Past the Sun and behind the Moon

Woods just outside of Marks Residences

He didn't understand why he hadn't stayed at home. It was true, now that Laura had the baby he was more worried about harming them both, but that was what the potion was for. To keep him...

Him.

Foolish had never even begun to describe to Tyler Marks. Even when he had ever intention of being good.

Every intention of staying safe, being their for his child, for his family.

He managed to be beyond stupid. Beyond-

The wolf, dark midnight black fur hiding the blood that was dreaching it, oozing from open wounds, matting the fur together, let out a hole that ended in a broken whimper.

Even that simple movement hurt.

Weakening.

Tyler had invisioned dying many times. In fact, he could count the times he had thought he was going to do so. But none of them felt like this.

Those had all be great flashes of pain and then... nothing, as his body gave out for the moment. That was how he always thought it was going to be.

But, not this was... this was slower.

Weakening.

Thats what dying was. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel his body giving up.

He hadn't even known why he had done it. He knew the other wolves were here. He had known thanks to Karma he had made himself their enemy.

And yet he had run right into their teritory.

They had left now. Sure that they mutt who had crossed the line was dealt with for good.

He was sure too.

Minutes blended into hours as he laid there, shaking, waiting for the end to come... feeling that it had to be close, and yet...

The sun danced into the sky, shutting out in the moon, and the broken hole fell into a human groan as Tyler got the pleasure of breathing his last breaths as a human.

Ethon already smelled of blood - werewolf blood - when he chanced upon the dying man. It was soaked into his clothing, staining his flesh. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, working to force itself upon the woods. It would soon succeed.

The vampire took the wolf firmly by the jaw, turning his face to get a better look at him.

"I ought to let you die," he sneered. "Your kind and I have never been on good terms. Fortunately for you, your regret towards your family allows me to forgive what you are, just this once."

And then, Ethon slipped into the Old Tongue, murmuring spells to heal and mend and restore. Soon, the muggle-turned-werewolf was whole and clean, if still naked. Ethon shrugged off the jacket he wore, laying it over him. Quickly gathering enough wood, he started a small fire.

"Stay put," he ordered. "You're in no position to move. You need blood replenisher and other potions. I'll return momentarily. If you leave and die, your death is on your own head, wolf." Without another word, he vanished from sight.

His senses were weakening just like everything else, he had barely heard the man's approach, and could barely hear what he spoke when he did. Only clips and patches were making it into his broken mind.

your kind seemed to be the only phrase that entered his head and stuck there. What was his kind? A rational mind would have concluded that he was talking about what he was physically - what he had been turned into - but the energy of Ty's dying mind was focusing on pathways more philosophical.

What kind of person was he anyway? Perhaps the man should just leave him there. Perhaps his family would be better off. But then who would protect them? Who would take care of them if he tried to give up now?

Those were the thoughts that he focused on instead of as the whirl of words - these ones lost on him more than the first, though it was only later he realied it was because it was a language he was not equipped to understand - that passed over him. Slowly the pain lessened, and his laboured breathing became significantly less laboured.

Somehow - though the fact was coming into his brain slowly - he had managed to escape death.

Again.

He was still weak, he could feel it. The man's order redundant for Tyler was unsure if he could even try to move.

Pulling the jacket closer to him (No matter how many times he woke up in the woods, naked, he'd never get comfortable with it) he made the only movement he was motiviated to make - shuffling closer to the small fire.

Staring blankly at the flames, the young man marvled at another miracle that had come his way.

Ethon returned a few short minutes after he had left. The blood that had been on his clothing and skin upon departure was gone. He tossed a set of clothes at the man.

"Put those on, wolf," he instructed. "And then, you need to ingest these." He held up a couple vials of crimson blood-replenisher."

The vampire eyed the man thoughtfully. "You're not very old. How long since you've been turned. Two years? Less? Can't have been much longer than that."

Although his senses were slowly regaining some use, and he heard the man's reaproach from a moderate distances, Tyler was far too fatigued to bother turning his head towards the man. He barely managed to force his reflexes into reaching up and grabbing the clothes.

After shimming himself into them, he turned back to his current saviour, and frowned at the items in his hand for a moment.

"More magic," he murmumred to himself, his twang more defind, before taking the vials and looking at them in the light early morning sun, "Always magic."

Sighing, there was no way to deny that he needed these, and magic was what was going to save him - always seemed to save him.

He just hated to admit it.

"Less," he responded, the potions engested, and his tongue clicking around for the taste. "Barly a year. T'were a year at the end of summer. One long curse year."

"Not a fan of magic, then," Ethon said. "Must have come as the culture shock. There was a time where very few werewolves possessed magic, you know. It's more even, now. In fact, some are born, or get infected on purpose. Never made sense to me." His tone darkened.

"Barely a year," the vampire repeated. "And naturally, your creator left you to fend for yourself. Doubtful he or she even cares whether you survived your mauling. So, what was it? A wild animal attack on a moonlit night? Chose a late evening walk on the wrong day of the month and woke up the next morning, gnawed upon like a chew toy. Would have been at least a few days, probably weeks, before you noticed the symptoms. Enhanced senses, quickened healing, better overall health and vitality. It probably all seemed well and good until the full moon came 'round again - and you were alone, abandoned."

Ethon's lips curled back from his teeth in a disgusted sneer, eyes darkening. "Werewolves."

Tyler snorted, "It would have, if it weren't for the fact, I ain't seemed to be able ta keep away from it before. Still weren't a pleasent adjestment."

Despite everything he felt for what he had become - distaste was still there, although the young man had come to accept it more in the year, than he had in the begining. - he bristled at the obvious offense to Ondrea.

"Actually, I ain't been alone for much," his tone was defensive, he was struggling not to be rude to the man he owed his life to, but there were something Ty and limited control over how he reacted. And offence to the people he cared for was one of them. "Ondrea's probably the only reason I survived - there were moments I've ain't been inclide ta think that were betta. She told me ta run... I just ain't ever been very good at listenin'."

He shrugged his shoulders, voice softening, gaze returning to the fire, "I deserve this."

In the blink of an eye, Ethon had moved closer, crouching just in front of the man. "So, your maker didn't abandon you," he said. "Interesting. Ondrea, is it? Not the name of any wolf which has reached my ear. Which means she's not much older than yourself, or she's not very important. I know the names of all the wolves to watch out for.

"Where is she then, this maker of yours? Where was she when you needed her to survive?" Ethon questioned. He rose back to his feet. "Not that my own kind is perfect. It is simply that most don't leave their progeny without good reason. Not until they can fend for themselves."

He scoffed. "A good many of your kind come to consider lycanthropy a gift."

"She's just a girl," he spoke softly, "Ain't older than me in normal years, and wolf years... she probably two, three? Can't say I ever bothered ta ask the specifics. She should be at school, if she ain't I don't know what she's doin' but, she's not responsible for my stupidity."

Only I am.

"How can I see what has only plagued my life with problems as gift?" he raised his eyebrow and shook his head. "I ain't happy with this. Have I accepted it? Perhaps - but until the day I actually die, a thank you for what has been done to me ain't gunna leave my lips."

"I see," Ethon said. He responded to the thought as though it had not been unspoken. "Of course, you are. And so is your maker, or your alpha.

"I never implied that you should be thankful. As I informed you when I decided to take pity on your mangy hide, your kind and I have never been on good terms. I would never encourage a werewolf to accept what he is."

Ethon leaned close to the man, looking him in the eye. "Continue to loathe what you are, Tyler Marks. It may well prove your salvation, someday." It was awful advice, really. Ethon was well aware of this. It was just as likely to be his ruin as his salvation.

"If there is nothing else, I will be on my way," he declared.

Tyler looked up at the man, a soft frown placed on his face; did he loath himself? He had always had his moments, moments of insecurity, of confusion, but he thought that had been all it was. Life swirling up to him, catching up with him in the only way he knew how to deal with it.

"Thank yeah," he said, nodding his head. "Yeah didn't have to do this, I know yeah know - but thank yeah. My wortless life is greatful. I want that chance ta see my child be born, ta grow up - yeah gave me that. Word can't... thank yeah."

He nodded his head. That was all he had left to say. The man could go.

Ethon had turned to leave, more than ready to leave the wolf's presence without a second thought. Until the man thanked him again.

"You have a child on the way, wolf. That's more than for which many can hope," he intoned. "Therefore, your life is not worthless. If it were, I would not have bothered to save it.

"Guard yourself, Tyler Marks," Ethon cautioned. "Younger vampires have far less mercy on stray canines." With that, he took a step, vanishing before it fell.

His gaze strayed after the man long after he was gone. Blocks were slowly sliding into place as his brain worked through the tiny clues that had been dropped.

Younger Vampires.

Had that meant that he was? That would certainly explain the instant distaste for his speicies, but what of his scent? Ty could tell nothing of it. Yet he should have been able to if the man had really been...

With a shake of his head, Ty slowly pulled himself to his feet, pushing that quiry out of his mind. He had his life back, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Brushing snow over the already slowly dying fire, the young wolf turned on his heals, and took off for the way he had come. Back home, back to Laura and their soon to be coming baby.

Back to his family.