The Turning of the Page.

Amber eyes dart through the pitch-black woods; The trees block the moon from seeing the fierce beatings below. Just as well, as it's favored beast is delivered yet another bone-shattering blow to the ribs. The withered form of a young man slumps over a freshly felled tree; uprooted from the earth by the impact of his broken body. Finally, the moonlight can once more kiss his bruised pale flesh.

"Ooo, what do we have here?" The sadistic tones of the unseen attacker echo throughout the trees. "A doggy afraid of a kitty?"

"I... will rip out... your tongue!" The man growls between pained breaths; exerting all his might just to stand.

"I like that." A smiling set of teeth appears from thin air. "Vicious. Violent. Half-Mad. You'd do well in The Under."

Ignoring the stabbing aches in his chest, the man grasps the felled tree, exerting great **** as he lifts it above his head like a club. With a rabid fervor, the wooden mass is thrown; his enemy's smile turning to a frown, vanishing as the assailant darts away from where she stood. A new clearing is made by the ensuing impact, kicking up the dirt as a massive cloud of dust.

"I don't need my eyes to kill!" He roars, sniffing the air for the scent of his prey; listening for even the smallest sound.

The sickening crack of a blackjack impacting his nose interrupts his bravado, sending him to his knees as his world begins to spin; stars dancing inches from his face.

"Its a good thing I bathe regularly, then; hm?" The smile returns, the rest of it's face slowly coming into being. "I'll be taking your pack, oh, and your boots! But I must hurry. I'm late, you see. For a very important date..."

For the Wolf, it all begins to fade to black. He sees his attacker's sharp features, and the pair of twitching cat-ears above her head, accompanied by a swaying tail; but the last he sees before his slumber is that damned smile...

...

Dorothy awoke as anyone in her station in life would; refreshed, excited, and happy as could be. She popped out of bed, quickly dressing herself in her usual attire; a white frilly blouse, long flowing red skirt, and a pair of thick brown boots. Her morning routine continued as expected; making breakfast, cleaning the house, and pulling one of her story-books from it's place on the shelf. Placing the book in a basket, she reached for her favorite hood; only to remember that it had gone missing the day prior.

Either way, today would be a busy one. She had to pluck mushrooms from the woods for her Grandmother's visit later today, as well as stories to read to the local children, and of course; the date with that nice boy from the other side of the village.

"Oh, how wonderful today is going to be." She thought.

...

Today was awful for Cuu. Not as bad as the last two weeks; what with being exiled, chased from a town, beaten half to ****, and then robbed down to his knickers. He slowly pulls himself up to his feet; his bushy, black tail curled around his leg, the ringing ears atop his head pressed down in pain, and his sharp teeth grating against each other in rage.

"I'll skin that cat... for a new pair of boots..." He growls beneath his short breaths; the sharp pain in his ribs sending him back to the forest floor. "...damn it!"

He crawls slowly from the patch of dirt he had rested upon, heading in the direction of the rising sun. Each inch was an agony in and of itself, as his broken bones jostled around inside his skin. Even still, he pushed on. There had to be a village near here. Even with a Storyteller, the worst that would happen in his condition would be imprisonment.

He sees a rustling from a nearby bush. Cuu freezes; even a half-dead deer could kill him in his current state, let alone a boar, or another bandit. He remained as still as a corpse; silent as the night. With his nose too clotted to smell, and his ears still ringing, he couldn't be sure what was coming his way. His claws extend in fearful anticipation, digging deep into the dirt...

...

"Where are those damned mushrooms?" Dorothy thought; digging through the thick brush. "They're always around here. Grandma will be so disappointed if-"

She pushes past the brush, finding a disturbing sight. Snapped like a twig was the trunk of a mighty oak tree, lain atop several smaller trees; each uprooted by a great ****. Bloody hand prints mark either side of the oaks stump, with holes dug deep into the bark at the fingertips. Dorothy cautiously moves past the oak, quietly shuffling through the brush.

Through the thick greenery, she saw something; more accurately, someone. Slumped over on his hands and knees, a bloodied young man stared directly at where she stood. His piercing amber eyes glowing from behind his matted black locks; his arms shaking just to keep his broken body steady. Each breath caused the man to visibly shake in pain. Before she could move to help the poor thing, she began to see something most familiar. Black smog, which was much like that what hung over her Grandmother; only his was darker, thicker, and far more powerful.

He was a Tale.

However, her hesitation near-instantly vanished when the poor man collapsed; hacking up a thick gout of his own blood. Dorothy drops her basket, sprinting toward the man, and lifting him off of his bruised chest. His growls of warning go unheeded as she lifts the man to his feet, allowing him to regain some balance as he leans on her. Once his feet are touching the ground, Dorothy begins walking back to town; slowed by having to lug a man a full head and shoulders taller than herself.

"S-Storyteller..." He rasped weakly; his voice shaking with panic. "You're eyes... you're a..."

Before she can assure him of his safety, the man slumps onto her; ****.

...

Cuu awakes in an unfamiliar bed, the near-entirety of his body covered in bandages; most of which are stained red. He looks around his surroundings; trying to spot an exit in case of... the usual. The little hovel he found himself in seemed homey enough; a bit spacious for Cuu's liking, and not nearly as colorful as the caravans. He tries to sit up, only for the pain to send him straight back down.

The door to the room opens, with the strange Storyteller girl entering; ignoring the pain, he forces himself to sit straight up. Any sign of weakness would be taken advantage of. Although, the loud popping noise in his spine pulled a yelp from his throat that reminded him of his time as a pup.

The Storyteller giggles at the whole display. "Oh, well aren't you ferocious."

Cuu locks eyes with her; his grimace deepening with each moment he saw those damned eyes. Those blessed orbs, with their pupils shaped like a four sided star; a Reader's Eyes. The only thing that softened the growing unease was the hazel blue/green of her iris; an oddly comforting, earthly hue. The staring, however, was starting to get to be a bit much for the girl; as her cheeks started turning a cherry-pink.

"Oh, well. How are you feeling?" She asks, taking a seat by the bed.

Cuu keeps darting his eyes from the girl, and to the door. "You can see what I am."

"And?" She says, pulling some fresh bandages from the bedside table. "Doctors care for the injured, even if they're not... usual."

"Then you're a Medicine Woman? Not a Watcher?" Cuu asks.

"We don't have one in Antiquity anymore." She replies, pulling off some of the bloodied bandages. "Now hold still Mister... what is your name?"

"Cuu." He replies, watching cautiously as the doctor does her work. "You?"

"Dorothy. But you can call me Doctor Oswald, if you want something more formal." She finishes replacing the bandage. "Now, you get your rest, Mister Cuu. My Grandmother is visiting, so call for Theodora if you need anything."

Before Dorothy leaves the room, she places a book from the side-table onto Cuu's lap. She gives him one last kindly smile before closing the door. Left alone, he begins curiously pawing at the book, looking at the picture on it's cover; it's all he could do, seeing as he couldn't read. The cover showed a fierce beast charging at a man who was wielding an axe; a girl in a familiar red hood hiding behind a tree. The voice of an elderly woman suddenly whispers at his side.

"I found it fitting reading for you, my old friend."

...

Dorothy was a bit sad to have missed her chance at reading to the children today; even more so that she had dropped her basket and book back in the woods. However, that didn't shake the smile from her face. Her Grandmother still had mushrooms to spare for her medicines (and wine), and the date with that handsome fellow who had moved into town was still on; even if she was arriving an hour early. The march down the faded yellow-brick roads of of Antiquity felt like no time at all.

She knocks on the front door of his exquisite home. "Bello, are you there? It's Dot!"

The door slowly swung ajar at her touch, the sounds of rustling coming from within. Curious as ever, Dorothy walked inside. There, standing as naked as the day he was born was the handsome Bellodor; looming over another woman. Dorothy froze, stepping backward; knocking a vase from a shelf by her elbow. The shattering pottery snapped the man back from his carnal pleasures, the other woman quickly scampering away at the sound; the flicker of a cat's tail being the last that Dorothy sees of her.

Bellodor stands just as frozen as the girl he had lied to; scratch marks dug into his chest, and his shame hanging low. Tears in her eyes, the poor girl sprints out of the house, openly weeping. As she ran up the yellow-brick road, she heard Bello yelling; not for her to stop, or to wait, but instead-

"Wh-where are my paintings!? My jewelry!? My pants!?"