Trust Issues

Appearing as if from thin air, a tall, thin elderly woman in a thin, black dress had appeared at Cuu's bedside. Her beady eyes stare straight through the wounded Wolf; the emerald orbs nearly covered by the wide brim of her pointed hat. This stranger takes the book from Cuu's hand, replacing it with a warm bottle of glowing green liquid.

"Drink, Wolf." She orders. "It will speed along your recovery."

Cuu's twitches at the mention of his Tale; his claws extending out of instinct.

"You called me old friend." He says; enough venom in his voice to kill a man. "I do not have friends. Who are you, Elder?"

The old woman examines Cuu with thoughtful eyes. "True; we are not friends. I knew another Wolf. A previous self of yours."

"Which one?" Cuu asks, setting the bottle aside. "Three of my Tale have had their heads mounted outside of Roundtable in the past century... I saw them weeks ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The old woman rests a hand on his shoulder. "The one I knew; her name was Minsi... I am sorry to find you in such a state."

Cuu bats the hand from his shoulder, a disgusted look etching into his grimace. "Neither of us need your pity."

"You even sound like her." The old woman takes off her hat, setting it on the floor. "I am Theodora Oswald; The Wicked Witch. It's good to meet you again."

The tender moment is brought to a screeching halt by the slam of the front door. Cuu turns back from the racket, only to find the grandmother and her hat had vanished. Through the walls, the Wolf heard a light sobbing.

"Y-you were right." The faint, muffled voice of Dorothy was shaken. "He wasn't... he... he..."

"Shhh, it's okay my pretty; I know... I know..." The voice of Theodora was far softer than during her prior conversation. "Come, sit. I'll get some wine to take the edge off."

Cuu looked to the bubbling bottle by his bedside. If he had to hear any more melodrama, perhaps it would be best to take the risk at being poisoned; just to get out of this damned place faster. He had better things to do than lay about. Namely, finding that cat.

...

Dorothy sipped from the glass of morel wine. She could handle her ****, of course; she'd been drinking the stuff since she was small enough to fit into one of her own baskets. The issue was more so her current guest; the one recovering in her spare room. Her Grandmother had offered him one of her trusty tonics, but the poor man was too untrusting to drink it. So, since he would need more personal care, it meant she'd need to stay mostly sober.

Mostly.

"I told you nothing good would come of that Tale." Granny chided, sipping her own glass. "The Beauty has always been trouble."

It was rare for Granny to speak of Tales; something Dorothy always found odd, given the old woman was one herself. A darker one, at that.

Finding this to be a good chance to take her mind off things, Dorothy asks. "Which one is Mister Cuu, then?"

She knew something was up when Granny had actually set down her glass without finishing it off. The old woman's eyes dart to the spare room door, and then back to her granddaughter.

"My pretty... do you trust me." Granny asks.

The girl seemed confused. "Of course, Gran. Why wouldn't-"

"Because of what I am." The Witch replies; her beady eyes starring straight through Dorothy. "I can tell you all I like that I'm no monster, but you can see what I am. What he is. It has been your choice not to run off to Roundtable and have me locked in stone... Is that trust, or is that fear?"

Dorothy furrows her brow at the question. "Neither. It's been love. You're my Gran, and I could never do that to you."

Theodora takes another glance at the door; her emerald-green eyes hazing slightly as she delves deep into thought. Dorothy knew the old woman was cunning, wise, and tactful; a Wicked Tale would never make it to their twilight years without being so. The old woman sighs, picking up her wine glass once more.

"He is The Wolf."

...

Cuu tears off his bandages slowly, the green ooze he had just chugged working in tandem with his body to quickly relieve his pains and aches. He looks out of the window above the bed he was lain in; the moon once more peering through the clouds. He unlocks the latch, pulling the window up, and jumping out into the night. His ankles and knees sear with agony; the strange concoction seemingly not being enough for a true recovery. Cuu sniffs the air-

"First, find the scent. Then, get my pack. Finally, deal with the cat..." He thought, cracking his stiff neck.

Following the scent of his own dried blood, the Wolf walks back towards the woods behind the home he has just left. To his annoyance, the familiar smell of iron had been mixed with the flowery traces of that Storyteller woman. The trek is mildly long, but it isn't more than half an hour before he finds something familiar. The tree he had thrown, with his blood still marking the bark. Cuu sniffs the air, hoping to find another scent; the cat's scent. Instead, that flowery smell fills his nostrils.

"Damn it, what now." Cuu growls; following the scent.

He finds a basket, with ants swarming some baked goods, as well as a book. He shakes off the insects, examining the book closely, its cover showing a girl walking down a yellow-brick road; not too dissimilar to the pathways in the town he had just left. He assumed them both to be the Storytellers belongings. After a few more minutes of tracking, a new, familiar scent graced his senses.

Rushing quickly to the source of the smell, Cuu finds something far better than the cat, his pack, or even his boots.

...

"I can't believe he would leave in his condition!" Dorothy said, holding a lantern up to the darkness. "Even if he is The Wolf, he has to have more sense than that."

"Always a stubborn Tale." Her Granny replied, holding a flickering green flame at her fingertips; leading the way into the woods. "The one I knew refused to say no when she offered me her Storyteller as a sign of friendship."

"So that's how you met Grandpa!"

The two stop in their tracks, as a shuffling in the brush ahead brings their attentions away from their conversation. A pair of amber eyes peer through the shadows as Cuu pushes past the brush; a ray of moonlight passing through the leaves, and over his near-nude form. He holds a up a hand, with a basket hanging from one clawed finger.

"This is yours." He says to Dorothy, extending the arm outward.

She cautiously takes the basket. "Th-thank you, Mister Cuu... what's that?"

Cuu lifts his other hand, in which is a multi-colored mass of string. A hand-made teddy bear, which smelled strongly of an earthly perfume.

"Bobo." He answers plainly, walking past the pair of women; back towards Antiquity.

With a wobbling smile, Granny put her hand over her own mouth; holding back laughter.

"See. Not all Wolves are Wicked."