About a days and a half walk it had been since Fenrir had left his cabin home in the forest, and soon he would arrive at his destination; the Smiths’ cottage. Often he would make this trek, over the river and through the woods, but this time it was quite different; this time he’d [i]meet[/i] her. He had always just been a watchful eye from afar, a silent guardian, shrouded in foliage in the guise of a wolf. Always keeping his distance, knowing well that this time is hers, and he must respect that. So he’d watch, making sure no danger would befall her, and he’d wait, until the time was his.

A feeling of uneasiness plagued him the whole trip over. The idea had always captivated him, and he eagerly awaited an end to his solitude. He came to realize, however, that it had been much easier to think about it when it was a dream of a faraway place and time. Now, now it was almost reality, and so his mind was filled with inquiry and doubt. [i]Whatever happens, an agreement must be fulfilled[/i], he would tell himself.

Still, he wondered how it would go over; how she would feel about him. Often he worried that the old woman never spoke of this arrangement to the girl. Fenrir did sparsely keep in touch over the years, but maybe she had forgotten, or had hoped Fenrir would forget or pass away. The promise was many years old, after all, and the thought concerned him. If she didn’t know, would she be prepared to accept it? What if she had known, but was unaware that he was a [i]Lycanthrope[/i]? He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind as finally he reached the outskirts of a tiny cottage.

He moved up to knock on the front door, wearing his tunic made of leather and a dreary grey hooded-cloak. When the old lady answered, he pulled back the hood to clearly reveal himself. His eyes, beard, and perpetually unkempt hair were all greyish-brown in color. Not the somber grey tint of an aged man, the color was more like that of the grey wolf. He stood before her, nearly six feet tall, a young adult with a fit and able body.

“Willow…” he greeted the woman “…have you been well?” She didn’t look pleased to see him, though Fenrir could have expected as much. She gave a nod, and then they stood there in silence for a moment. “…Is she…” Fenrir began to inquire as he peered over the old woman’s shoulder.

“She’s upstairs,” Willow replied softly. “Please, come in.” He complied as she led him into the dining room. The exuberant scent of a fresh roast filled his nose, but hunger was the last thing on his mind. He took a seat at the table, trying to calm his nerves. Shortly after, the young woman entered the room. He rose abruptly to his feet, slightly bumping the table with his tense and sudden motion. He was taken by the sight of her, for though he had seen her many times before, never so close. In his bewildered state, he could think of only one thing to say…

“…Hello…”