[Present].

When Adolpha was called to action, she rose to the task. Since before she was born, the world had been preparing for her to save it.

And now she had.

And now she was alone again.

Adolpha had lived in her jolly little village in River's Bed for her entire life. She was a mere forty years old, which for someone of her kind, was quite a short time. Lycanthropes were a prevalence in the modern age, and lived to be a near 250 years old, on average, and were considered adults at around 25, at the time of their ability's maturity. The single thing that made Lycanthropes so unique was their ability to shape-shift into wolves. They kept a pack mentality, even in a human form, making them a formidable force to oppose. Not to be confused with Anthromorphs, of course, which were humans with the ability to turn into any mammal that they had come into contact with. At first glance, they may have seemed identical; but a quick look of their ears could decipher them apart, for Lycanthropes had gently pointed ears, and Anthromorphs' were rounded.

These great powers were given to the people centuries ago by the peoples' God, Mother Nature, as a form of protecting them from evil. Since then, the Lycanthropes and Anthromorphs had reproduced and grown, and now lived in many quaint, little villages scattered across the warm equator, where winters were light and summers were long.

In the winter, fall, and spring, they farmed and preserved food in great amounts, as when their long summer of 6 months came about, no rain would fall until autumn, and their crops would wither and die. Though, many villages rested alongside rivers, and could work around the summer's dry seasons with the right farmland. Both Lycanthropes and Anthromorphs alike took great pleasure and jest in their fascination of growing food, hunting, and the arts. They lived delicate, simple lives, and very happily at that.

Adolpha was not so happy. She tried to be, very much so, but a darkness seemed to linger.

Give it time, she would think. It's only been one day.

She lived in a charming cottage high on a grassy slope, up from town, where her neighbours were a short distance aways. She could look right out the front door window, the moonlight on this dreary night streaming undertow, head cocked to the left, and she could see just a 15 minute walk down the stone paved lane another beautiful brick cottage, and then beside it another, and another, where the bustling town truly began. There were homes, but there were also shops, trading posts, butchers, herbalists, blacksmiths, leather workers, wood workers, librarians... the list went on. Many of them held shops in a separate room of their homes, or had their house on the same property of their work. The houses sat short, squat, and condensed, for most of the Lycanthrope's days were spent entirely outdoors, even during the dry season.

Mostly, the town was made up of farmers, with large plots of fertile land being upturned by draft mules or men and women pulling wagons and rakes. Many were hunters, too, and who often sold venison, calcium fertiliser, and tanned hides. Even the miners, who specialised in forgery, metals, and precious gems, would carve up some limestone to enhance the farmers' soils.

The many hunters hunted with rifles, or sometimes bows, and the best hunters in town never missed a shot. While there were some that hunted as wolves, wolf hunts were often reserved for parties or holidays as an act of celebration for Mother's gift.

Overall, it was a prosperous and quite a large village, there in River's Bed, where the people were happy, healthy, and lived long.

There, looking out the window of her house as the moon rose to the clouded navy sky, she could only seem to see that brick-house cottage down the lane, with its tall, triangular roof of well-worn and mossy brown shingles, the grout of grey between tan, orange, and brown clay bricks, all cracked or imperfect in some way, having been built a likely thousand years prior, repaired and cleaned with reticulation many times over the years. Though, Adolpha wasn't looking at the house itself, but rather, thinking of those that lived in it. Her closest neighbour and most dearest friend, Quince, formerly known as Keith. Her dear friend Quince once had her own unique ability, just as Adolpha did.

Adolpha couldn't help but imagine what the moonlight at this late hour would look like if it were draped across Quince's face, igniting her blue eyes, dark face, and short black curls. And then, Adolpha had to wonder what Quince's face would have looked like under the sun- not that she hadn't seen it many times before, but at this particularly lonely hour, her thoughts of her friend settled her uneasy mind, and she dared not think of memories. She did all she could to block them out.

Before they had left and then returned, it had been very often a week that Quince would walk the short walk to Adolpha's abode, sitting atop that gently green hill, far behind it a roaring river. They would chat as they fed the herbs in the garden, or gathered eggs from the free-ranging chickens' nests. As when they were younger, they had still been friends, and would catch frogs to put in their siblings' beds. She couldn't help but wonder if Quince would continue to visit her weekly now that they were both safely back at home.

Adolpha was not aware of it then, but in the present, she had a mighty strong grip on her left arm. It was hidden behind her usual cherry-red cloak, underlined with a white shirt beneath it, but the wound was still there, never to heal. It ached on good days, and became a debilitating throbbing on bad days. She had known upon receiving that wound, there on the upper part of her meaty arm, that it would never fully heal. To the surface, it may seem like only a fresh, pink scar, dappled already with her many orange freckles, but for Adolpha, it seemed to bleed and crease just as a fresh bite would.

But now, in all it's finality, she was safe. Her village was safe. All of those in River's Bed were safe. Their neighbouring villages, full of quite charming fellows, were safe. And most of all, her daughter, May, and her friend Quince were both safe.

Adolpha did not live with May. No, she hadn't for a long time, and especially she could not after everything that had happened for the past two years. Her daughter was not quite a grown woman, nearing the age of 20, but she was old enough to live on her own in a roommate-shared cabin along a main street of the town. Adolpha had seen her again, and of course tears had been shed, but she had not been forgiven. Adolpha would never be forgiven, and especially not by May. May was a beautiful girl, with long, golden locks and truly fair skin, but seeming nothing like her mother. But thankfully, she was also nothing like her father. Conceived by rape to a hardworking single mother, May had grown up happily and comfortably. She was an easy child, hardly ever crying or throwing tantrums; but then again, Adolpha did spoil her to some degree. Like most of the Lycanthropes, May enjoyed her fair share of gardening and climbing trees. When Adolpha left, she had longed for her daughter's face again. And then whenever she returned, she saw it to not be the same face she had once loved.

Adolpha still cherished her daughter, but her daughter was not the same as before. Then again, neither was Adolpha. Nothing was the same anymore.

Except for Quince. By Mother, nothing could dampen that young girl's spirits! And perhaps that is why Adolpha admired her so, even sitting here across the street in a window, forehead to the foggy glass, watching the distinct shadow of Quince's body moving in her kitchen, her coiled hair a mop, past the curtains of Quince's own home. Adolpha then gazed up at the bokeh moon, not caring for how alone she felt when watching another with their family, while hers was all gone. The moon was faded, a blueish colour behind low, swaying clouds. A gentle mist covered the lane, and Adolpha knew that winter and rain were on its way.

After another hour of watching the clouds swirl and dance in front of the moon's light, Adolpha's eyes finally grew heavy, and she walked haphazardly from her front bench, through the dining room, down a short hall and then to the left: her bedroom. It was a beautiful suite, a full bed, large closet, and a writing desk in one corner, books shuffled about across the floor. She fitted the sheets, finally changing her clothes, and then determining that she very badly needed another shower; but being too exhausted to take one, she instead slipped into her nightgown and rested fully on the white bed.

The first night home, the familiar group of heroes had arrived very early in the morning, before the sun had risen. They had been worn, weary, and exhausted, and were not met with welcoming cheer and a rescue party, as their village was all still asleep. Instead of riding their mules all through the large, spacious town, the group, exhausted and aching, stopped at the first inn with vacancy that they saw. They hitched up their brown mules out front with some hay, who huffed and pawed in response, and then wandered inside through a large wooden door. It was a decently large building, an L shape with a black shingled roof and pale stone walls. On the inside, the walls had been supported, insulated, and then lined with rich, dark oak. The lines running through it were exceptionally beautiful, and the glimmering mahogany stain reflected every candlelight. The floors were no short of marvellous themselves, being a beautiful, pale birch. It was quite a luxurious stay after such a long time of war, famine, and travel.

The party had checked in at the front counter, ringing a bell with a rope so as to alert whoever was on duty, which seemed to be a surprised older man. He hobbled to the front of the wooden desk from his nearby room, putting on thin-lined glasses that did not cover the most of his eyes. He pushed them up, glancing at the group with wide eyes, his skin looking pale grey or blue in the damp moonlit dark. Winkles lined his forehead, nose, and chin, a small white tuft of a beard and mustache forming the base of his head. Particularly creased were the two lines between his eyebrows, deep in a considerate thought.

His voice was a bit hoarse, "Well, well..." he paused then, clearly unsure of what to say. After his short hesitation, "Well, welcome back, then! I'm glad to see you all in... one piece..." Though, he eyed Quince through foggy vision, glancing at her hidden shoulders, and then at Adolpha, and then Danica, then Ajax. They were all shadowed, though not unwelcoming, outlined in white by the brief moonlight that filtered in from the windows behind them. The moonlight had already begun to dim, and the sky outside had slowly faded from Navy to a deep royal purple.

The man shook his head, picking his lips, still agape in awe, "Well, my eyes don't deceive me, then! Even at my old age." Then, he chuckled through a cough, as if telling himself a joke, "My, oh my. When all of River's Bed hears of this! The party back in one piece, how delightful, yes..." The man paused, sucking in a breath, "Oh, well, not in one piece! No, if my eyes don't deceive me, I'd say we are missing a few, aren't we?"

"A room, sir," Quince said once again, politely reminding him of his forgotten task.

He stammered, "Oh, of yes, of course! A room! Where are my manners? Pleasantly, of course. How many, again?" The man's gnarled fingers found his carved pipe sitting on the desk, and with slightly trembling hands and curled fingers, he lit it with a match, putting the thin spout to his lips and inhaling with a pleasant sigh. The smoke fluttered a little and up to his nose, where the hairs there tinged. He used the match to light the candles, illuminating the group's weary faces with dancing orange light. Then, the withered man flattened the match with his tongue, and tossed it in a trash bowl made of wood.

As he did so, Quince responded, "Four, sir."

"Oh," he heaved, coughing a bit, and then sighing once again, "It is unfortunate that I only have two vacant!" The man's voice was genuine, low and gruff.

"That's fine," Quince said, giving an understanding nod , "We just need someplace to stay the one night." Quince was usually bouncing and vibrant, but on that early, horribly tiring morning, her voice was low and grumbled with something like ill, as if she had a sore throat.

"Not ready to get back to the folk, yet, then?"

"We've walked all night," Quince sighed, but remained patient, "And now we'd like to rest. By the end of the day, when our spirits have risen, we will return to our folks."

"And I can see," the man spoke gruffly, taking another puff of his tobacco and then pulling an old, yellow scroll, unwinding it until he found the vacant room numbers. "That some of you are no longer blessed. You, the woman with wings, and yet she no longer bears them. How peculiar." He huffed, the paper crinkling gently.

Taking to his banter, Quince smiled, "Well, Sir, the towns folk did find it peculiar when I was born with wings. And now, you're sayin' they'll find it peculiar that I am without?"

He laughed, a deep, chest-heaving laugh, filled with smoke and age, "Ah, yes! Some mighty strange looks you'll be getting when the sun arises." After a moment of intense thought, his foggy eyes reading as best as they could, he exclaimed, "Ah, yes! Here so," and, placing the paper on the desk, he marked it with a quill. Then, after a moment of rummaging through the desk's drawer, a jingling noise behind it, and he opened a hand, bearing two charming brass keys. "Here so," he repeated, huffing another smoke, "The keys to your rooms." Adolpha watched the interaction in a dazed, tired silence. She felt as though she had just woken from a fever sleep, aching and ready to lay back down. Her hindquarters ached after riding on a mule for so long. Still, she found the focus to admire Quince's illuminated face, which beamed a dark, rusty orange in the dim twirling candlelight. Her eyes were like turquoise in the light, waving and blue.

"Thank you, sir," Quince said, bowing her head gently, hands low, and then exchanging him several coins for the brass keys, which chinked quietly as they touched. The man bid them farewell and a good morning, and then blew out his candle, once again retreating to his front room, puffing a relaxed smoke with immense contentment. Adolpha thought that she could actually hear the man's joints creaking like floorboards as he slowly hobbled away. But perhaps she had just been awake for too long, and now her mind was playing games with her ears.

She was all too aware of what her party must have looked like, walking in to that Inn so early in the damp morning, tired and dreary. They certainly smelled awful, as though they'd been running without wash for two years (which, to some extent, they had). Their hairs were no less than unrefined and untamed, clothes worn with dotted rips and bloodstains, their boots caked in mud, leaving footprints throughout the nice hall, which embarrassed the lot of them. But their exhaustion was more overbearing than their need for a proper wash, and so, they sluggishly walked down the long hall and quickly found their rooms.

At this point, Adolpha could hardly keep her own eyes open, and she stumbled into one of the rooms, not caring which it was. Quince, just as heavy-lidded, followed in after. And so then, it was Quince and Adolpha in one room, and Danica and Ajax in the other. And oddly so, as it would have been expected the opposite way around. But the party had grown accustom to sleeping together in sprawled piles on blankets, around campfires, or in trees, and to them, it was not such a big deal to share two spacious, wonderfully comfortable beds.

Adolpha hit the mattress and fell asleep nearly on impact, still in her worn day clothes.

When she awoke, she yawned, stretching, thinking of how much of a shock it was to be back home once again after such a long time. Well, she hadn't made it to her home just quite yet, but in River's Bed at least. And in a bed, at least. And how glorious and wonderful the fresh, fluffy sheets of the magnificent bed were! She rolled in it, inhaling deeply, sighing with fancy content. As she rolled over, she came face-to-face with Quince, who was beginning to wake up, as well. One eye, then the other, and then her hands met her dark face, rubbing away the morning's sleep.

Adolpha sat up, smiling for the first time in a long time, stretching once again, feeling luxurious. Though, truth be told, she was also a little disgusted, for her ragged clothes had turned the brilliantly white sheets a smearing of grey and brown through foul ash and mud. Regardless, Adolpha was finally well-rested.

Quince awoke fully, then, yawning and stretching with her arms over her head. She turned to Adolpha with a full grin, face bright.

"My, what a rest!" She had said, still a little drowsy.

Adolpha stood from the sheets, a little embarassed of the grime, dusting them off with her hands as best as she could, "My, what a mess!"

"Don't be," Quince said, chuckling, "The inn's key keeper knew we'd just arrived again in River's Bed. We'll be forgiven for dirtying up a bed or two."

"I suppose," Adolpha said, though she wasn't thoroughly upset; just embarrassed at her own muck. "I ought to bathe before we leave the inn," she said, glancing down at her hands, which were calloused and riddled with dark grime. Even as she kept her nails short, they still somehow managed to fill beneath the rims with dark dirt.

"That would be wise, Adolpha," Quince chuckled, "And I think I shall do the same". Adolpha watched as Quince lifted herself from the bed, her dark petticoat hung like a cape from her shoulders, and popped her stiff spine; then, she walked to the door labelled 'restroom' of the room, opening it. "You want to bathe first, or after?"

"Oh, no rush, Quince," Adolpha said, sitting back on the edge of the mattress, which was raised on a large oak bedframe, "You can go first. I'll heat the water for you, and make you some tea before you get out."

"Wonderful," she said, smiling, "Thank you, Adolpha." Then, the dark woman disappeared behind the wood door of the restroom. Adolpha walked from the suite room and back out into the corridor, where she hung a left, back to the check-in area. Here, there was a cast iron wood-fire stove against the entrance wall.

The old man from the night before stood in front of that same clerk desk, eyeing her, huffing his smoke.

"Excuse me," Adolpha spoke, hands fidgeting, "I'd like to kettle some water for a bath or two."

"Your other friends did so this morning, too," the man huffed, an amused look on his face. Even his white moustache seemed to curl up in a small grin. He walked from behind the counter and to the stove, which was still steaming hot with coals from the water that he'd already heated. Beside it was a tall water pump and several five gallon buckets, and the man began to crank.

Adolpha's face was a bit flushed, watching this decrepit man pump water from a well for her, whenever she could be doing it herself. And yet, she didn't have the strength to move from where she stood. A gutting weight held her down by her ankles like shackles, and she only watched as the old man worked up a sweat pumping, pumping, and pumping. The water streamed crystal clear, splashing into the bucket with noise. He heaved, lifting the bucket onto the stove, and then wiping his brow, satisfied as it began to heat up from the coals beneath the black cast iron it sat upon.

While some houses in River's Bed had automatic pumps, allowing water to be pulled from aqueducts or from wells by the incredible pull of gravity at the simple turn of a knob, there were still plenty of less modern houses that required the use of manual iron pumps, such as this inn. Then, Adolpha wondered how old the inn was. It had to be centuries old, surely, with its intelligent designs and unique, extravagant woodwork. It had costed quite a bit of coin to stay there, even if just for one night.

Adolpha was lucky to be one of the richer Lycanthropes of River's Bed, and her cabin had a newer automatic system for bringing water to her kitchen sinks and bathtubs. Granted, she still had to heat the water manually in buckets. Then, she scoffed, shaking her head at the ridiculous idea. Could you imagine, she thought, pulling warm water straight from the ground!

Finally, Adolpha could budge and breathe, her thoughts in the present once again. She was nearly shell-shocked for a moment, but pushed out of it with a simple shake of the head and scritch of the arm. That damned arm, bothering her again that morning. She had been zoning out more and more on their journey back home.

It wasn't long before she and the old man were carrying bucketfuls of hot water to Quince's room, filling the tub as Quince watched in bouncing joy on the sideline. Finally, the man and Adolpha both left the room, shutting the door and leaving Quince to her warm bathing. While she was occupied, Adolpha undid the silken sheets on the bed, bringing them to the front counter where the old man piled them together where they would be washed with hot water and soap soon. Then, Adolpha was given fresh sheets, which she used to remake her bed, preparing it for the next lucky person to sleep in that room.

Once Quince was out, dried, and dressed, she offered the bath to Adolpha, who drained and replenished its water.

Quince stood leaning against the bathroom door, watching Adolpha pour buckets of steaming water into the brass tub, asking, "Have you talked to the others yet this morning?"

Adolpha heaved a bit with her next bucket, admiring the loud woosh the water made as it poured like crystal, "No, I had assumed that they were still asleep, but the man at the counter told me they had already made themselves a hot bath. Same idea, so it seems!"

"Who's idea wouldn't it have been, looking how we did?"

Adolpha laughed, "I just know that if it were up to him, Ajax would stay dirty for the rest of his life, that cat!"

"Aha, don't torment my brother any longer than you already have, Adolpha."

Adolpha made her bath, and the room filled with steam. She gave Quince a thankful nod, and then clicked the door shut, and suddenly, she was all alone in the white, marble room.

She didn't mind the loneliness. Not at first, anyways. It had been nearly two years since she'd had even a moment to herself. No, a moment of silence was rare; but a moment of privacy was even rarer. She undressed quickly and then slowly laid in the tub, giving an, "Ahh!" As the water surrounded her worn, freckled skin. She had aged so fast in the past few months alone, and now her pale body was littered with scars and wrinkles which did not used to be there.

Adolpha didn't mind. They gave her wisdom and expression; they gave her respect.

Even without going underneath the steaming water, Adolpha's forehead grew wet, as did her short ginger curls. She rinsed beneath the surface of it, letting herself linger beneath the water for a little too long, and then gasping for air as she emerged. A flicker of something heinous, and she froze, panicked for a moment, remembering a time when she was beneath water, drowning.

But the water then was icy cold, and now, her water was hot. Still, she felt choked, and the stagnating steam in the air did not help. She was roasting in a sauna, and her pleasant bath became a nightmare just like that. She rinsed, scrubbing the mud from her arms and chest with a bar of soap, and then she stepped out of the tub. The white marble floor was cold beneath her feet. Water rolled down her legs as fast moving droplets, leaving streams behind in their wake along her skin, and then inevitably pooling on the floor and cooling beneath her feet.

She took a towel from the intricate drawer stand and rustled her hair, arms, legs, back and front with it until she was almost dry. Her hair was damp, as was her feet and a few other places, but mostly, she was dry. There, she dressed. It felt a bit ironic to have to get back into those dirty, aching clothes, especially after such a cleaning bath, but she felt relief in knowing that the rest of her clothes were clean at home, and not a far walk from this part of the village, either.

Adolpha was feeling a bit more than excited as she stepped out of the bathroom, wiping up the stone floor with her towel and then walking out. She walked down the corridor, a little more buoyancy in her step than she was now used to, heart pounding at the thought of being home. By Mother, she was finally home! She was so close that she could taste it, and she was so excited to exclaim it to the others. Fingers tingling, she almost pranced, her orange coils bouncing as she did so. She couldn't wait to get out those two front doors and out of that large inn, to see the party and tell them, "We're going home!"

But as she excitedly walked out of the inn, giving a small thanks to the man behind the counter and then walking out front to the stalls where the tan mules were hitched, she was grieved to see that only one remained, and felt the weight of her chest collapse.