the walls of his cabin. A cabin which is filled with the meagre affects that he calls his possessions.

All of a sudden there is a burst of sound, high pitched and piercing. The sound tears through his skull. In response Hans lets out a shriek of pain which draws the attention of all those around him. The faces of men and women of all ages cast him confused looks. These looks send the suffocating feeling that is gripping his chest into the stratosphere and why Hans then races thoughtlessly through the crowd, who part to allow him his retreat. It’s as though they had sensed his need to flee and permitted it. He can’t say if that is true or not, but it doesn’t register with him anyway.

It takes only moments for the carpenter to reach the street that sits off to the side of the market. But upon reaching it he doesn’t stop there like he had initially planned. Instead, he throws himself down the nearest empty backstreet. As he does so he trips, over what he cannot say, and goes stumbling forward. Hans however, manages to save himself from going head over tail by reaching out for the wall of a nearby building. The action saves him the pain of a hard impact in the moments before he quickly shifts his body weight so that his back becomes braced against the solid cold damp stone.

This side of the backstreet is bathed in shadow and Hans settles that it is likely this wall seldom is touched by the rays of the sun no matter the time of year or season. For a reason he can’t give, that gives him some semblance of comfort and then a sudden and intense pain kicks him in the gut.

The first hit is bad enough, but each successive throb is infinitely more agonising than the last. That is why by the three Hans is doubled over and howling.

As soon as Hans realises what he is doing he freezes in place. The howl sounds just like the one he now remembers hearing in the Plinyen Forest. Then, as if on cue, he recalls being chased by something with massive white teeth. The something resembled a wolf, except much larger.

The memory and its connection to the sound, which Hans has just allowed to flow from between his lips, confuses the man. Still, he has the presence of mind to cast his eyes about, frantically, grateful to find that he is still alone.

At this point Hans settles on touching his face once more. As soon as he does, his hands stop. His face is wrong again. Like it had been when he’d been in his cabin with Patrice knocking on his door. That is why he exclaims to himself, “I’ve got a snout!” He can scarcely believe it, but there is no mistaking what he has felt.

I have to get out of town and back to my cabin, Hans thinks as he quickly pulls his doublet up hoping to conceal his face in the moments before he explodes into a panic ridden sprint down the length of the narrow crooked backstreet with its damp uneven and worn cobblestones. Hans finds the cobblestones slippery under foot. But the man pays no mind to the dangers of the surface and now that he is at the end of the backstreet dares to breaks from cover and race across a small open square toward the high archway that serves as a welcome to those that enter Baracen.

Just as he reaches the two thirds mark of the open square Hans hears his name called. On instinct he turns, regretting his actions as soon as he commits them, as he spies Patrice running after him. His oldest friend is waving his arm high above his head clearly trying to get the carpenters attention.

But as soon Patrice catches sight of Hans the look on his face changes from one of excitement to that of horror. Shortly after catching a glimpse of his friend, Patrice comes to a halt. His legs are no longer willing to continue after Hans.

In response Hans does the only thing he can. He turns his attention forward again, cursing himself for acting on impulse, and then races the rest of the way across the open square. Then with the square crossed he pounds down the wide road and under the archway heading toward the Plinyen Forest.

Patrice still can’t believe what he saw. But there can be no question that it was Hans and that his face was a mixture of both wolf and man. The thick black hair covering his left cheek, as well as his hands as he’d tried to shield his new visage from any who might catch a glimpse of him during his escape would be enough proof for anyone.

Patrice knows he should tell someone, anyone, about this.

He wonders if they would believe him. He certainly wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t seen it with his own two brown eyes. Eyes that looked nothing like Hans’ who’s instead of being their usual lively blue were a haunting angry red.