Common Ground

He had made it as far as the front door when she stuck her head out from the hall bathroom. Half of her hair had been curled already, and she worked to tame the other half as he turned back at the sound of his name - or rather her pet-name for him.

“Where are you going?” she said in an accusatory tone. Her eyes moved up and down his entire length. “And is that what you’re planning on wearing?”

He repositioned the backpack slung over one shoulder and yanked at the two sides of his unzipped hoodie to take in his own outfit. The shirt had long since faded. His exposed knees peeked out of the holes in his jeans.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” he said.

She scoffed and disappeared into the bathroom to set down the hot curling iron. She herself had on only a robe, unless one counted the cotton balls between her freshly painted toes.

“Larry,” she said, returning, “you know how important tonight is.”

He glanced around the apartment in a clear sign he did not know the importance of that evening's events. Holding his hands out, he said, “It’s just my monthly get together with my friends. What’s the big deal?”

She threw her own hands in the air and stomped into the bathroom. Now he’d done it. But what exactly he’d done, he couldn’t say. All he knew was, she was upset. He retreated back into the apartment and stood in the opening to the bathroom.

She worked at curling her hair, both looking at him through the mirror and not looking at him. The hot iron came in contact with her finger and she emitted a cry. She spun around and sucked on her finger.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re upset,” Larry said. “Or am I supposed to guess?”

She tilted her head with a vacant look. He was certain it wasn’t her birthday or their anniversary, but something along those lines he’d forgotten about.

“What?” he said, lamely.

“We’re having dinner with my parents tonight.” She turned back to the mirror and twirled another strand of hair. “I told you about it last week.”

“I can’t,” he said and braced himself on the door jamb. “I’m going out with the guys tonight. I always go out with them on the night of…” He took a breath and redirected his argument. “I have plans.”

“Well break them.”

She unplugged the iron, having finished her hair, and pushed past him into the bedroom to get changed. He pinched the bridge of his nose before following after her.

When he entered the room she had slipped out of her robe and was fastening her bra behind her back. He tugged on the strap of his backpack.

He said, “Can you call them and reschedule?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead she took a dress from the closet and removed it from its hanger. She pulled the dress over her well-made hair and adjusted the straps for comfort.

“Cynthia,” he said. “Tonight’s the worst night. Please, any other night would work–”

“We’re going,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on her shoes. “And that’s final.” 

She stood and crossed the room to her vanity mirror and jewelry box. He found her eyes watching him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Aren’t you going to get changed?” she said. “And what’s with the backpack?”

He couldn’t help looking at the bag on his shoulder.

“An extra change of clothes,” he said, defeated.

“What is it you and your friends do together,” she said, “that you would need to change halfway through?”

He tossed his bag onto the bed and pulled off his hoodie. She strided past him, but not before adding, “Wear the blue button up. It brings out your eyes.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and left him to get ready on his own.

_________________

They pulled up outside a one-story house set back from the street. A walkway made from pathing stones cut an undulating curve to the front door. On either side of the path were native plants to the area, most in bloom and attracting pollinators of the flying variety.

Larry turned his head to gaze out the window at the house. The sun hung over the red-tiled roof, still a few hours from its date with the horizon.

“Who eats dinner this early?” he said.

“Buck up,” Cynthia said. She tapped him on the chest. “Think of it this way: the sooner we go in, the sooner it’ll be over for you.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door.

“Yippee,” he said and followed suit.

They walked up the path as bees danced around their heads. Larry swatted at them, which amused Cynthia. He hadn’t learned yet that’s a good way to upset them. She rang the bell and they waited for someone to answer.

“Your dad hates me,” he said.

“He doesn’t hate you.” She rolled her eyes. They had this conversation every time they went over to her parents house.

“Yes he does.”

“You just need to find some common ground,” she said. “That’s all.”

The door opened before Larry could slip in another dig. Mr. Talbot stood in the entryway. His gruff exterior melted upon seeing his daughter.

“My darling girl,” he said with wide spread arms.

“Hi, daddy.”

The two embraced and swayed in place, as if this was the first time they’d seen one another in months. Years. Larry waited for the hug to end, knowing what would come next.

They separated and Mr. Talbot looked over at Larry. The smile faded back to that look Larry had come to feel meant only one thing: disappointment. His heterochromia gaze reflected the hot and cold fluctuation of his personality between that of his daughter and her choice of suitor.

Mr. Talbot said, “Boyfriend.”

He then stepped aside to allow them entrance. Larry caught Cynthia’s look as they entered together. She gave him a forced smile, saying it won’t be that bad.

Inside the house the smell of home-cooking filled the air. Cynthia closed her eyes to take it in and swooned.

“God, it smells so good,” she said. Mr. Talbot closed the door and threw the lock.

“She’s making mutton or lamb or something,” he said. “Some recipe she got out of a magazine or on Pinterest or what-have-you.” He waved his hand in the air to signal his wife was a mystery even to him still.

“Larry loves mutton,” Cynthia said. She placed a hand on his chest, which meant he should agree with whatever she had just said.

“Oh yeah.” It was his turn to force a smile. “Can’t get enough of it.”

“Yeah, well,” Mr. Talbot said and led them toward the living room. He had a football game on the television and a bowl of chips and dip on the tv tray next to his recliner. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Cynthia said. “But I’m sure Larry would appreciate a beer or whatever you’re drinking?”

One brown eye and one blue eye rolled over to Larry to ask if that were true. Larry rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and said, “Sure. I mean, please.”

Mr. Talbot stood motionless for a moment and then proceeded to the kitchen. Once he had left the room, Larry whispered with an overtone of anger to his girlfriend.

“See,” he said. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, he sure doesn’t like me. He’s always calling me ‘the boyfriend.’” Larry clicked his teeth together with disapproval.

Mr. Talbot returned with drinks in hand. He passed off a bottle of beer to Larry. “Sorry, it might still be warm. I got them at the store shortly before you two arrived.” In his other hand he held some sort of mixed beverage. The ice cubes clinked against the glass as he raised it to his lips to take a sip.

“This is great,” Larry said. He took a swig and fought against a grimace. It tasted as if it’d only been cooled for perhaps a minute. Maybe not even that long.

Mr. Talbot took a seat in his recliner and put his feet up. Cynthia signaled for Larry to go join him, to which Larry shook his head.

“I’m going to go say hi to mom,” Cynthia said. Her dad raised a hand, but didn’t turn to look over at her.

“I’ll go with you,” Larry said.

Cynthia shook her head and nudged Larry toward the couch. “I’ll be right back,” she said, almost inaudibly. She gave him a pat on the butt and left the room.

Larry stood, unsure what to do. Finally he sat down on the edge of the couch, afraid to appear too comfortable. Mr. Talbot made a sound as Larry sat. Larry tried not to let it bother him, but he knew Mr. Talbot had groaned at his presence. Larry forced more of the room temperature beer down his gullet.

On screen the home team made a first down on their opponent’s forty yard line. Mr. Talbot cheered and leaned over to the tv tray to snack on the chips and dip. He didn’t offer any to Larry.

It was just as well, Larry thought. Without food in his stomach, maybe the lukewarm beer would take effect faster. Lord knew he needed all the help he could get to make it through the evening.

“It was awfully nice of you to invite us over for dinner,” Larry said in an attempt to pave the way for a more enjoyable evening.

“My wife’s doing,” Mr. Talbot said without missing a beat. “I didn’t want to, but she insisted. Adamant about it, in fact.” He gave a meager shrug. “Said something about women’s intuition or something. I don’t know. So happy wife, happy life and such.”

He grumbled something more into his glass. Larry couldn’t make out what he said, but he knew this meant the conversation had come to an end. He pulled his phone out to check the time.

“Got somewhere to be?”

Larry looked up to find Mr. Talbot staring at him. He slipped his phone back in his pocket.

“No,” Larry said. “I thought I felt it vibrate, so I was just checking.”

“A leg tremor?” Mr. Talbot raised his glass to his lips. “Might want to have that checked out.” He sipped his drink.

Larry nodded and sipped his own beer. Funny how fast you could get used to the taste. Or maybe it was through sheer willpower.

The running back broke through a tackle and was brought down within the red zone. The home team was knocking on the door.

“That was a nice play,” Larry said, pointing at the tv with a finger hanging off his bottle.

“I didn’t take you for a football fan,” Mr. Talbot said. “Who's your team?”

Larry didn’t know what to say. He’d been caught in a lie and so said the first team that came to mind. 

“Ravens.”

“Ugh.” Mr. Talbot grimaced and gulped his drink. Perhaps to wash the bad taste out. Apparently Larry had chosen a division rival or something similar. Whatever the reason for Mr. Talbot’s indifference to Larry’s answer, it effectively ended any further conversation on that topic as well.

Larry turned his attention to the window. This evening couldn’t end soon enough.

What felt like hours later, Cynthia returned with her mom in tow, relieving Larry from his anguish of sitting alone with Mr. Talbot.

Mrs. Talbot had gotten gussied up for the occasion, wearing a red dress with white polka-dots and matching white hoop earrings. Her hair appeared to have been done up for company and Larry remarked as such.

“Ah, this,” Mrs. Talbot said, feigning humbleness, “is merely a good hair day for me. Normally I can’t do a thing with it. Canape?”

With two oven-gloved hands she held out a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Toasted squares of bread with some sort of paste. A whole almond on top looking like the cherry on a sundae.

Larry reached for one, but then drew his hand back.

“Something the matter?” Mrs. Talbot said.

“Oh,” Larry said, embarrassed. “It’s just…”

“Larry’s allergic to nuts,” Cynthia explained. Mr. Talbot hurrumped into his drink.

“Didn’t play outside enough as a kid, eh, there boy?” He laughed as he finished his mixed drink. Mrs. Talbot blushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s ok. Really,” Larry said. “They look terrific otherwise.” Inside though he couldn’t believe it. He knew for a fact Cynthia had told her parents - multiple times - about his nut allergy.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Talbot said, withdrawing into herself. “I’ll have to do something about the lamb then.” She rushed out of the room toward the kitchen.

Mr. Talbot popped out of his chair and came around the side. He snatched one of the canapes from the tray his wife had left behind in her wake.

“Another beer, boyfriend?” Mr. Talbot licked his fingers as he left the room, still laughing to himself.

On the tv, the home team celebrated a touchdown.

_________________

They all sat around the dining room table with various amounts of that night’s meal on their plates. Mr. Talbot had a mound of mashed potatoes with slices of mutton layered on top. Everything smothered with gravy. Mrs. Talbot and Cynthia had facsimiles of the patriarch’s plate, albeit in much smaller portions. It was Larry’s plate that was mostly empty: parmesan baked asparagus with the pine nuts separated out on the other side of the plate.

Mrs. Talbot fumbled with her napkin in her lap and bit at her lip. “I didn’t realize how many varieties of nuts I used in making this meal,” she said. She looked around the table. “Honest, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Mr. Talbot cut off a slab of mutton and stuffed his cheek, though his smile could still be seen on his face.

“The asparagus is terrific,” Larry said as he held up a spear. “Some of the best I’ve ever had.” He stuck the slender vegetable in his mouth and chewed.

“You’re only saying that to be nice,” Mrs. Talbot said. “But I thank you all the same.”

“The meal’s great, mom.” Cynthia raised her wine glass. “To the cook,” she said. They all saluted Mrs. Talbot and sipped the red wine.

Larry finished his glass. Without much food to interspace his sipping, the first glass had gone down quickly. Mrs. Talbot stood and grabbed the wine bottle from the table.

“More wine?” she asked and filled Larry’s glass. As she poured, she said, “I can make you something else, if you want? Without nuts, of course.”

“This is great, really,” Larry said. “I’ll have another roll though.”

“Absolutely. Here.” Mrs. Talbot snatched the basket of bread and thrust it at Larry. He took one from under the folded cloth and she sat back down to resume her meal.

Larry tore into the roll while he stared at the mutton in front of him, wishing he could partake. The mutton had been cooked on the rare side and the dark juices of its blood had pooled out to the fringes of the serving dish. Larry’s stomach grumbled looking at the meat soaking in its own moisture. He stuffed the bread in his mouth.

“So, dad,” Cynthia said after patting her lips dry with her napkin. “Mom tells me you’re going on your yearly camping trip tomorrow.”

Mr. Talbot picked at the back of his teeth with his pinkie.

“That’s right,” he said. “I was supposed to leave today, but, well…”

He raised his eyebrows and took a gulp of wine before cutting off another big bite of mutton.

“You know who’s a fan of camping?” Cynthia said. 

Larry’s head snapped up and he pleaded with his eyes for her to look at him. To stop before she said what he knew she was going to say. He held his hand up to his mouth and coughed in an effort to get her attention.

“Larry used to go all the time with his father growing up,” she said and finally turned to look at him, now that it was too late. “Isn’t that right, Dilly?”

Why’d she have to use her pet-name for him in front of her parents?

Larry sunk in his seat, shunning the attention bestowed upon him. He picked up his wine glass and nodded his head, disappearing behind the flute as best he could.

Mr. Talbot pushed himself up on his elbows and tilted his head to the side, as if he were seeing Larry under a new light all of a sudden.

“Is that so?” he said. Then a second later, he added, “Too bad we’re full up between my friends and I.” He stabbed a piece of mutton. “No room,” he said, as if it weren’t already clear to everyone at the table.

“That’s ok,” Larry said. “Next time, maybe.”

Mr. Talbot hurrumped into his plate and proceeded to not look at Larry through the rest of the meal.

After they had finished eating, Larry helped Cynthia clear the table to make room for the dessert plates. He followed close on her heels into the kitchen, eager to have a word with her.

“Why did you say that about me going camping with my father,” Larry said as he set down the stack of plates by the sink. “I’ve never gone camping in my life.”

“I thought it would be good for you,” she said, all innocent. “Maybe a couple nights out in the woods would be a good bonding experience. I think my dad always wanted a son, and instead had to settle for an only daughter.”

“Wanted a son,” Larry huffed. “Sure doesn’t act that way.”

“Come on.” Cynthia opened the cupboard and brought down four small plates. “He likes you. He just has a different way of showing it.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop volunteering me for things,” he said. His face drooped, pouting. She smiled and placed her hand on his chest.

“You’re a wonderful man,” she said. “And I love you very much. If that’s any consolation.” She gave him a peck on the end of his nose.

Behind them Mr. Talbot coughed to announce his arrival.

“I was wondering what was taking so long in here,” he said. “Thought you needed help finding the dessert plates.”

“Got them right here.” Cynthia held them up and walked back to the dining room. Mr. Talbot lingered to scowl at Larry. Larry sheepishly went by him.

Dessert was served. Carrot cake. With nuts.

It almost felt deliberate now. How could Mrs. Talbot have gotten so mixed up? Unless she’d thought Cynthia said Larry adored nuts. That might explain it.

Larry’s stomach rumbled even more. The asparagus not enough to satisfy his growing hunger. He filled the void with brandy Mr. Talbot had set out on the table. The combination with wine from dinner and the two beers for an appetizer gave the room a hazy glow. Larry could feel it working in his bloodstream. The light-headness and tingling sensations.

He reached for his glass and paused to scrutinize the rim. A strand of gray hair danced on the edge. Larry plucked it from the glass and held it to the light.

“Something wrong?” Mrs. Talbot said.

“No,” Larry said, pulling the strand between his hands. “I found a hair on my glass.” He looked between the Talbot’s heads and saw it matched neither one of them. “Don’t know where it came from since it’s gray,” he said.

“Gray?” 

Mrs. Talbot held her hand out for the errant hair. She held it under the light and her eyes darted over to her husband. She swished the hair from her fingers onto the floor.

“Must be from the dog,” she said with a smile and used the edge of her fork to cut a bite of carrot cake.

“What dog?” Cynthia said, puzzled. “You don’t own a dog.”

“No, we don’t,” her mom said. She pushed the bite of cake around on her plate. “But the neighbors do. Poor little thing doesn’t like to be left alone. So when they step out for the night, they often bring their dog over for us to watch till they return.” She scooped up the sliver of cake, leaving behind a trail of frosting. “Isn’t that right, Claude?”

Mr. Talbot, who had been staring at the back of his hand, moved it under the table and smiled at his wife.

“That’s right,” he said. “A terrier or something of that sort, I believe.” He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and stood from the table. “If you would excuse me for a moment, I need to go check on something.”

A look passed between the two parents before Mr. Talbot shuffled from the room. His footsteps sounded down the hall to the master bedroom where the door closed and the lock turned.

Mrs. Talbot went back to eating her cake as if nothing was amiss. Cynthia, if she noticed the look of concern on her mother’s face before her father’s departure from the table, didn’t make any indication of probing further about this dog business.

Larry reached for his brandy when his stomach tightened. His hand jerked and knocked the glass over. The rosy liquid soaked into the tablecloth. Larry jumped back from the table.

Both Mrs. Talbot and Cynthia gasped at the sudden movement.

“Sorry about that,” Larry said. “I really didn’t mean…to…” He clenched his teeth in pain.

“Are you alright?” Cynthia asked. She pressed her own napkin to the spill on the table.

A bout of pain forced Larry to bend at the waist. A fist gripped the tablecloth until the pain subsided. He groaned and pushed himself away from the table.

“I think I just need…Is there a bathroom nearby?”

“Down the hall on the right,” Mrs. Talbot said. Her hand had floated up to her lips.

“I’ll be…right…back.” 

Larry forced a grimace of a smile and trotted from the dining room. As he left, he overheard Mrs. Talbot say, “Oh dear. I hope it wasn’t the nuts.”

He made his way down the hall, bent at the waist and one arm thrust out in front of him to feel along the wall. He reached the bathroom and closed the door with more force than he’d intended.

The marble countertop of the vanity sink felt cool against his hot skin. He tried to breathe, though the fear charging in his mind made it hard to do so.

The dining room was vacant of any windows and Larry knew he’d lost track of time. Now in the bathroom, a window of clouded glass proved his worst fear to be true. It had become nighttime over the course of their meal.

Larry lifted his head to the looking glass, already knowing the reflection would not be his own, but of something else. Something much worse.

The changes had already started, which explained the cause for the pain in his gut. The pain radiated out to his arms and legs as the changes progressed. Hair sprouted everywhere. A rich, black hue of lush fur. His fingers curled and shrunk back toward his palms. His ears morphed and extended to triangular points. The green of his eyes faded to a bright yellow orbs, like an autumn moon.

He was only halfway through his metamorphosis when the knock came on the bathroom door.

“Larry,” Cynthia said, “is everything alright in there? You’re making a lot of noise.”

“I’m fine,” Larry said, relieved to hear his voice at least was still his own. “I’ll be done in a moment. Go back to the dining room.”

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

Larry’s bones cracked as they rearranged themselves within his skin. The shifting of his skeletal structure sent bright flashes of lightning through his body. He could do nothing but scream to help himself push through it.

More knocks followed by the jingling of the handle.

“Larry, come on, babe. Open up. Please.”

“I’m fine,” Larry roared more than spoke. 

He was running out of time before his changeover would be complete. Once done, he had nowhere to go. If only Cynthia had allowed him to leave the apartment that night instead of coming here, all of this could have been avoided. For eight months he’d been able to keep his alternate life a secret from her. Now less than two inches of fiberglass threatened to give that secret away.

“Go back to the table,” Larry said. “I’ll be out soon.”

He had gotten his voice under control again and prayed she would heed his warning. The changes forced him onto all fours and a tail sprouted out behind him.

“If you’re sure?” Cynthia said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

His new acute hearing told him she had left and padded down the hallway. Now he had to find a way out of the bathroom, but without the use of his hands, the door wouldn’t be an option. He thought he might be able to make it through the night, until early morning light, but surely Cynthia would be back to check on him. If she somehow picked the lock and entered, he couldn’t be certain in his animal state that he wouldn’t maul her. Once the wolf took over, all bets were off.

To his own ears his exasperated breath let him know the change was complete. He walked in circles on top of his torn clothing. Another perfectly good outfit wasted.

His eyes scanned his confined space, looking for a way out. He could feel his human thoughts slipping away. A burning hunger rose in his gut. He needed food, sustenance to replace the calories used to change into the wolf. Drool dripped onto the square rug hugging the base of the toilet. His yellow orbs fell upon the clouded window.

Before he knew it shards of glass fell into the rose bushes outside the window and his paws felt the moist earth between his toes. He was free.

An animal awareness told him he needed to get out of the city limits. Dark had only descended recently, which meant mankind would still be out and about. He needed to head away from the bright lights and moving objects on the black paths cutting between houses.

Keeping close to the row of houses, the black wolf padded his way through shrubs and over fences. His paws scraped tri-lines as he scampered over the walls. As he departed from the area, human voices questioned what they’d seen climbing over their fence. Too big for a raccoon. Too animal for a person.

The further he got from the neighborhood of tract homes, the wider the gaps between buildings became. There were more trees. Bushes. Smells.

The wilderness.

The sounds of motors and television sets died out, replaced by birds coming home to roost for the evening. Nocturnal predators came out to hunt. The air told of them. Musk. Urine. All around him were fellow creatures looking to satisfy their primal urges.

The black wolf burst out into a sprint, feeling the wind in his fur. His tongue lapping side to side. Pine and moss. Things only faintly discerned through a human nose, crowded in the olfactories of the wolf.

He stopped. Head tilted. A sound.

Something scampered in the leaf litter. Nose to the ground. Deep breath.

A chipmunk most likely. Not worth the time or energy.

The wolf needed something more substantial.

He took off running again, letting nature lead him where she may. Without the aid of the city lights, he had to rely on the brightness of the moon. An ivory glow descended on the world, bathing the landscape in a pale aura.

The wolf stopped to mark a tree. He sprayed his scent. A warning to other predators in the area. To other wolves, if there happened to be any, though this was unlikely as wolves had been hunted to extinction in the state decades ago. Sheep farmers protecting their flock.

A snapped twig. Alert ears. Probing. Listening.

The wolf jerked its head around and sniffed at the air.

A deer nearby.

He got low to the ground, letting the soft pads of his paws cloak his presence to the potential prey. He stalked the unsuspecting animal.

Scent and sound had given the deer away, but it wasn’t until the wolf laid eyes on the doe moving through the trees that the wolf’s mouth started to salivate. Drool accumulated in the corners of his mouth. His stomach ached for fulfillment.

The hunt was on.

He crept closer, staying downwind from the deer, though hardly more than a breeze was blowing that evening. Instinct told him to be quiet. Those big ears of the deer, a tasty morsel of meat, could hear well.

Move slow. Keep low. Don’t be too anxious.

Soon the wolf had moved to within fifteen yards of the deer. Her doe eyes were constantly keeping a vigilance on her surroundings. She lifted one leg and held it, motionless. Something wasn’t right. Something was out there.

He could hold back no longer. The wolf leapt out of his hiding spot and sent the doe running. She weaved. And turned back. Darting. Trying to escape.

The wolf kept pace, his powerful legs digging into the dirt to give him traction. Agility. Grace.

They were side by side. Breath condensing in the cold, night air. Two animals with the same goal. To survive.

The black wolf lunged and sunk his fangs into the neck of the doe. Hot blood washed down his throat. The taste of iron. The taste of life.

A kick from the rear legs released the wolf from her neck. She was wounded, but not incapacitated. Not yet. She turned away and ran up hill. The wolf, thrown for only a second, renewed his pursuit and pushed hard to regain lost ground.

If the doe had remained among the trees, she might have made it. But whether through fear or inexperience, she made for a clearing on the hill side.

She sprinted, but was also tired. The wolf caught up. His need for meat outweighed her fight for survival.

With her blood on his lips, encouraging him on, the wolf pounded after the doe. The trees departed, removing all shadows. The full moon like a spotlight on the clearing.

The wolf pushed everything he had into one final leap and landed on the back of the doe. His teeth latched on, refusing to let go this time. The deer slowed from the added weight, then stopped.

She tried to buck him off, but the wolf remained firm. He had her now and squeezed his jaws tighter together. She fell over, spent.

Taking some sort of pity on her, the wolf delivered the death blow and ripped out her jugular. Blood pooled. She twitched once. Twice. Never again.

The thrill of the hunt, the delivery of food. Emotions too powerful to suppress, the wolf sat back on his haunches and howled at the moon.

Teeth ripping. Flesh tearing. The wolf ate with a greedy, insatiable appetite. Memories of the bloody mutton from dinner, the deprived happiness of his human half, came back to the wolf. He ate faster.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Something large. Something hungry as well.

The black wolf lifted his head. A string of entrails hung from his jaws. He peered into the treeline, into the shadows. What was it that had gone by?

Then, a flash on his other side. Whatever was out there, was quick. Moving with stealth, much like he had. His hackles raised and he emitted a low-rumbling growl to the intruder of his meal. He would not let his catch go without a fight.

Ears moving. Left. Right. Forward.

Where was that other beast?

The wolf spun in circles around his kill, not wanting to be snuck up on. He continued to growl, to look big, though as a werewolf, he was already bigger than his cousins out there.

Another flash. Turning around. Only a glimpse. Gray in color, but no doubt another wolf. His human half started to assert itself more, trying to piece the mystery together, working together with his wolf half.

The gray wolf, maybe deciding he couldn’t surprise the black wolf afterall, gave up all attempts at remaining inconspicuous. He stepped out of the shadows into the clearing. His hackles were raised as well. His head low. They appeared to be evenly matched in size. Their coats different colors, but basically the same animal, aside from one other minor detail.

The gray wolf had two different colored eyes.

One brown. One blue.

They circled one another, forgetting about the deer carcass between them. The spoilers of the ensuing battle. Whichever one came out on top.

Fangs bared. Drool foaming. Ears back. Heads low.

Neither one seemed content with making the first move, but instead they circled, sizing one another up. Then it was on.

They clashed teeth against teeth. Snarls and grunts. Whimpers and barks. They tussled, rolling over one another with clumps of black and gray fur thrown to the winds.

The black wolf swiped with his front paw and clipped the gray wolf’s muzzle. The Gray wolf backed up and shook his head. Dazed. But only for a moment. Then back into the fray.

Dust picked up with the shuffling of eight legs. Blood flowed from wounds to the face and neck of each wolf. They were going to have it out. Nature’s desire to be the lone wolf. The alpha.

Gray threw the black wolf. The latter tripped up and flipped over, landing in a sprawled heap on the ground. He got to his feet in time for the next attack.

Flashes of white. Teeth.

Flashes of red. Blood.

The fight went on longer than either could have anticipated, neither wanting to relent. Neither giving up. Death would be the acceptable outcome.

Each time one wolf was thrown, they got back up and jumped back in. They traded off. First it appeared the gray wolf would win. Then the black. Back and forth it went till both wolves were spent and had nothing left to give.

They both stood apart from one another, their lungs inflating and deflating at an alarming rate. If they didn’t kill one another with their teeth, over-exertion might do it.

A truce.

When the gray wolf had recovered his breath, he sat and lowered his head to the black wolf. A salute to a worthy opponent.

Black crept over to his kill and looked down on it then back to the gray wolf, waiting his turn, if any choice meat should be left to devore.

The black wolf sat next to the doe and nudged it with his bloodied muzzle.

Come, eat with me, he seemed to say.

The gray wolf stood and came over to the carcass. The two wolves ate together as equals.

_________________

Night had passed and a glow appeared on the horizon. The sleepy town began to stir as people got up for their day. At the house with the crooked path, Cynthia peered out the front window with her arms crossed. She hadn’t slept a wink, worried the whole night over Larry’s disappearance.

“Here, honey,” Mrs. Talbot said. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

She set a serving tray down on the table and poured out two cups of tea. She brought a cup and saucer over to her daughter by the window.

“I don’t understand,” Cynthia said. “I just don’t understand.”

“I know, honey.”

Mrs. Talbot handed off the saucer before filling a cup for herself. After another glance up and down the street, Cynthia joined her mother on the couch.

They sat in silence for some time, enough for the sun to rise and light up the room. Cynthia almost jumped out of her seat at the opening of the front door.

Arm in arm, Larry and Mr. Talbot entered the house laughing with one another. Both were covered in smears of mud and bits of leaves in their hair. And both were naked as the day they were born.

“Where the hell have–” Cynthia began to say before “Why are you both naked?” She averted her eyes as Mrs. Talbot brought over two blankets for them to wrap themselves in. It was almost as if she had expected something like this to happen.

“What a night we’ve had,” Larry said. He pulled the blanket around himself, appreciating its warmth and softness.

“I was worried sick,” Cynthia said.

“I know.” Larry reached out for her. “I’ll explain everything on the way home.”

Too tired to fight any further, Cynthia gathered her things. Larry’s clothes had been destroyed in his transformation, and since he’d left his backpack at home, he was without something to change into. Mrs. Talbot said he could bring the blanket back the next time they came over.

They stepped out onto the porch to say their goodbyes. Cynthia kissed and hugged both her parents. Larry hugged Mrs. Talbot.

“I’ll let you know about the camping trip next month,” Mr. Talbot said after shaking Larry’s hand.

“I can’t wait,” Larry said. This time he didn’t need to force a smile.

“I’ll bring some trail mix for us. Extra nuts.” Mr. Talbot slapped Larry on the back. “Only teasing of course.”

“Good one, Mr. Talbot.”

“Call me, Claude.”

“Claude.”

They shook hands one more time and then Cynthia and Larry made their way down the crooked path to their car.

“What was that all about?” Cynthia said once they were inside the car.

“Nothing,” Larry said with a shrug. “Your father and I found some common ground.”

Cynthia frowned at the cryptic message, but started the car. They pulled away from the curb and Larry turned his head to wave goodbye to Mrs. Talbot and Claude, standing on his porch in nothing but a blanket.