Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

Mutch and Toddy sat quietly upon a log near Filch’s bower. They’d been there for well over an hour and the child was growing restive. He was trying hard to emulate his father’s self-control but his nose informed him that a mole was excavating beneath their feet; his ears, that a wild pig sow was conducting her brood to the fen that drained into what Mirella had designated the Deplorable Caverns and, his eyes had spotted the black and white bib of a quail as it bobbed and scratched for mealybugs among the ferns just thirty feet from where they sat. A whine escaped and immediately his hands clapped over his mouth and he threw a mortified look up at his father’s somber profile, hoping his little slip had gone unnoticed. Mutch had heard but pretended otherwise. He empathized with his son’s impatience and had been surprised when Toddy had begged to be allowed to come along. He was quite proud and impressed that the pup had managed to stay still for so long.

When no scolding was forthcoming Toddy lowered his hands and slumped with relief then stiffened when his father’s arm fell across his shoulders. But the gesture was not a prelude to a reprimand. Mutch smiled down into the anxious little face. Leaning down, he nuzzled his son’s neck and thanked him for keeping him company but since it looked as though the wait might take a while longer, he could go and play - if he wanted to. Overjoyed to be released but eager to show his father how grown up he was, Toddy put on a show of reluctance then, after further paternal urging, gave Mutch a nuzzle, slipped from the log and scampered off.

Watching over his shoulder as Toddy made his exuberant getaway Mutch grew pensive. Although he knew what Crispin was attempting was futile a part of him harbored a hope - a very small one. Mutch, knew where he belonged and was content. His place was to serve and protect his human family -Elena and Mirella - and he would do so until his life had run its course, but he wanted his son to have a life of his own. One in which Toddy would see others of his kind, learn the joy and fulfillment that came from serving a kind and loving Master or Mistress, find a mate and raise a family. Mutch wanted him to experience a normal day, nap in the warmth of the sun and revel in the change of seasons. But, should it happen that a way out was found, there was no assurance that once free of the Wilderness the Shifting would be countermanded and he and the others would revert to their true selves.

If they retained their human guises, then the world outside the Wilderness was one that Mutch did not want Toddy to experience. With no way to communicate other than by sign, his life would be fraught with danger, prejudice and intolerance once his true nature was perceived. And perceived it would most certainly be for human he might be on the outside but within he was pure canine and there was no disguising the fact.

In the gypsy camp where he and Mala had lived with their master and mistress, magic birds had been trapped and sold because their uniqueness was highly prized, but Toddy would be persecuted for his. Mutch had seen first-hand how humans treated those who were different. The camp had sheltered a young boy, a half-wolf, and although he was the orphan son of the queen's youngest daughter, the other gypsies - and even the boy’s own grandmother - had barely managed to contain their loathing for he was an abomination in their eyes. Mutch suffered no illusion that humankind would treat his beloved son any differently. With a heavy heart he resumed his wait for Crispin.

Although the man was deep in the wood, Mutch could sense his mounting frustration and panic as he sought for a way out. Six times Crispin had set out only to end up back where he’d started. Mutch had long ago established that any direction taken with the purpose of leaving only led back to the starting point with the trekker unaware that he was retracing his steps.

Mutch’s senses quickened and he rose to his feet; a few minutes later Crispin stumbled out of the underbrush. Mutch's heart twisted in sympathy when he saw his friend’s eyes – polished bright and hard by fear, mounting desperation. He’d seen the same look reflected in the eyes of the caged magic birds.

Crispin collapsed, exhausted upon the fallen tree trunk and dropped his face into his hands. Mutch sat down beside him and waited patiently for the man to collect himself. Crispin’s hair was plastered against his neck with sweat and dirt and his shirt and trousers were in a similarly deplorable state. An aggressive thorn or bramble had etched an angry scratch down one forearm, which had left a rusty smear across the shirt’s grimy front. A light mist rose from his body as the warm sweat condensed in the cold.

When Crispin lifted his head, Mutch offered a water flask. Wearily nodding his thanks, Crispin raised it to his lips. Over the lip of the flask his eyes revealed exhaustion but Mutch was not surprised to note that there was no sign of defeat.

Crispin kneaded the muscles of his bad leg. It ached but the strenuous exercise didn't seem to have done any harm although he knew he'd probably pay for mistreating it in the morning. While his fingers worked he stared off into the trees - there was a way in therefore, there had to be a way out. He just had to continue searching. On the next try he'd pay extra close attention and perhaps be able to detect the point at which his direction double backed. Perhaps if he could just break the cycle… Mutch jumped abruptly to his feet and loped off, distracting him. Shrugging to himself he took another swig from the flask and felt sufficiently revitalized to tackle the Wilderness again. He had taken no more than a dozen steps when a voice caused him to turn around. It was a feminine voice and it was coming his way.

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve he peered through the trees, spying several figures approaching. His heart began to race. It was Mutch and walking by his side, dwarfed by his towering frame, was Mirella. leading Toddy by the hand. The girl and child were swinging their clasped hands and laughing. When Toddy caught sight of Crispin he let out a whoop and pointed him out to Mirella. The two - hands still gripped - started racing excitedly towards him. Mirella, skirt and petticoat looped over one arm, flashed a pair of milky legs, bare feet fleet and surefooted as she ran over the hazardously cluttered ground.

Along the way their hands separated and Toddy, sprinting ahead, hurdled the log and leaped into Crispin's arms. The man circled his arms under the child's and locked his fingers against the small back. Slowly he began to spin, gaining speed with each turn before at last lowering Toddy to the ground. Giggling helplessly Toddy got unsteadily to his feet and attempted to walk, merriment escalating with each tipsy step and near tumble.

Laughing, Crispin straightened and turned to find Mirella, hands on hips, staring saucily down at him from atop the log. Thick hair cascaded from crown to waist and her caramel hued eyes were warmed to a rich gold from the exertion. Full lips were as ripe and red as cherries and just as tempting. His laugh choked off. Gone was the innocently flirtatious girl he'd strolled beside and fallen in love with the night before. In her stead was the gypsy maiden who had kissed him in the dark and, according to Filch, fearlessly spurned a loutish suitor. He sympathized entirely with Milosh's obsessive pursuit.

Mirella held her arms out invitingly and he placed his hands upon her waist lifting her down. She was light as thistledown and her intoxicating perfume made more pungent by the race, threatened to overcome him. He experienced that extraordinary sensation of hunger and euphoria he always felt in her presence. Enticingly she raised her lips; eagerly he obliged the invitation.

While roughhousing with Toddy, Mutch had also been keeping an eye on the couple. Now a furrow crept between his brows. He was well acquainted with the signs of love and the pair displayed all its symptoms, yet there was something about their ardor that was…disquieting. Extricating himself from Toddy, he was walking towards them when they broke apart. Mutch paused, cocking his head in puzzlement. Although they appeared somewhat dazed - a natural side effect after a passionate embrace –the abnormality he’d noted was no longer detectable. To make sure, he sniffed, delicately sampling the air, then rolled it upon his tongue like wine. It tasted sharp and pungent with damp, mushrooms, bark, old leather, game, wildflowers and…passion, but left no aberrant aftertaste. Perhaps he’d misread before. Still, he remained there for a moment longer, watching as Crispin and Mirella settled upon the fallen trunk, shoulders touching, fingers entwined, foreheads dipping close. Mirella's creamy cheeks were flushed as she listened to something Crispin was saying. Pacified, Mutch discreetly withdrew, marshaled Toddy, and headed home. He therefore failed to see Mirella's blush drain away and her body stiffen.

Crispin attempted to repair his gaffe by pulling Mirella into his arms but she rebuffed him, batting his hands aside and jumping up. She did not run away as he feared but came to a stop a short distance away, back to him, fingers digging into arms, body trembling with hurt, humiliation and anger. Silently cursing himself for a fool he frantically searched for the words that would alleviate her fears and make everything right again.

When she'd inquired about what he and Mutch had been doing in the forest all afternoon he'd simply replied with the truth - that they'd been searching for a passage out of the Wilderness. He had been taken aback by her reaction for it had not occurred to him that she'd misinterpret his words and believe that he meant to abandon her. He stared helplessly at her rigid back. How would he convince her that should he find an outlet, he had every intention of returning?

Girded with conviction he took a deep breath and spoke. Fervently he vowed his love, maintaining that the very thought of being away from her was unendurable. But - his voice deepened with resolve - he could not forsake his duty, and he could only carry it through by escaping back into his world. Standing, he opened his hands in entreaty and swore upon his honor that once the trolls had been routed and stability restored to the kingdom he would return - for he could no sooner turn his back upon her than he could his obligation as a soldier.

He waited. Her posture had loosened but she did not face him. Then, as his heart was sinking, she turned. Anticipating tears or lingering traces of offense he was surprised instead to see, calculation. Before he could consider the possible significance she ran lightly to him and rising on tiptoe, kissed him passionately. Grateful for exoneration he made to gather her closer but she wiggled from his embrace, grabbed his hand, pulled him back to the log and resumed her seat upon it. Bemused, he made no objection and sat down.

Before he could speak she leaned toward him, eyes glittering with expectation, and asked if he'd had any success in his search? Nonplussed he just stared at her. Seeing that he didn't understand she smiled indulgently and explained- the forest was a prison, if he found a way out then, that meant they could all leave, thus, when a method of escape was discovered she would go with him.

Crispin was caught off-guard. That was something he'd never even considered. Excitement began to rise but died abruptly. Taking Mirella's hand he gently reminded her of the curse. She gave a disdainful toss of her head replying that she cared nothing about the curse. In fact, with each passing year she had come to the conclusion that there wasn't one - that it had been a spiteful ruse by Queen Llorona to frighten her mother because she, Mirella, had dishonored Milosh by refusing his hand. Besides, her mother had never even told her what the curse was supposed to do so, even if there was one, it couldn't be very bad. Grinning mischievously, she gazed up at him through her thick lashes – suppose its purpose was to cause a hideous wart to sprout upon the end of her nose – would he still love her?

Her playful mood was infectious, prevailing over his misgivings. Cupping her face he kissed the tip of her nose, replying that he'd love her even if she grew a hairy mole upon her chin to match. She giggled at the absurdity and he buried his face in her hair savoring its delicious scent. Any belief he might have held that he could leave her behind was discarded.