tiltingwithlips | The Battle of Shrewsbury [Werewolf AU]

The Battle of Shrewsbury [Werewolf AU]

The day of the battle dawns cloudy and cold. The men on both sides form up as the sun rises behind the clouds, facing each other across a field of gray snow in orderly ranks.

When battle is joined, most semblance of that order disintegrates. The leaders of each army range here and there about the field, directing their troops, and soon the snow is churned and brown with mud and blood.

Most of the soldiers are too busy fighting for their lives to notice the gray wolf creeping around the edges of the battlefield, crouched low to the ground, her hackles raised and lips pulled back in a snarl. Kate has never seen a battle. It's not exactly what she was expecting.

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Kate yips in surprise, and her own tail starts to swing.

Harry Percy does not skid and crash into his wife. But there may be some ecstatic chest-bumping into her shoulder.

She's had a long time to familiarize herself with his smell; now he's taking his chance to learn hers, bumping his nose against hers. So that's Kate. He doesn't know the first thing about interpreting the smell, but he knows already that it's a good one.

Kate! Kate! He's alive! It worked! Kate!

She noticed!

She barks, and barks again, delighted, because he's all right.

DELIGHTED TACKLE TIME.

WRESTLING! He knows that! He's done it with their hounds!

--not like this he hasn't!

Harry barks, which shocks him so much that he falls quiet again, before testing out a pleased, for-real growl.

Kate growls right back at him and tackles him again, nipping at the ruff of fur around his neck.

That makes her close enough for him to make a play for her ear. No wonder puppies do this all the time!

Yelp!

Snarling, she throws her weight against him. This is probably cheating, since she has more experience hunting in this shape, but it's not like she cares. He'll figure it out.

--so that bowls him over!

Harry scrabbles upright again, and the faster he moves, the less he thinks about how he moves: it begins to just happen, and with an unfamiliar smoothness, he launches himself at her, testing his strength.

With another yelp, Kate goes down, but only momentarily. Then she's up on her feet and snapping at him again.

Is that how it's done? He lowers his head and growls, but truth be told, Harry appears to be one of those wolves who takes growling for purring. He's still growling when he plows into her again, and when he snaps at her jaws, though that devolves into licking pretty quickly.

She yips as he bowls her over again, but when she lands on her back, she stays there, panting and grinning and thumping her tail on the ground.

He's doing well! She wants to encourage him.

Clearly that's his signal to flop down on top of her, try and catch her paws in his jaws, and nuzzle aggressively.

How could anyone call this shape a bad thing?

Kate's certainly never understood why anyone would dislike a wolf. And Harry hasn't even done the fun bits yet!

NUZZLES. She mouths at his nose for a moment and then nuzzles back.

So many things he wants to do all at once -- burying his nose in her fur to learn her scent better, pressing himself against as much of her as he can, keeping still enough so he doesn't fall off for wagging his tail too furiously.

A look crosses his face, as he seems to remember, yet again, that he's a wolf now, and on the heels of a brief grin, he tries out a soft howl.

See, that's a fun bit.

Kate scrambles to her feet, shakes herself, and then tips her head back for a full-throated howl of her own.

Let the king's soldiers come and investigate the noise now, if they dare. It's night and the moon is full and the world is hers. Theirs.

Already stories of devils have been spreading through both camps -- a judgment on Percy, a judgment on the king, an effect of battle so close to Wales. Perhaps the stories might have been dismissed in later tellings, but for the unearthly noises heard by so many. Even the corpse-robbers stop and shudder, and many think of fleeing when the second voice joins the first.

Harry has been a one for roaring his entire life; this -- this he could feel he was made for, by heaven!

As the howl dies down, Kate decides it's time to introduce Harry to another fun part of the whole experience -- so she turns and nips at his haunches to get his attention.

What's that! Attention got, Kate, and perhaps a tail to the face too.

Well!

She growls, snaps her jaws at him again, and then takes off running for the hills.

Come play chase, Harry!

Indeed. Ready or not, here he comes!

He'd spent his whole life trying for the next best thing to this: riding horses, running after hunting dogs, asking Kate for details. To do it, though, to course himself, and so soon after he'd thought all was ended--!

He tears after her as joyously and ferociously as a charger into battle.

Wolves can cover a great deal of ground at a run, and the truth is, Kate desperately wants to leave the battlefield behind. She leads the chase north and west, in the rough direction of Bangor.

It's many miles to the castle, though, and there's plenty of open land between here and there.

It is his battlefield, though. Those are his men lying dead on the field, of his doing -- and the king's.

The king is still on the field, and the Prince of Wales, and perhaps his uncle Worcester, and the Douglas, and--

Harry's feet make the decision for him. He cannot leave yet: he must know, he must see, he cannot allow that this fight has been lost--

Kate stops as he does, circling around and peering at him.

She knows that smell coming from him. She doesn't like it.

Harry doesn't even consider that Kate might try and stop him: he changes course and begins loping toward the king's camp, hackles up.

--Oh no he doesn't.

Kate comes bounding after him and tackles him into the snow, her teeth bared.

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