Luc' 4

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A man stood at the door. Where was this? Wolf visually followed the stranger around the bed. He wore a dark cloak with the hood up. His hands were old. Are you old? The man continued around the bed and sat down not far away. An arm’s reach and they would touch. Could the man be trusted? Wolf watched him. He wasn’t really looking at him, the man. He seemed more interested in the view out of the window. Wolf studied the blanket on himself.

          “Are you thirsty?” The man said softly.

          Wolf glanced at him again. Thirsty? As the man looked at him he held out a cup. Wolf looked into the cup and at the man. Could he be trusted? I don’t know about this. Maybe sensing his unease the man raised the cup without looking at him and sipped its contents. The man handed it back. Wolf looked at the cup. Nothing odd about it at all. The man had drank from it…Wolf took it and sipped its contents. I am human he realised all at once.

          “Do you have a name?” The man asked wonderingly. Wolf didn’t answer. How many times was he going to ask himself if the man could be trusted?

          They sat in silence for great spans of time. The man never did anything. As a statue he sat and said nothing. His own leg felt covered in tiny insects making his skin crawl. To get at the itch creating the sensation and scratch it away. If I do that I’ll break the stitches. I’ll bleed. He shivered inside as something stroked softly against each of his nerves. The wolf? I hate blood.

          Just then something stirred. It broke the touch on his nerves and stitched together a string instead. It pulled him to a hand on the bed. The man’s hand. Why was it on the bed? The man still wasn’t looking. For some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He tried, several times. Each time that string pulled him back. Wolf left the hand on the bed unanswered for a time. What would it do? Nothing? Ensnare him? Wrap around his wrist should he trust it and capture him forever more. Wolf watched the hand.