It happens every thirteen years. The Run.
Unmarried, over 18 year olds from the village, names pulled out of a drum in the Village square. It is an honour. Or at least to those who do not run it is an honour. To those who do run, it is everything from an honour to a horror.
We have been bathed, blessed and dressed in white which is a stupid colour for the run if you ask me, flowers braided in our hair and running shoes on our feet, we mill at the edge of the village. Old Jed is playing an accordion, his wife on the fiddle and there is bunting on the houses. The smell of roasting meat and wood smoke permeates the air. One or two of the runners eat. Most don't either through strategy or nausea. As the sun lowers in the sky, the mayor clambers up on an overturned apple barrel.
I tune out his droning about tradition and honour and peaceful co-existence, shared survival blah blah blah. Instead, I focus my attention on the forest edge, checking for movement, for the flash of light catching a set of eyes. Nothing yet. Or it if there is I don't see it.
My fingers shake with adrenaline and the butterflies in my belly become raging dragons as smoke appears over the top of the trees. The fire is lit in the glade.
Once the last rays of the sun fade from the horizon and our way lit by the moon, the race will be on. The aim? To make it to the huge campfire from where the smoke rises. Whether you do it alone or not is down to the runner.
It started so long ago. Humans were sick and fragile, the wolf people in the forest were hardy but so small in numbers. They needed to mix up the gene pool, we needed to strengthen ours. The chase is supposed to be a way to demonstrate your health, intelligence, speed and cunning. For the wolves to demonstrate strength, and hunting prowess. I think the first 'brides' just ran like hell.
Some of this years runners have made arrangements with not so secret lovers from the pack- to prance around the forest, playing kiss chase until they are 'caught' and mated and bitten. Few runners aim to try and hunker down and hide until the night is over- that is a terrible idea, there is no hiding from their scenting ability. The rules say if you make it to the campfire alone and unbitten, your life remains your own. Though frowned upon, no-one really talks about those who are caught, mated and left unbitten and alone in the forest.
The first whistle calls the runners to the rope. The three elders make their way down the line of runners, the male uses an aspergillum to flick water from the falls over us, the woman swipes a deep red dried paste made from crushed schisandra berries across our foreheads muttering blessings in the old language. The final elder, the Tie blows a purple tinged powder in our faces.
It feels gritty on my skin and I blink and blink trying to clear it from my eyes. It's not allowed to rub it away. It has a very light herbal scent that disappears almost immediately and a faint taste on your lips but nothing you can place.
The Tie blows the final power in the face of the final runner, cackling when he sneezes.
The second whistle and a hush falls over the crowd. Or I think it does. I cannot hear anything over my heart beat. There is a younger girl next to me, she is trying to hold it together, but her pupils are massive and silent tears have carved a path in the powder. I reach down and squeeze her sweaty hand with my shaking one and we hold each other together for this minute.
My legs tense when I hear the high pitched squeal as the rocket flies up into the sky, it explodes with a bang and a shower of light, the rope is dropped and the race is on.
My hand is dropped as my running mate sprints to the forest entrance. It's a mistake. She will be an easy target for the lazier, more desperate wolves of the pack. The good ones enjoy the hunt. The only ones sprinting should be the ones with pre-arranged rendez-vous, they will be off limits to all but their partner.
I hang back jogging with a few of the others, splitting up just before the forest edge. The rules say I must be inside the forest line but not how far in. I jog along right on the edge until I am up away from the village. If the wolves have any sense or mating instinct, they will be concentrated where most runners enter or along the route to the glen and the campfire. I figure that up and around the perimeter, there will be less.
A howl in the distance has my back pressed to the rough bark of an oak tree. I hold my breath, trying to pinpoint where it comes from. The scream that follows helps. Back towards the south. I head north. Nothing can be done for the screamer now. The moon is huge and close, giving me enough light to avoid crashing through the brush like a wounded deer.
As I continue my creep through the forest, scanning constantly for the glow of eyes, watching for traps, they're not allowed but I don't trust that it will matter. The earthy scent of decaying wood, returning to the soil, damp moss and tree blossom is stronger than usual, a breeze catches my hair bringing with it the reek of adrenaline, fear and arousal. It causes my lower belly to clench unnervingly.
Behind me the crack of a dry twig resounds like a gunshot. My head spins as I duck behind a fallen tree trunk, heart pounding in my throat I hold my breath, afraid even that will be audible. I peep around when no other sound follows, and I need to breathe. I don't see anything. Not that it matters.
I count to 100, still nothing, the rustle of leaves and hoots of owls start to filter in over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. Another 100 and I have convinced myself it was nothing. I'm gathering my wits to stand when a streak of giggling shrieking white races across the small clearing, a light haired young man with yellow eyes sprints out of the bushes behind her, catching her around the waist within 3 long strides, he swings her round and off her feet, she squeals, I can't make out what he says but she wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him, nodding into the kiss as he lowers them both to the ground sliding her shift up.
The jolt of electricity down my spine is unexpected.
I stay low and back away slowly on all fours, it looks like a prearranged meeting but you can never be sure, and there may be another wolf blood stalking her and these white shifts stand out like freaking beacons in the moonlight.
When the sounds of giggling, groaning and slapping flesh are out of earshot, I scan the area and squat down, clearing the detritus away until I reach damp soft top soil, I scoop a couple handfuls rubbing onto my shift, trying to dirty it and dampen the "come get me" glow. I run my dirty hands over my legs and over my throat A ripple of goosebumps breaks out and I have to sink my teeth into my lip to keep the little whine in my throat. Well that's new. What the hell was in that powder?
"Clever little pup" The voice sounds genuinely delighted and...appealing. The owner is learning up against a tree, maybe 30 meters away. He's in half shift, canines elongated, eyes glowing ice blue, ears larger and twitching back and forth, he's no doubt bigger than he would be in fully human form. Its one of the rarer traits.
He sniffs the air, nostrils flaring, "It's not doing much to dampen that delicious scent though".
I take off. I'm not even entirely sure what direction I'm heading in, but a glance up tells me its deeper into the forest towards the glen, if I can get there I'll be fine. If.
I jump over a creek, stumbling and sliding on my knees on the other side, the low growl behind me has me grasping a tree root and dragging myself up the embankment without looking back. Getting deeper into the woods, the air is thick with sex, pheromones and panic. I stumble over a mating couple and fall, my upbringing has me muttering sorry as I scramble upright, a gaggle of arms and legs. The snarl follows me through the trees.
A roar shakes the forest and my legs go out from under me, sending me rolling down an incline, prickles poking my skin, twigs slashing at my legs, the bumps knocking breath out of me but nothing breaks. I dive behind a tree to hide.
My legs burn with lactic acid, I'm full of bruises, my lungs feel like I'm panting fire, I'm wet between my legs.
I'm wet between my legs?
