The afternoon bled away in a haze of unexpected contentment. After the morning's gardening fiasco, the wolf had taken to its role as companion with a solemn dignity. It followed Celestine as she weeded, its head casting a shadow over the flowerbeds. When she sat to braid garlic strings, it lay at her feet, a warm, heavy weight against the cool earth, its ears twitching at the sounds of the forest. It was a silent, hulking, and strangely comforting presence.
Celestine found herself chatting incessantly, filling the quiet with a stream of consciousness she usually reserved for her plants. "...and the key to a good drying shed is airflow, you see? Not too much sun, or you lose the volatile oils, but a consistent, gentle breeze…" The wolf would occasionally lift its head and give a soft whuff, as if in sage agreement. It was absurd. It was wonderful.
The sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold, when the comfortable silence was shattered by a sound that froze the blood in Celestine's veins—a sound that had no place in her sanctuary.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Heavy, imperious, and clad in steel.
The wolf was on its feet in an instant, a low, dangerous growl rumbling in its chest, its body tensed for a fight. Its eyes, fixed on the door, were pure, feral amber.
"Shhh!" Celestine hissed, her own heart hammering. She made a sharp, downward gesture with her hand. "Hide. Now."
For a terrifying second, she thought it would refuse, that its protective instincts would override its sense. But with a last, worried look at her, it turned and melted into the deep shadows under her worktable, its grey fur blending seamlessly with the darkness. It was still there, a coiled spring of potential violence, but out of sight.
Smoothing her skirts and plastering a politely confused expression on her face, Celestine opened the door just a crack.
Three Knights of the Church stood on her doorstep, their polished plate armor gleaming in the late afternoon light. The leader, the one who had knocked, was a man with a strong jaw and a smirk that didn't reach his cold eyes. He doffed his helmet, revealing slicked-back dark hair.
"Mistress… Stine, is it?" he said, his voice a smooth baritone. "I am Captain Valerius. We're conducting a search of the surrounding woods. We have reason to believe the lycanthrope we wounded has taken refuge in this area."
Celestine widened her eyes, injecting a tremor into her voice. "A werewolf? So close? Saints preserve us." She made the sign of the sunburst over her heart, the gesture feeling like a blasphemy.
"Indeed," Valerius said, his eyes roaming over her, from her loose hair to her bare feet, with an appraisal that was anything than holy. "It's a dangerous time for a lovely woman to be living all alone out here. So… isolated." He took a step closer, leaning a gauntleted hand against her doorframe. "You haven't seen anything? Large tracks? Heard any unnatural howling?"
"Only the usual forest noises, Captain," she said, keeping her gaze demurely lowered. "A wild boar got into my chickens a few nights back, made quite a racket. But nothing… wolf-sized that you're describing."
One of the other knights, a younger man with a patchy beard, chimed in. "We could search your property, mistress. For your own safety, of course. Make sure the beast isn't hiding in your woodshed." His tone was overly familiar, leering.
Celestine's smile tightened. This was the dance she despised. "My cottage is quite small, as you can see. And I assure you, my woodshed only contains wood." She made to close the door. "Thank you for your vigilance, Captain."
Captain Valerius didn't move. His smirk widened. "All citizens are required to cooperate fully with the Church's inquiries. We'll need to verify your identity. For the record."
The threat was veiled, but clear. Celestine's mind raced. She could refuse, and they would force their way in. She could comply, and hope the illusion held. With a sigh of feigned reluctance, she turned and fetched the small, stamped copper plate that identified her as "Stine," a registered herbalist and adventurer's guild affiliate. It was a necessary thing, one of her most precious possessions.
She handed it to Valerius. His fingers brushed against hers, lingering a moment too long. A cold fury began to simmer beneath her fear.
He examined the plate, then handed it back, his eyes locking with hers. "A herbalist. How… charming. You know, a woman of your… talents… shouldn't be wasting away out here. I have quarters in the citadel. Far safer. More… comfortable." The implication hung in the air, thick and repulsive.
From under the table, she heard the faintest scrape of a claw on stone. A warning.
She forced a flustered, girlish laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, Captain, you are too kind. But my place is here, with my garden. I'm sure you have far more important monsters to hunt than to worry about a simple plant-lady."
For a long, tense moment, he held her gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, he finally stepped back, replacing his helmet with a definitive clank. "As you wish, Mistress Stine. But remember my offer. The night is dark and full of terrors. It's good to have… protection."
With a last, sweeping glance that felt like a violation, he turned, and his men followed. Celestine stood in the doorway, watching until the three figures disappeared into the tree line, the sound of their armored footsteps fading away.
She closed the door, bolting it with trembling hands, and leaned against the solid wood, her breath escaping in a shuddering rush.
The wolf emerged from its hiding place, its body still tense, its lips pulled back in a silent snarl directed at the door.
"I know," Celestine whispered, sinking to the floor, her composure finally cracking. "Pompous, preening, predatory roosters in tin cans." She wrapped her arms around her knees. "They don't see a person. They see a resource. A prize. Or a threat to be eliminated." She looked at the wolf, its fierce loyalty a stark contrast to the knights' false charm. "It's exhausting. Always pretending to be less than I am. Always smiling at men who see my kindness as an invitation."
The wolf padded over and lay down beside her, resting its massive head in her lap. The weight of it was grounding. She buried her fingers in its thick, warm fur, the simple contact a balm.
"You're better company," she murmured. "You don't try to flirt. You just… listen."
Later, she cooked the rabbit meat with some of her stored root vegetables, making a rich stew. She ate at her small table, and the wolf lay beside her, chewing contentedly on a large bone she had saved. She talked to it about the different ways to preserve herbs, about the upcoming frost, about anything and everything except the Church and the weight of her own history.
But as the last of the light vanished and the moon began its ascent, the wolf grew restless. It stood, pacing to the door and then back to her, a low whine in its throat.
"You have to go, don't you?" Celestine said, her heart sinking with a surprising pang of loneliness. "Back to your woods. Your… pack?"
The wolf looked at her, its golden eyes unreadable in the firelight. It gave a single, definitive nod.
She walked it to the door, unbolting it to reveal a night silvered with moonlight. "Well. Don't be a stranger. But maybe… knock next time? And for the love of all that grows, leave the gardening to me."
The wolf nudged her hand with its cold, wet nose—a gesture of startling affection—and then slipped out into the night, disappearing into the shadows as if it were made of them.
Celestine stood in the doorway for a long time, the ghost of its warmth still on her hand, the memory of the knights' leers a cold stain. Her peaceful life was gone, replaced by something far more complicated, far more dangerous, and—as she looked at the now-quiet garden—infinitely less lonely.