“Wolf!”
It couldn’t have been more than a pinch of dust, but a cloud glistened around the Wanderer before his body collapsed.
The transformation was immediate. Before he knew it, he stood lower to the ground and was much warmer, suddenly impervious to the cold.
Ella Bandita’s scent was stronger, and he turned towards her. He could see her easily, his vision unaffected by the dark.
He also saw his heart beating in her hand and growled. He could feel his pulse vibrating outside of him, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
Ella Bandita cursed when he lunged for her again.
Then he stumbled and pain shot through his skull when his face hit the ground. He extended his arms to push himself up and saw his hands were paws covered in black fur.
Then he realized he was on four legs instead of two, the black coat of fur stretching along his torso, the thick tail dropping between his back legs. His ears twitched from the sound of whimpering, and he knew he was the animal making that plaintive cry.
How could this be?
He was a man, not a wolf.
He heard her chuckling just before a loud crack made him drop to the ground.
Ella Bandita had her pistol pointed to the sky and cocked the hammer again. Then she brought the gun down and aimed right for him.
He got up and fled into the trees before she pulled the trigger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this confused or frightened. He tripped often as he ran, stopping once he realized she wasn’t coming after him.
“Follow your heart…”
He remembered his grandfather and his hollow space throbbed.
He had to return.
That woman had his heart and he had to get it back. He stayed in the trees close to her camp and wailed to the sky. He could hear his heart beating inside her tent. He could sense her agitation, her tossing and turning while he howled for the rest of the night.
The next morning, Ella Bandita seemed weary when she came out of her tent. There was heaviness in her limbs he’d never seen before, and shadows under her eyes when she glanced his way.
He stared at her from behind a tree, his body rigid in case she shot at him. But she turned her back and broke down her camp.
His lips quivered while he watched her pack. A vision crossed his mind of throwing himself at her, sinking his teeth into the nape of her neck until the bones crushed.
This instinct to violence frightened him. The Wolf needed all his human will to restrain himself.
But the girl took no notice, mounting her horse and kicking its flanks.
The Wolf couldn’t keep up with her stallion.
But he followed the deep prints and never lost track that smell. He stumbled along the way until he discovered his rhythm running on four legs.
By evening, he came to a province twenty miles west of where he started that morning.
There were woods outside the town gates, and he found Ella Bandita’s camp in the trees an hour later. His nostrils fluttered at the scent of his heart, his pulse a relief to hear.
Ella Bandita frowned when she saw him.
The Wolf kept his distance, remaining silent until darkness. Then he started howling, his grief ululating in waves until the first light of day.
When she came outside, he saw the circles under her eyes had grown darker. But she ignored him, packing up and leaving for the next town.
And the Wolf followed.
So it went for a week.
The Wolf was relentless, the scent and sound of his heart making him desperate to get it back.
His reflection was a shock whenever he saw himself in the creeks and rivers. The sight of his big snout, sharp teeth, and long ears was upsetting.
His eyes were the only feature he recognized. Instead of a feral lupine gaze, he kept the black eyes of his mother and grandfather.
As the days passed, the Wolf fed on nothing but water and the tiny fish he managed to catch.
But desperation wasn’t enough to keep him going. He could feel himself wasting away.
Then the morning came when she didn’t leave.
Ella Bandita had camped at the edge of a forest in the middle of a valley formed by opposing hills with streams winding down to feed the creek flowing through the woods.
From his vantage at the peak of the western hills, the Wolf saw she didn’t get up until late morning. But the circles under her eyes were nearly black when she came out.
The Wolf was as exhausted as she, and relieved she rode off without packing up.
He spent the day trying to hunt something to eat.
But the squirrels escaped him easily, for the Wolf was too weak to catch them. He stopped near her camp to take a long drink from the creek, swallowing as many silvery fish as he could. The sun was low in the sky, dropping towards the western hills and his nemesis hadn’t yet returned.
He listened for the beat of his heart and his hollow throbbed when he heard nothing. Then he realized his heart must have been in the satchel on her back.
Of course, she wouldn’t have left it behind.
