The world of Innistrad was not one that Megara would normally have been interested in. It was an oppressively dark and grim place, even the daytime was dimmed by a misty grey pallor that left a ghostly grip on the cold, harsh realm. Even the city of Thraben, Innistrad's most metropolitan and active city was dull.
Megara made her way to the outskirts of the city, the stares from the townsfolk nothing new to her. Innistrad did not seem to have its own naturally occurring centaurs so someone of her ancestry stood out. She was aware that not too long ago there was an attack on the plane by an eldritch abomination that had left a number of cruelly warped and manipulated amalgamations in her wake. To some, the emergence of what appeared to be the fused visages of a horse and rider had seemed a portent of Emrakul's return. Thankfully, the absence of external sinew or tentacles wrought from flesh was sufficient to assuage the fears of most, and the blessings of the angel Sigarda seemed to satisfy the rest.
Still, the fact that she kept drawing attention was an issue. She still had work to do on Innistrad, but she did not think she could stand another minute in Thraben with the gawking and muttering simpletons. She knew the risks of venturing out of the city walls, of getting caught in the wilds of Innistrad after nightfall, but she figured she would rather deal with threats she was allowed to actually fight back against. She checked her map, there was a town a short ways north that she could make her way to. She'd be able to find somewhere there to make camp for the night. She rolled up her map, tied her blonde hair back in a ponytail and set off at a gallop.
The scenery around the centaur was actually quite lovely, once the early morning gloom had passed. The fields were misty and fragrant with workers labouring earnestly. Some stopped to wave as she charged by, others simply ignored her. It reminded her of the Harvest of Karametra back home on Theros. The sight helped rid her of some of the frustration she had felt with Innistrad as a whole, reminding her that no matter where in the multiverse she was, there were always some things that were the same. Theros was warmer though, and as she pulled her cloak tighter around her bronze tanned skin and over her thin leather bodice, she was once again reminded why she disliked this plane.
She charged on through the afternoon, stopping only briefly for a small lunch to revitalise herself. She had been out for too long and aside from the small collection of farmhouses just outside the city walls had not encountered her target. She had taken a wrong turn somewhere or had overshot her goal. Either that, or the small cluster of half decrepit farm buildings less than a mile from Thraben proper was what passed on this plane for a town. She was genuinely considering turning back when she heard a heavy, dull thwack in the woodland beside her. Curious, she made her way forward through the trees towards a small clearing. The leaves overhead provided a sort of canopy as the dull crack of what she now recognised to be an axe splitting logs was echoed by the rumbling of thunder in the distance. Meg moved slowly, being as stealthy as it was possible for a centaur to be.
Standing over a tree stump was a man. His ruddy skin, the colour of redwood bark, was sweating profusely. He was topless, his shirt hanging from a small branch a few paces away from where he was working. His muscles glistened in the failing sunlight as he hoisted the heavy, black bladed axe over his head. With a grunt of exertion that let the veins in his neck pulse and flex visibly, he swung the axe down hard onto a log, rending it in two with a single blow.
The woodcutter leaned back slightly and heaved a sigh, wiping his brow with his arm. His body was covered in a mat of course black hair, from his shaggy head flecked with lightning strikes of silver to his surprisingly well kept beard, to the carpet that encased both his chest and forearms. He almost had a higher proportion of his body covered in fur than she did. He stood panting for a few seconds before reaching down to pick up another log. His fingers had just wrapped around the wood when he stopped. He stood upright, glanced around and sniffed the air before shrugging his shoulders and putting the log down.
"You know," his voice was deep but surprisingly youthful. "It's both rude and dangerous to sneak up on someone like that. Particularly this close to Ulvenwald." Meg gulped slightly and stepped into the clearing. The woodcutter gave her an appraising glare. "This ain't Thraben young miss. No stone walls or angels to guard you out here. There's wolves and worse, if you ain't careful."
Meg could only nod. Innistrad was famed not only for its potent necromantic energies giving rise to a frankly uncomfortable number of zombies, as well as the vampires who almost unilaterally rule the plane, but also for its werewolves. They were bizarre creatures, rare enough in the multiverse that transform between man and beast with the moon. Vampires, angels, demons, zombies, all were commonplace across many planes. But werewolves were almost uniquely an Innistradi species.
"Not from around here, are you?" The woodcutter queried, raising a disinterested eyebrow. He wasn't really asking, more making an observation of her situation. Meg simply nodded. "I've encountered folk of your ilk before. Not the half horse part, that's a new one on me, but Outsiders. Seems trouble follows folk like that. Whether they cause it or try to contain it, who can say. Whatever it is, can't be an easy life."
He put his axe down against the stump and made his way over to Meg, the salty sour scent of his sweat assaulting her nostrils as he did. "Name's Alaric, what's yours?"
Startled, the centaur just blurted out the word Megara. The woodcutter just nodded. "There's thunder in the air, Megara, and not far off by my reckoning. Besides, even for someone like yourself, Thraben is a bit of a ways off. You'd be hard pressed to get there before nightfall, never mind before the rain. And there's no way they're letting anyone through that gate once the sun goes down." He looked sadly into the middle distance, a dark cloud covering his eyes. "Some lessons you only get taught once here."
Alaric draped his shirt carelessly over one shoulder. "You're best off coming back with me, if you don't want to be caught out here after dark. I'm afraid my house wouldn't be overly comfortable for someone of your build, but you're more than welcome to the barn."
Meg simply snorted. "I find it awfully presumptuous of you to assume that I'd just go with you like that. Strange man in the woods, swinging an axe, veiled threats? Why should I believe you? You may very well have some sort of nefarious plan for a lone young girl. And I'll just overlook the barn comment as well."
Alaric did not in any capacity look phased. "Hey, I can't make you do anything you don't want to. I'd wager you outpace me a good five times over on those legs, nothing I could really do to stop you if you wanted to leave. You fancy taking your chances against Innistrad after dark on your own, I ain't gonna stop you. You go right ahead." He turned and immediately began bundling up his timber and heading off.
Megara took a moment and felt a shudder run through her shoulders as the rumble of thunder shook the sky far too close to be comfortable. She groaned. She could handle herself well enough, she wouldn't still be breathing if she couldn't, but she had to accept that fending off one creep would be preferable to dealing with a forest full of monsters. Reluctantly, she agreed to go with Alaric.
Moments later the skies opened and released a deluge of cold, biting rain. Megara yelped and pulled her cloak over her head. She started to trot a little faster and Alaric moved to keep pace with her. She glanced down and offered a hand to him. She shouted down to him over the thrumming of her hooves and the cacophony of the rain. "I'm faster than you are. Hop on my back, if you guide me we'll get there much faster."
Alaric nodded and hoisted himself up on top of her in a single impressive swing. He was heavier than Meg had anticipated, but still manageable. He felt so warm pressed against her, his legs gripping tightly to her chestnut fur covered equine body, though he did squirm somewhat uncomfortably. She turned to face him and slowed up slightly. "Wrap your arms around my waist. I'm not typically one for giving pony rides to people, so I didn't think to pack a saddle. If you don't want to fall off, I suggest you hold on."
His thick, muscular arms slid around her humanoid waist, and he pressed right up against her back. His heartbeat was agonisingly slow and heavy, a steady drum beat against her shoulder blades. His breath was deep and deliberate, and he was so warm, so very warm against the cold rain. It almost felt like he was running a fever. He leaned in to speak directly into her ear so he could be easily heard over the rain. The feeling of his warm breath tingled down into Meg's neck.
He led her expertly back to the road and up towards what looked to be a lovely little cottage on top of a hill. Beside the cottage, looking somewhat under-loved and dilapidated but otherwise functional, was a small barn. Meg made a beeline straight for the barn, the heavy wooden doors creaking ominously in the wind. Alaric dismounted and unfastened the locks on the barn door. The door whooshed open and Meg darted inside. It was stuffy and dark, the crunch of dry hay underhoof was a welcome change of pace from the swamp of mud that had been the ground outside. She shook herself out, the fur on her hindquarters sodden in the rain. She peeled her now dripping cloak from her skin and hung it from a post.
Alaric set to work bringing in half a dozen gas lamps from the house. He set them up at staggered intervals around the barn and lit them bathing the barn in a soft orange glow. He climbed up a rickety ladder to the mezzanine above, bringing down some dusty blankets and sheets.
