Wolf Meeting A Bear

Meeting Quinn in the forest/Camilla's POV

The friend of yours looks at me. They wear a smile they must think looks innocent and playful.

But, in truth, it’s a predator measuring the worth of another. A wolf meeting a bear.

A liar knows their kin.

What is their lie, I wonder.

However, there’s something else about them, something I can’t quite place. Something that sends shivers down my spine. They pay no mind to their head injury, their gaze is not disoriented, their step is steady. It’s as if I didn’t strike them at all.

It’s…

You shift beside me, reminding me not to get lost in my thoughts. You’re stuck in the middle of this, stuck with them. I wonder if you know their true scent of danger. Or are you blinded by your friendship? Or…

Are you in on it?

You said that they can be trusted. Are you actually that foolish, or do you think that I am? Either way, the answer is vexatious.

/

You didn’t sound sure of their trustworthiness. Can’t you utter the truth in their presence, or have you not made up your mind?

No matter, at least you know something is wrong with them. A small grace. Unless it’s all an act.

“You two can bond,” they say with glee in their gaze.

They’re pushing you to me, that much is obvious. Why?

You don’t seem sure, either. The sentence makes you peer at them with a hint of uncertainty. The sight calms my mind, if only a little.

Then, your friend hits the Optio’s face. The bones give in easily and a loud crush echoes through the forest. They hit it again and again, and every one of their swings is fueled by animalistic rage. It’s a sight that’s too familiar, a face that could be mine.

I look away to notice that there’s something on your skin.

Blood.

A peculiar sight, one that I’m all too eager to explore. Does it belong there? Should I help you?

No. It doesn’t belong. It looks wrong, somehow. Blood shouldn’t taint your skin.

And before the thought can punish me further, I pull out the vial of wine.

/

Yes. Blood becomes you, it looks like your second skin. You should be covered in the blood of your enemies.

It’s almost a shame to wipe it off.

The familiar scent of wine caresses my senses as I help you in your bloody peril. I take a step toward you, fully in control, fully knowing it’s a dangerous path to travel. You look at me, and the conviction shakes a little in its foundation. Your body heat penetrates the cloth, it warms my fingers.

Reminds me that you’re alive.

The sickly sweetness of the blood combines with the wine’s vinegar as I quickly leave your vicinity.

I don’t look at you as I leave. I look at your friend. Their face is bloodied red as they give me the widest of smiles, their white teeth shining like washed-up skulls in a midnight river.