The Wolf & The Witch
A Wheelbarrow Full

Lestat cleared his throat.

Claire didn’t look at him, or say anything, but busied herself folding their blanket.

He flicked her hand.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You’re in trouble, little witch.” He gently, but forcefully, put her on her back, in the grass. He caught her right hand and brought it over her head and held it with his right, so that he had her pinned to the ground.

She struggled, but only half-heartedly. She knew what she did, but it wasn’t her fault. And she kind of liked him pinning her hands over her head- she liked to feel his strength. “It’s your damn fault for forcing me to smoke.”

“Forcing you?” He noticed her shirt wasn’t laced up enough for him to do much- too much struggling on her part and she would expose herself. He had noticed, and had tried not to notice, that when it was just the two of them, she liked to travel with her shirt half unlaced or unbuttoned. She truly did have such beautiful skin. “How to punish you...”

Claire struggled. “It’s not my fault. You’re the one who needs to be punished. Let me go.” She pouted her lips out at him and fought against his hold- no chance; he was far too strong. Her stomach growled. She grinned up at him.

Lestat smiled down at his little witch- his little village sheltered stoned munchies hungry witch who ate all their food, and was still hungry. He grabbed her side and tickled her and she screamed and thrashed against him, her breasts bouncing, her feet kicking the grass.

“Stop! Stop it!”

He ran his hand past her breast, to her armpit, and tickled again.

“Stop! No more!”

Lestat stopped, but still held her in place.

She glared at him, and huffed. Her hair was in her eyes. She huffed again.

“Which do you prefer- a new nickname, or more tickling?”

“Nickname.” She blew hair out of her eyes. He smiled down at her, then released her hands and she shot up and pushed him backwards into the grass, and held his hands over his head. “You’re the one in trouble.”

“I didn’t do anything, munchies. You’re the one-”

Her eyebrows turned in, and she lowered her eyes at him. “That is not my new nickname.”

“It is, now.”

“It isn’t, now.” Her stomach growled again.

Lestat laughed at her. “How about beautiful?”

Claire smiled. “Much better. Now- where’s my morning kiss?”

“I’m helpless. Defenseless.” He played at struggling against her- she was far too strong. “You’re in charge of the morning kiss...”

Claire grinned- she didn’t know which she liked better: being pinned down by him, under his control, or holding him down. She liked both. She leaned forward, pushing her body into his, pushing her breasts into his chest, and touched her lips to his, then touched her tongue to his, and leaned in, and kissed him good morning.

*

It’s a damn lucky thing they were only a seven hour walk away from a village. And Claire was very happy when she saw it: red fields of grass had been replaced by golden fields of wheat, and green fields of potatoes, carrots, parsnips, kale- this place would have good food. This was perfect. Her eyes sparkled.

Lestat listened to her hum as they approached the village. They needed food, and water, and they were not entering that forest at night, so maybe she would get lucky and get her chicken and biscuits. He wondered if it was possible any of the people here knew anything about the woods.

Claire tugged him forward, skipping.

They walked past long fields where shiny, black soil teemed with late-season vegetables. Farmers, in dirty jeans, and dirty shirts, raised up and waved. They had wheelbarrows full of black-gray-yellow compost, spreading it on the fields for next year’s planting. They entered the village through a gate- two unarmed guards watched them come, and nodded at them as they passed, and smiled. As soon as they entered the gate they saw the village well, directly in the center- it was a large wooden and stone structure, circular, and was the first thing any visitor would see when they entered the village. The streets were a mixture of dirt and cobblestone, and the houses were all stone and mortar and lime, and four women were around the well, talking, and looked at them excitedly as they approached. Claire assumed their excitement was at seeing Lestat, and lowered her eyes, and grabbed his hand.

Lestat walked up and kicked a bucket into the well- rope ran after it and Lestat let it run- the rope whipped, unwound, whirred, then a splash and he stomped his foot down, catching the rope. He grabbed the rope and started pulling it up.

“Do you need help filling your skins?” a woman asked.

Claire nearly cussed- these fucking women. But they weren’t looking at Lestat- they were looking at her. All four of them were running their eyes up and down her thigh through the slit in her long leather skirt, and they were looking at her arms, and chest. Claire blushed. And she eventually accepted their help because they appeared to have no interest in Lestat. At all. And because the well was deep.

“Are you traveling somewhere?” one of the women asked, pulling a bucket up out of the well.

“The forest. Know anything about it?”

The woman looked from the wolf, to the forest just beyond the village walls. “I know it’s dangerous, and I know it’s old,” she said, turning back. She rested her eyes on Claire’s thigh- a sliver of white running all the way to the thinnest line of white underwear. “I’ve heard it’s a different place- a very cold place. A woman came out a year ago or so, frostbitten, skinny- no fat on her at all, and she talked about dangerous wolves, and ice. Mostly the wolves.”

“What happened to her?” Claire asked.

The woman looked down into the well, then at her friends, and they nodded agreement. “She didn’t make it very far.”

The women gave the wolf and the witch directions and watched them as they walked down the street. Directions to the inn. Directions that weren’t asked for.

Markets were open, and stores were open, and men and women stood in the doorways of wooden homes, smiling. Men and women greeted them on the street, smiling.

Lestat glared more and more with each person they passed- these damn villagers stood too close to him, and stared too hard at Claire, and they all smiled like village fucking idiots. Lestat growled. This place was greasy. The people had shiny skin. There were far too many lanterns hanging from the eaves of houses, and half of them were lit, despite the evening light. Lanterns are not easy to maintain- the wicks need to be trimmed and pulled. And the flames in the lanterns was an odd color: yellow-white. He adjusted his pack and dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“What are you doing? Don’t you dare mess up dinner for us.”

They walked to the tavern; Lestat opened the large wooden door, held it for Claire, and she stepped in. All the townspeople stopped, and turned, and smiled. Lestat growled again, and Claire elbowed him. Lestat kept growling, though it was so low only Claire could tell. What the fuck was wrong with these people? They were either all stoned, all a shade shy of retarded, or there was something in the water. Claire paid for a room, and dinner, and a barmaid led them up three flights of stairs to their room: a single bed, a single dresser, a single lantern, and a single bucket with stale water- their bath. The cotton curtains held the evening light the way bandages hold a blister- white, and splotched red, and seeping yellow.

“Huh,” Claire said, looking down at the bucket. She was hoping for a bath. A single towel would be useful. “What do you think’s for dinner?”

“Something’s not right here.”

“I think they’re all lesbians. Or hell, maybe farmers are just happy people.”

Lestat grinned. “That covers half of them. I guess the men are just inbred, potato-tards, then.”

Claire snickered, and the barmaid was back before they had a chance to set their packs down. She brought a plate of steak, an odd, broth-orange soup with thick chunks of fatty meat, and beer, and wine. Meaty.

The barmaid followed with a pitcher of water and two glasses.

Claire looked from the food, to the barmaid, to the water. “Is that it? Just meat? Do you have towels? And maybe another bucket of water?” This shitty room and meat should not cost an entire gold coin.

“Oh no- I’ll be back. I’ll bring more food. And lots of towels. Please relax. Drink some water.” She scampered off.

Claire thought her dress was too low, and looked up to make sure the wolf wasn’t looking at her- he wasn’t; he was looking out the window. She looked at the soup- at least it had potatoes and carrots. She fished around with her fingers.

Lestat leaned to the window, slipped the curtain back, and watched as a warehouse door was opened. A few seconds later two men pushed empty wheelbarrows from around the corner, and went into the warehouse, and one man came out. Lestat saw metal tanks, and bales of red grass just before the door was slid shut. The man leaving the warehouse had a wheelbarrow full of black and gray and slightly yellow compost. The man turned a corner, and Lestat saw a human leg dangling out the left side, bouncing along, black, and rotten, and decomposed, and yellow at the crust.

Claire plopped a big piece of meat into her mouth, then added a carrot, and a potato. She knew before she took the first bite- this was delicious. Wow.

People gathered. Couples. Families. First two, then four, all entering the tavern below. Eight. And some of the men had shovels. No. All of the men had shovels. “I wouldn’t eat that,” Lestat said, and turned to her.

“Whughy?” she asked, her mouth full. Juice dribbled down her chin and she smiled and wiped it off. Wow this stew was good. Fatty veal. She didn’t remember seeing cows on the way into this village, and no one here looked like they had the mental competency to read or write a recipe, or even shake salt out of a jar, but damn if they couldn’t cook.

“I think it’s people.”