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Tamlin

By Searska GreyRaven

The first time she saw him, she was more than a kit but still yet a maiden. It was Halloween eve, and Anabiel had slipped away from the merry-making in town to escape the taunts of her father and brothers who, drunk on harvest ale, teased her about coming of age. It was custom in the village for all vixens, upon the time of their first season, to race through the Winterwood and choose a todd as her husband from her pursuing suitors. Anabiel, with her mouse-brown fur and slender frame, was still a year too young for such things.

"In a year," her brothers jeered, "our little sister is finally going to become a vixen!" They followed their taunt with crude pelvic thrusts and a battery of lewd jokes. "A todd will come and give your tail its white tip!"

"Will he, now?" Anabiel retorted. "Is that how you got yours?"

Her brothers were not amused, and dumped her in the pig trough for that one.

Anabiel didn't want a husband.

No todd in the village made her feel as she supposed she should. She never quivered with anticipation or trembled at the sight of a male in all his glory as the bawdy tales claimed she would. Not once. In truth, it was only Bonnibelle, the miller's daughter, that had ever made her feel so. Though they had exchanged soft kisses and more behind the windmill, Bonnibelle had been happily married to Reid, the butcher's son, just last season, and had lost all interest in Anabiel. Since then, not a single stirring. Not so much as a shiver.

It wasn't that the todds were ill-looking. Many were quite handsome. But they all seemed to lack for something and not one of them truly caught her fancy.

Perhaps I have been damned, she thought as she wandered the forest path alone. Damned for dallying with another vixen as the Good Book always warned.

The moon cut through the fraying leaves of autumn, laying silver knives of light across the path. Anabiel frolicked betwixt and between them, dancing from light to shade as if daring the moon to catch her, and didn't realize she had reached the forest spring until she heard something behind her; a whisper through the brush out of step with the wind, a subtle snap of a twig under a foot that was not her own. She froze, auburn tail still under her skirt and her black-tipped ears straining against the night.

She turned, and there he was.

A todd stepped from the shadows, his russet fur limned with moonlight. He wasn't hard angles and pointed the way the other todds were. No, he was sleek and curved, like a bow. He wore only a pair of fawn-colored breeches, bare paws as dark as the dirt he trod upon. He glided across the clearing with the poised, delicate step of a dancer. He knelt beside the spring and dipped his muzzle into the moonlit pond.

Anabiel crept closer, and closer, until she could count the beads of water strung like diamonds on his whiskers. If she could just catch his scent, she could follow him, maybe discover who he was and why he came to the spring at this hour for a drink.

But before she could get close enough, he froze, staring in her direction. Green eyes flashed in the darkness as he looked at her, not with anger but surprise. The todd stood still, as if waiting for something. Anabiel opened her mouth to introduce herself, and suddenly, he was gone, white-tipped tail vanishing into the darkened underbrush.

Startled herself, Anabiel dashed back the way she had come. Later, she cursed herself for running like a kit instead of staying and following the strange todd's trail. She dared not tell her father or brothers of what she saw for fear of being branded a harlot. A vixen could be alone with another vixen, but any todd who wasn't her husband was forbidden. So the next morning, she snuck across the village square and sniffed out the old crone and storyteller Vex to see what she may know. Perhaps a wandering todd had come to town for the festivities? If anyone in the town would know of the strange todd, it was Vex. No piece of rumor or gossip missed the sharp grey ears of that old fox!

"Ah, Anabiel, my little Belle, that would be Tamlin you saw in the forest," Vex said. "Best put it out of your mind. No power in this world or the next might save him from the Dark Faerie Queen's clutches. Tamlin's been haunting the Winterwood since my dame's gran-dame's time. Maeve keeps what she claims." Vex spat into the fire upon speaking the Faerie Queen's name and bared her crooked teeth.

"Tell me, please!" Anabiel begged, her tail lashing under her skirts.

The old crone relented.

"Tamlin was a mortal once, or so they say. The Queen of the Dark Fey, Queen of Air and Darkness and the Wild Hunt, found him in the forest. Addled, he was, from falling from his horse. Or perhaps she made the beast rear up and drop him. Only the Queen could say, and even I daren't ask. She found poor Tamlin and took pity on him, carrying him off to the undying lands of the fey. But every Hallow's Eve, he's allowed to walk the mortal world once more."

"Is that all?" Anabiel asked, her ears falling back.

"Ah, but there's always a catch. Even with the darkest of the fey, there is! If his true love were to catch him and hold him until the first light of dawn, he'd be free of the Dark Queen forever. But if his love should fail, if she lets go of him just once before dawn, the Queen will slay the impudent mortal what thought to part them, and drag poor Tamlin back to his fate."

"But how would he know his true love if he sees her just one night a year?" Anabiel asked. "That hardly seems fair."

The old crone shrugged. "Tis fair, to a fey. They don't think like you or I. Tamlin is obliged to the Dark Queen for saving his life. A grim fate for a mortal todd, to be sure."

"Mortal? But you said he had been taken to fey lands. Does that not make you one of them, and mortal no longer?" Anabiel said, then added slyly, "If mortal he be, how then could he live for so long?"

"Time in the fey and time in the mortal world are two different things. A year here is but a summer's afternoon to a faerie. For all we know, Tamlin thinks he's visited that spring every night--a century of nights!--hoping his love would come and set him free. I wonder if he even knows the year," Vex wondered. "Ah, well. Anabiel, child, you'd best run along. If your father found you here--"

She didn't need to continue. Anabiel slipped out the door and back home before her father or brothers were any the wiser for her absence. It wasn't difficult, she thought, to fool them. If they were awake, they were drinking. A drunk fox catches no rabbits, as the saying goes.

Anabiel assumed she'd never see the spectre of Tamlin again. If he only walked free one night a year, well, that night had come and gone. Three moons passed since that night, and she didn't see nose nor tail of him, though she looked each time she went to gather water. New-fallen snow and cold-packed ground hid any sign of tracks, but she searched, just in case.

Then, she saw him again. It was the night of the Snow Moon, called the Wolf Moon in leaner winters, and as Anabiel dipped her bucket into the spring, she saw the strange todd across the pond, his head bowed as he drank. He looked up at her, and he smiled. Moon above, he had a handsome smile! All at once, it was clever and sweet and kind. Anabiel nearly swooned where she stood.

"Good evening," he said softly. His voice was soft and light in her ears. It was the voice of a bard or a minstrel, lovely and lilting. Anabiel swallowed and gripped the handle of her pail tighter.

"Good evening," she replied, her voice shaking.

"Tis a cold night to send a daughter out for water," he said. "Have you no brothers to brave the winter's cold?"

Anabiel shook her head. "Well, that is to say, I do, but gathering water is vixen's work."

The todd frowned, his ears backing. "It hardly seems right, to make so beautiful a maiden carry water alone, by moonlight, on such a cold evening," he murmured. "But then, if they hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to see you again."

"See...me?" Anabiel squeaked. "My lord, I barely know you, and if my brothers heard or suspected, I would--"

"It would be most unpleasant, I am sure," he agreed. "And yet, here you are. Still speaking to me by the light of the moon, with a half-full pail of water."

At that, Anabiel scowled. "Are you Tamlin?" she asked boldly.

The todd stepped back a pace, his ears swiveling back and forth as if searching. "And if I were?" he replied.

"I'd say it was very nice to meet you," Anabiel said. "And that I hope you find your true love some day."

Tamlin blinked and sat back on his haunches. "Do you now? And what makes you say such a thing?"

"I said nothing, my lord," Anabiel replied. "Only that if you were Tamlin, I would say so."

Tamlin threw back his head and laughed. "Very well, I admit to my name. I am Tamlin Todd of the Winterwood. You have me at a disadvantage, my Lady. I know nothing of you, save that you are lovely and alone."

Anabiel shivered. She knew she should say nothing, that she should hurry on her way and run from this strange creature. But...she didn't want to. He could be a murderer! He could ravish you and leave you for dead, and not even your father would mourn your stupidity!

It was foolish, she knew. Far beyond foolish. And yet, she tipped the water from her pail back into the spring and sat down upon it. Tamlin's green eyes followed her movements with interest, but he made no move to come closer.

"My name," she said, when she had settled down, "is Belle. And I am no lady. Just Belle."

Tamlin laughed again. "That is hardly the name of a commoner," he mused.

"I'll not give a catspaw of the Dark Queen my true name!" Anabiel replied, exasperated.

Tamlin sobered and nodded. "Wise of you. Very well, Belle. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"And yours," Anabiel said, inclining her head politely. "Tell me, are the tales true? Are you truly enthralled to Queen--"

"Do not speak her name!" he snapped. He took a deep breath and calmed. "Please, it is dangerous enough to speak of her in daylight. She can hear every word spoken in shade or by night. They do not call her the Queen of Air and Darkness for nothing."

Anabiel swallowed and nodded. "I thought you could only walk the world one night a year?"

Tamlin growled. "Time among the fey moves differently than here," he said. "And you are not the only one facing dire consequences if caught. But I had to. I had to see if you'd return here."

"Me?" Anabiel stammered. "Lord Tamlin, I'm not...you can't think_..._we've only just met!"

Tamlin sighed, his shoulders slumping. "No, I...you're right. I'm sorry. I beg your forgiveness, and will trouble you no more." He turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Anabiel cried. She kicked over the bucket and darted around the frozen bank to stop him, but her foot caught the ice's brittle edge and she slipped, tumbling into the frigid water.

The cold snatched the breath right out of her. It stabbed through her coat, through her fur, straight to the marrow of her bones. Her whole body seized tight, and she sank like a stone. Icy water filled her mouth, clawing its way to her lungs.

I'm drowning, she thought sluggishly. She needed to move, to swim upward, but her limbs wouldn't obey her.

Suddenly, something grabbed her. She yelped and tried to struggle, but she was so cold that it caused little more than a ripple. She was yanked to the surface, and someone warm and soft squeezed her until all the water had drained from her and she could breathe again.

"Oh no you don't," Anabiel heard Tamlin murmur in her ear. "I have waited far too long to have you drown or freeze to death in my arms."

She tried to respond, but she was shivering so violently that the words stuck soundly in her throat.

"Sleep, Belle. Sleep and dream of summer," Tamlin whispered to her. And before she could protest, Anabiel closed her eyelids. The last things she could recall from that night were the brilliant green of his eyes, and the sweet vernal scent of his fur.

***

Anabiel awoke the next morning in her own bed, in her dressing gown, and not at all chilled.

"What a strange dream," she said to herself. It was already fading, as dreams are wont to do come dawn, but she could still recall bits and pieces. Gentle paws, prying off her frozen dress, guiding her into her warm dressing gown. And though some part of her ached for his touch, she knew the Tamlin from her dreams had been a perfect gentle-todd and had taken no liberties with her frozen body.

She sighed, her heart aching, and made herself ready for the new day.

Her brothers all slept in the same room, but as the only female of the family (her mother's eyes having closed before Anabelle's opened), she was entitled to her own space, so as not to tempt the todds. She had yet to enter her first season, but these things sometimes happened. It wasn't unheard of, sib laying with sib, but it was discouraged. Secretly, Anabiel was thankful for the privacy. Her brothers were loud and obnoxious while awake. At night, they snored like bears.

Clad in a fresh skirt and tunic, Anabiel stepped out of her room, out of the hut her family shared, and nearly tripped. Snarling curses at winter and wicked faeries, she turned to see what had fouled her footing.

Next to the door was a full bucket of water and a small stack of firewood. And atop it was a single white rose.

It wasn't a dream! She snatched the rose and hid it in her dresser, terrified that her father or brothers would see it. But every morning before breakfast, she fished it out from its hiding place and inhaled its scent. Moonshine, but it smells like him. Like high summer, and shade, and rainfall.

***

Winter lost its grip on the land as spring clawed its way up from beneath the bitter snows. Anabiel's rose should have long since withered, but it didn't. It was still as fresh and soft as the day she found it. She knew it had to be a faerie flower, enspelled to stay lovely forever and thus dark magic, but she couldn't bring herself to part with it. It was all she had of Tamlin, and she intended to keep it.

Spring heralded the start of the courting season, and Anabiel soon found herself being pursued by the todds who had, just two winters before, berated her for her lack of a proper bosom. She spurned them, horrified and disgusted, and refused to go anywhere without one of her brothers to help her discourage them.

At length, her brothers tired of it, and Anabiel was forced to fend for herself.

"You can't refuse them all," her father grumbled over his morning ale.

"And why not?" Anabiel retorted. "Why shouldn't I wait? I don't like any of them enough to speak to them, let alone lay with them!"

"Because it isn't done!" her father snapped. His anger made his bloodshot eyes widen and his scarred nostrils flare. "You are a vixen of age, and you'll be betrothed to one of those todds by summer's end."

"Or what?" Anabiel dared.

"Or you won't be living under this roof!" he roared. "I won't have you tempting my sons!"

"I'd rather rut with an ass! At least an ass would behave, and as I hear it, be better built to boot!" Anabiel sobbed and fled to her room. She curled up on her bed with her rose and, no matter how her father roared and howled and pounded at the door, she didn't leave for three days. By the time she did, her brothers and father were all deep in their cups and the incident had been mercifully forgotten.

***

It was midsummer before she saw him a third time. The Thunder Moon was high in the sky, and the whole village turned its attention to celebrating the height of the vernal season. And while the village feasted and drank the night away, Anabiel waited until her father and brothers were good and drunk before slipping off into the Winterwood to search for her Tamlin.

But as she approached the spring, she heard raised voices. Anabiel hid in the bushes and strained her ears, listening.

"That wasn't part of the deal!" she heard Tamlin snarl.

"You broke the terms first, my Tamlin," another voice crooned.

"I broke nothing! I have kept my side of the bargain! I have not trod the mortal realm a full night, by faerie counting!" Tamlin cried.

"A technicality. It matters not, Tamlin. The sluagh demand their tithe, and I cannot let your defiance go unpunished. I am sorry, but you will be joining the Hunt come Hunter's Moon."

"If you send me," Tamlin said, "all the fey will know the Queen of Air and Darkness for an oathbreaker."

The Queen! Anabiel thought.

"They will know nothing of the sort!" the Queen retorted. "How long have you languished in our care? How long has it been since first that curse was twisted? You have had more than ample time to break it."

"Tis been naught but one night, by your reckoning," Tamlin replied.

There was a pause, then the Queen spoke again.

"You chose to live, my Tamlin, and those were the terms. It is not my fault if you are unable to meet them."

There was a flash, and before Anabiel could catch a glimpse of the dreaded Dark Queen, she had vanished and Tamlin was alone by the bank of the spring, his face in his paws. Before she could find the courage to step forward to console him, he strode into the forest and vanished as well.

It will not end like this, she vowed. She trembled at the thought of defying not only her father and brothers, but the Queen of Air and Darkness, but she would find a way to save Tamlin.

She raced back to the village to seek the old crone Vex.

It took Anabiel two weeks and a great deal of ale to concoct an opportunity to visit the old storyteller again. Once she was certain her father and brothers were asleep in a drunken stupor, she dashed across the village, her features hidden by a scarf, and knocked on the wise-fox's back door.

Vex opened the door just a sliver, her gold eyes widening when she saw Anabiel.

"Little one, what are you doing here all alone? Where is your father? Your brothers?" she asked.

"Please, may I come in?" Anabiel asked.

Vex hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The old crone locked the door soundly behind her.

"What troubles you so, my child? Your fur doesn't look as if it's been brushed in weeks! Are those thistle burrs on your hem?"

"Vex, please, I need to know how to save Tamlin from the Faerie Queen," Anabiel begged.

The old crone frowned. "It's a kit's tale, child. And if you took what I said as truth, perhaps your father was right in keeping you from listening to my stories--"

Anabiel made a growl of frustration, her tail lashing and her ears flat against her skull. But she calmed herself and tried again.

"It's for a bet, Vex," she lied. "My brothers claim that Tamlin can only be saved by seducing him away from the Queen, but though I don't remember the tale true, I know that to be false. We've bet a whole silver on this!"

"Betting is a sin, my child," Vex chastised, but smiled. "In this case, I'll let it slide. You are right, and your brothers are wrong. Tamlin's love needn't seduce him away from the Queen at all. If she is his true love, he will come willingly to her arms. And if she can hold him until the sun rises, he'll be a mortal fox once more."

"Thank you, Vex!" Anabiel said, and reached for the door. But the old crone was suddenly before Anabiel, blocking her way.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Vex purred.

The crone's scratchy voice changed, and her grizzled fur melted away, revealing the strangest creature Anabiel had ever seen. She wore a long gown the color of pitch, studded here and there with shadowed pearls. Chips of jet and obsidian gleamed from between the folds, and along the bodice were sewn a thousand raven feathers, their oily sheen dull in the candlelight. It was her face and hands, though, that were truly alien to the vixen. Her skin was hairless and as pale as a fish's belly, her face flat and her eyes black with white irises. She gestured with one hand, the nails blackened as if she'd dipped them in ink, and smiled, bearing a mouth of wicked fangs.

"Queen Maeve," Anabiel gasped. "The Dark Queen of the Faerie."

"As you say," she said. "And you must be...Belle."

At the sound of that name, Anabiel froze. She felt some strange twinge, as if she ought to bow or kneel, and yet it had no power over her. She stood before the Queen, defiant, and didn't budge.

"Clever little vixen, to keep your true name from my Tamlin and thus from me. You aren't as foolish as you seem." The queen paced around Anabiel, the hem of her dress hissing across the wooden floor like dead leaves.

"You can't do this to him," Anabiel said.

"Do what, exactly?" the Queen asked. She plucked a cherry from the old crone's fruit dish and rolled it between her fingers. The cherry's skin burst and filmed over with white rime. Then, the Queen swallowed it, pit and all.

"Sacrifice Tamlin to the Wild Hunt. I won't let you!"

"Oh?" The Queen smiled, but it was more a baring of teeth. "And you mean to stop me, I suppose. Tell me, child, do you know what happens if the sluagh don't get their tithe? The Wild Hunt comes here to find their prey. My tithe keeps them from your door. You would sacrifice your village's safety for Tamlin?"

Anabiel bared her teeth. "I don't believe you," she said.

The Queen shrugged. "The fey never lie, Belle. We stretch the truth and tie it into pretty little bows, but we. Do. Not. LIE!" the Queen roared, and Anabiel was flattened against the wall by the force of it. The Queen composed herself and spoke again, this time more softly. "Believe it or no, it is what it is. The sluagh will hunt, and they will come here for prey if it is not given to them. But if you are willing to take that chance, I would be remiss in my duty if I did not inform you of the terms."

"Terms?" Anabiel echoed.

"Of the curse," the Queen smiled cruelly. If winter could smile, Anabiel suspected it would look like the Queen's dreadful grimace. "Tamlin came to the fey as a result of falling from a horse, and can only return here by the same means. If you pull Tamlin from the convoy, if you can keep them from claiming Tamlin as their prey and hold him until the first light of dawn, the curse is broken and you two are free to live out the rest of your lives together. If you fail, Tamlin becomes a member of the Hunt forever."

Anabiel nodded.

"And you, my dear, will take Tamlin's place at my side."

Anabiel gulped.

The Queen of Air and Darkness grinned wider, the pale skin at the corner of her lips peeling back into a death's grimace. "Do we have a deal?"

Anabiel took a deep breath. She knew better than to agree to a deal with the fey, but if she didn't accept the bargain, Tamlin was doomed. Her tail lashed and her hackles rose, but Anabiel's voice stayed steady as she spoke.

"When is the convoy?" she asked.

"On the eve that you first met, by the light of the Hunter's Moon. Your lover will be the only one riding a white steed," Queen Maeve said.

"Simple enough," Anabiel replied. That gives me time. Time enough, I hope, to find a way to save him.

The Queen laughed. "So, do you agree?"

Anabiel swallowed and slowly nodded. "I agree to your terms, Queen Maeve."

The Queen of Air and Darkness cackled, and the sound was so cold that Anabiel doubled over, shivering. "Done, and done! I suggest you make peace with your gods while you can, little Belle."

The queen snapped her blackened fingers, and the candles in the room doused all at once. A moment later, they relit, revealing a slumbering Vex in a rocking chair by the fire.

Anabiel slipped out of the old crone's house on silent paws and returned home. She had only a few short months to plan, but she needed to be ready.

***

Later, Anabiel was never certain how she had been able to keep her plans secret from her father and brothers. Neither were uncivilized enough to break into her room while the door was shut, but they had to have known on their more sober days that something about their little sister had changed. While they dallied the day away, preoccupied with chasing skirts or drink, she ran across the fields and through the Winterwood as fast and as long as she could, until her lungs screamed for air and she could barely take another step. Every day, she ended her rigors at the bank of the spring.

And every night, she searched for a sign of Tamlin.

She never saw him, but each day there was another rose waiting beside the pond. They started white, like the one in her dresser, but over the weeks, the roses held a blush of pink, each one darker than the last.

Summer bled away, the green foliage giving way to gold until the Winterwood was ablaze with color. Anabiel had also changed. Her dark brown fur had brightened under the constant sun until it shone like burnished copper. The tip of her tail was as white as the first frost, and her paws the color of a fallow field. And while the village vixens twittered and giggled at the village todds, Anabiel found them boorish and tiring. She desired only Tamlin.

As the Harvest Moon filled, Anabiel began to dream of him. They were nebulous dreams she would forget upon waking, but as the moon waxed full, they became more and more vivid. The sensation of whiskers brushing her cheek, gentle nips behind her ear, the languid swirl of a tongue across her belly, between her legs. She would feel him behind her, his belly pressed to her back, feel as he began to mount her, whispering softly, the scent of petrichor all around her. But every dream ended the same: a howl in the dark, the sound of baying hounds and snapping brush. It would drive Anabiel from the dream and back into the waking world. She would startle, clutching Tamlin's rose so hard that the supple thorns would bite into her paw, drawing three drops of dark blood that stained the white petals until, like the roses she found at the spring, it was the color of blood upon fresh snow.

The dark moon came and went, taking with it another month of time and leaving Anabiel with the most vivid dreams yet. Soft fur under her palms, his lean body braced against hers, embracing her, loving her. The fur between her thighs would be slick with her desire for him as she woke each morning, her body aching for his touch, his scent, his voice.

The roses grew darker. No longer vivid red, they had begun to blacken at the edges. As the Hunter's Moon waxed brighter, the roses dimmed until the only red that remained was at the very heart of the bloom. Even the stems were as black as charred twigs.

Finally, the night of the Hunter's Moon arrived. Anabiel ran to the spring that morning before the dew had even dried and found one final rose, as black as a starless night, its edges touched my hoarfrost that refused to melt even in the light of the rising sun.

"Tonight," Anabiel murmured, holding the blackened rose. "Tonight, I'll hold you here, instead of in dreams."

Anabiel shivered and tucked the frosted rose into her tunic where it pressed close to her heart. The chill cut through her fur and strengthened her resolve. Tonight, I find my Tamlin, and no Dark Queen will be able to part us.

She hid in the Winterwood, thankful that village custom allowed for such a thing. Vixens often spent the day before the Hunter's Moon in seclusion, to think upon the todd they would choose. It was a day of celebration and anticipation, a day for idleness and feasting. Her father and brothers would be getting drunk along with every bachelor todd, boasting of their prowess to every vixen still unwed while gorging themselves on venison and sweetmeats. Anabiel had no intention of getting caught up in all that; the night's activities were too important. She'd stolen away with a single doe-skin pack filled with fresh bread, cheese, three boiled eggs and a pair of scones, and slipped into the Winterwood as subtle as a secret.

She settled down by the spring and waited for the moon to rise.

The day passed, and Anabiel ate through her purloined food, all except the scones. Those she saved for last, just as the sun set. The sky flared, clouds turning rose and orange with the light of the dying sun, and finally smoldering away to leave a violet, star-spattered sky.

And there, over the thinning canopy of the Winterwood, she saw the red orb of the Hunter's Moon begin to rise. Anabiel took a deep breath and shouldered her nearly empty pack. The convoy to the sluagh would be passing soon, and she needed to be ready.

Faintly at first, so distant she thought it was a trick of the spring, she heard the sound of silver bells jingling through the forest. She followed the sound, keeping low to the ground, and found the faerie convoy. A line of horses, coal-dark, strode down the path, their ebon manes adorned with silver bells. Each horse carried a fey in its saddle, flat faces grim and pale skin bright in the starlight, holding silver reins and wearing strange, eldritch clothes that seems made of spider silk, or starlight, or the shimmer of the moon upon water.

Gods, but they looked alien to her eyes. No sleek muzzles, no twitching ears or long tails. Just a nub of a nose each, eyes as hard and black as river rocks, and a grim set to their dark lips.Like blood on snow, she thought.

Anabiel waited patiently, looking for the white steed that would be carrying her love. There! A flash of white in the line of darkness! A horse as white as bone, astride which was her Tamlin. His fur had been brushed until it shone like burnished bronze in the moonlight, and he too wore strange adornments, including a silver collar round his throat linked to a silver chain twined around his wrists. His head was bowed, his ears flat, and his paws gripped the reins of his mount far too tightly. Anabiel flexed her long legs and curled her toes. She would only get one chance. If the Dark Queen was to be believed, if she let go of Tamlin for even a second, all would be lost.

She must not falter.

The white steed walked closer to where Anabiel lay in wait, and she slowed her breathing. Her fingers twitched, her tail began to fidget, and she willed herself to stay still, stay calm.

Closer. And closer still. The other fey gave no hint that they knew she was there. They continued past her as steady as a river.

He was a few arm lengths away. She could see the lovely green of his eyes, the only other color in the monochrome landscape. Anabiel felt the muscles in her legs begin to quiver.

Closer. Closer.

Now!

She wanted to scream, to yip a battle cry as his ankle finally came within reach, but she swallowed it back just as she darted forward, snatching Tamlin's foot from the stirrup and yanking him away with all her strength.

He fell off the horse and into her arms just as the white stallion reared and whinnied. All the faeries--who had been still and silent until that moment--turned and faced the place where Tamlin had vanished, drawing bows and swords.

"Run!" she hissed, gripping Tamlin's paw. He sprinted behind her, silver chains chiming and giving them away with every step.

"Belle! Belle, wait!" Tamlin cried, crashing along behind her.

"Later!"

Tamlin growled but followed until Anabiel finally slowed. They were back at the spring, the Hunter's Moon shining bloodstained light upon them. She tried to break the chains, but the links were faerie-forged and strong as steel. She couldn't break them, but she could muffle them. But how to do it without losing her grip on him?

"Hang on, I have an idea," Tamlin said. He stepped behind her, never losing contact, and settled both paws on her hips. "Go ahead."

Relieved, Anabiel dumped out the scones in her pack and swiftly shredded it, wrapping the doeskin around the links.

"Belle, what are you doing here?" Tamlin asked as Anabiel worked.

"Rescuing you," she said, handing him one of the scones. He looked at it as if he'd never seen one before.

"I can see that," he replied. "Belle, there's something you should know. About the curse. There's a...there's a catch."

Anabiel turned in his arms and looked at him. "Of course there is," she sighed. "Eat this. You'll need your strength."

Tamlin ate the scone in silence and swallowed. Anabiel ate the other, gulping the sweet treat too fast to taste it, and regarded her love once more.

"What is this catch, Tamlin?" she asked.

He closed his eyes, then pulled Anabiel close, pressing his hips to hers. At first, Anabiel didn't understand. And then, she felt it.

Or rather, she didn't feel it.

Her paw traced the line of his hip--a hip she realized now was too curved, too wide--and cupped the place where a todd would keep his organ. There was definitely something there, but it wasn't what belonged on a todd.

"You...you're--"

"--different," Tamlin finished, gritting his teeth.

Anabiel blinked, her body going still. But she didn't recoil, and she didn't let go.

"Were you...was it the Dark Queen?" she asked.

Tamlin shook his head. "I've always been so. I'm not...whole."

The corner of Anabiel's lip quirked, and her whiskers twitched. She knew they needed to flee, that the fey would be upon them again soon, but--

"I'd understand if you let go, Belle. You aren't the first, but--"

"But I'd be the last," she said. "Tamlin, how many times have you gone through this?"

He bared his fangs and looked away. "Too many," he replied softly. He started to pull away, but Anabiel tightened her grip.

"Tamlin Todd, you are a fool if you think the only reason I'm doing this is for what's between your legs!" she said, and kissed him soundly.

That kiss tore a sound from him, something between a ragged scream and a triumphant howl, and he kissed her back with all his heart.

"I can't give you kits," he said, his green eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Don't care!" Anabiel replied, kissing him again. She wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until the sun rose. She fumbled with his shirt, her paws sliding up the length of his body, and--

A hunting horn sobered the pair, and they both turned toward the sound. A second horn sounded, followed by the eerie baying of faerie hounds.

"We need to run!" Anabiel hissed. She grabbed his paw and ran.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he swatted aside underbrush and tried to fix his tunic.

"The village!" she replied. "We need to get to my family's barn! Every Hunter's Moon, Father marks the doors with boar's blood, to ward it from faeries that might befoul the hay. We'll be safe there until dawn!"

Anabiel wasn't sure how her father and brothers would react to a strange not-todd in their midst, but they'd be preoccupied for the night with their own pursuits. With any luck, no one would know until morning. By then, they would have made their vows and no law in the land could separate them.

They raced through the forest, but the sounds of hounds came ever closer. Tamlin's breathing became ragged, and even Anabiel began to tire. They burst out of the forest so suddenly that Anabiel was nearly blinded by the unfiltered moonlight. "There, across the field! Don't let go!" she said.

Tamlin nodded, and looked over his shoulder. "Don't look, Belle," he said. "Don't look back!"

But she did. Barreling through the trees were three white hounds, with eyes as red as blood. The sight of those carbuncle eyes caused every muscle in Anabiel's body to seize in terror. Tamlin growled and pushed her, hard, and it was enough to break the spell.

"Go!" he said.

The barn was just ahead. They were almost there! They raced across the dying hay field, stems bleached by moonlight. Behind them, the hounds howled, their breath fogging the air before them in great bursts. Anabiel slammed into the barn door, throwing it open with all her might and tumbled forward. Tamlin, refusing to let go, hit the ground with her and kicked the door shut.

Tamlin and Anabiel lay in the dust, gasping, and listened as the three faerie hounds snarled and paced just outside the door.

But the hounds could not enter. The boar's blood line along the doorstep prevented the fey things from setting so much as a toe inside.

"Are we safe?" Anabiel asked. "Do you think they'll try to dig their way inside?"

Tamlin frowned and held her tighter. "I don't think so."

Suddenly, the hounds went silent, and a slurred voice cut through the night.

"Anabiel? What's going on out there?"

Anabiel went very, very still. It was the voice of her father coming from outside, on the other side of the barn.

"Anabiel?" Tamlin murmured. Anabiel frowned, and realized it was the first time Tamlin had heard her true name.

"Belle for short, I take it?" he whispered, his whiskers tickling her ear.

"Hush!" she said, and led him to one of the hay piles. They burrowed inside and waited.

The barn door creaked open.

"Anabiel? You in here? That better not be you with the butcher's wife again!"

Anabiel blushed crimson under her fur, and Tamlin pinched his muzzle shut with his other paw to keep from snickering.

"Butcher's wife?" Tamlin whispered into Anabiel's ear.

She glared. "She wasn't married at the time!" Anabiel protested.

Tamlin chuckled, and her father's ear swiveled toward the sound. He curled one lip and bared his fangs at the darkened interior of the barn. Anabiel shuddered in Tamlin's arms. She knew that look. Her father was a breath away from a drunken rage. In spite of herself, she whimpered.

Anabiel's father threw his ale bottle into the hay, nailing Tamlin between the eyes and making him yelp.

"Get outta there, Anabiel. I can smell you from here. And who is the whore with you?" he growled.

With a sigh, Anabiel and Tamlin slunk out of the hay, still holding hands.

"Father, this is Tamlin. My betrothed," Anabiel said stiffly.

"I was just about to exchange vows with--" Tamlin began.

"You are not marrying my daughter," her father rumbled. "Vixens don't marry vixens."

"Tamlin isn't--"

"Just because it dresses like a todd don't make it one!" he roared. He closed on her, his breath reeking of stale beer, and tried to grab her.

Tamlin was faster. He yanked Anabiel away and stood between her and her drunken father. Anabiel's paws clutched Tamlin's waist as she ducked behind him.

"Belle, I don't think your father is going to give us his blessing," Tamlin said dryly.

The hounds howled outside the door again, and Anabiel's father perked up his ears.

"Being hunted, are you? That why you came in here?" he growled.

"Father, don't open the door!"

"Why not? Afraid a todd will finally make a vixen out of you?"

Anabiel backed her ears. "Father, that isn't the sound of todds howling!" she said, but her father was too far gone to hear her.

"It sounds like your brothers," Anabiel's father leered. "I think sons of mine are todd enough to make vixens of both of you!" he cackled, and kicked the barn door.

"Father, you can't!"

"Oh yes I can, Anabiel. You're a vixen and it's time you started acting like it! And if it has to be you own brothers to make you one, so be it!" He kicked the door again, and again, until it flew off its hinges. The doorframe screamed in protest and cracked, one broken board stabbing into the earth and breaking the line of dried boar's blood.

Three pale faerie hounds bayed and burst into the barn. Anabiel saw her father look at the hounds, uncomprehending, just before they fell upon him.

"Quickly, while they're distracted," she said.

"Belle--"

"I told him not to open the door!" Her voice cracked and tears flowed down her cheek, but she swiped them aside.

Anabiel and Tamlin snuck out while the hounds feasted.

"Now what?" Tamlin asked.

Anabiel thought for a moment. "Back to the spring. It's almost dawn. They won't be able to reach it in time. I think."

Tamlin was about to protest, but a savage snarl from inside the barn sent the pair off and running again. They made it to the spring just as the eastern sky began to brighten.

But standing at the edge of the spring was Faerie Queen Maeve, the Queen of Air and Darkness.

"Hello, Tamlin," she said.

It was Anabiel's turn to stand between her partner and harm. "You can't have him," she said.

"Him? Oh, Tamlin, have you not told her yet? You cannot gain another's love through trickery!" she laughed.

"He's todd enough for me," Anabiel replied evenly. "You've lost, Dark Queen. Tamlin is free of your curse."

The Queen of Air and Darkness stopped laughing. "Oh no. Not yet. There's an hour yet before you can claim victory, little Belle. And I think you've had it too far too easy."

"You call that easy?" Tamlin protested.

"Silence, you!" The Queen snapped two blackened fingertips, and Tamlin hissed. Anabiel felt her Tamlin change in her arms into a giant serpent. His soft fur hardened into scales, his limbs withered, and his muzzle yawned with two great fangs.

"Will you still love him while he digests you?" the Queen cackled.

Tamlin thrashed like a mad thing, his coils undulating under Anabiel's paws, but she refused to let go. She squeezed him tighter, locking her fingers behind his scaled back.

The Queen growled, and snapped her fingers again. The scales became fur once more, but grey and brindled. Tamlin had become a feral wolf! He howled and struggled, but Anabiel dug her fingers into his fur and held on tight.

"Tamlin, Tamlin it's me!" she cried.

He couldn't hear her. Anabiel ground her teeth and wrapped the silver chains around her own hands, gripping the canine's scruff with one paw. "I'm not letting you go, Tamlin. I promise."

The Queen snarled and changed Tamlin again, this time into a rooster. Anabiel yipped and clutched at him, and managed to get him back into her arms. The rooster crowed and kicked, claws shredding her tunic, but she held on.

The Queen screamed in fury and snapped both her fingers, and this time, Tamlin changed into a burning log.

"How long can you hold him, Belle? Will he still love you when the sun rises and he sees how you've been scalded?" she taunted.

Anabiel glared, tears streaming down her cheeks from the heat, and dove into the spring with the burning ember of Tamlin held tight in her arms.

There was a burst of bubbles, claws twining in her fur, and suddenly everything was gold and light and she could breath again.

"Anabiel? Anabiel!"

"Tamlin? I didn't..." she coughed. "I didn't let go."

"No," he choked. "No, you didn't."

The sun lifted over the horizon, bathing the world in tawny light, and the Queen of Air and Darkness stood before it, smiling. All trace of her anger and fury seemed to have melted away with the dawn. "Ah, it was a good night."

Anabiel snarled, her ears laid back and her teeth bared. She wasn't fooled, not in the slightest! "You lost, Queen of Air and Darkness."

"And so I did," she said graciously. "I concede defeat. Very well done, Anabiel. In the course of a single night, you have managed to ensure all oaths were paid in full."

"What? All oaths? What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I promised Tamlin he should stay with the faerie until he found his true love, which he did. My oath to the slaugh for a tithe was kept by way of your father, just as I promised, and you have rescued your true love, just as you promised. A good night's work, I think."

"You...you planned this. All of this!" Tamlin accused.

Queen Maeve smiled, baring perfect white teeth that were no longer fangs. "I'm the Queen of the Night Fey, Tamlin. Of course I did."

The sun rose higher, burning away the morning dew, and the Dark Queen winced at the light. "And here, I must leave you." She snapped her fingers, and the chains binding Tamlin fell to dust. "Fare you well, Anabiel and Tamlin, wherever you may fare." The Queen of Air and Darkness bowed, stepped back into the shadows, and was gone.

Tamlin and Anabiel were alone. Slowly, gingerly, they let go of each other. Nothing happened.

And shortly after, they embraced again.

It is said that Anabiel and Tamlin returned to the village just long enough to pack before heading out once more into the Winterwood. Anabiel's father and brothers were never seen or heard from again, although there are those who say that by the light of a full moon, a spectral todd might be seen pacing at the edge of the forest, throat torn and eyes empty, with three white hounds at his heels. As for what became of Tamlin and Anabiel, well, it wouldn't be a faerie tale without a happily ever after.