Sleepy Fox Hollow world

The thick scent of it hung in the air. Fiona wrinkled her nose. She suspected Anselm would have his way with her. At the very least, he would not let anyone else have their way with her. Fiona shook her head, wishing the woman had taken her up on the offer to stay her time at least until she had more weight on her. Carrying children in such a state was likely to make her quite ill, if not take her life completely. The witch could only hope that she would not be blamed for not saving the woman and her unborn children.

Perhaps she would suggest it as a task for Etienne. He was a poor medic in her eye, and it would prove two of her points in one.

Anselm was in a fugue-state ever since -- well, since his hour with Heda. He'd been shown a softer side, but he'd seen another side too. Too much mention of god and sin. Why couldn't her god just be CHILL?

God.

He was in a foul mood when he came across Fiona. For a minute, his eyes flared with something unknowable. But then he came to, setting his attention on her with a jut of his chin. Vhat are you looking at?

Anselm found her, huffing and pointy-eyebrowed as he often was, demanding to know what she was looking at. Fiona blinked, catching herself before she looked around to make sure he was talking to her, and not somebody else nearby.

You are the one who approached me, she told him calmly. The witch had been minding her own business. He reeked of the woman, but she held her tongue on the matter. She was here to listen, to observe, not to needle or question. Let him surface the information in his own time, when he deemed it time to do so.

Presented with the fact he had approached her -- an undeniable truth -- Anselm sucked in an irritated breath. You vere looking at me. Vas I supposed to ignore you?

In his own world, she was being uppity. In the real world, everything she said was true -- and he was just making a scapegoat of her given his own troubles.

Fiona remained relaxed, calm, and collected. Her stance was neutral, and she listened and waited until he stopped speaking. Interruption would do her no good; she knew that much. Would you prefer it if I ignore you when you approach? she asked, her tone genuine. If that made him more comfortable and less likely to lose it, she would gladly take that route.

She still could not help but wonder what it was about him that made him this way. The witch reached back to the conversation she had overheard between him and Etienne. How he had poked fun at Etienne's grandmothers for their love. Perhaps it was a love Anselm had never felt before. Had his own mother been distant? His father? Questions she would not ask aloud, and answers she would not get so long as he kept her at a distance.

There was too much calm in her body language. It spoke of a poise that threatened to dismantle Anselm's already unraveling sense of security.

Would you prefer it if I ignore you when you approach?

Naturally, Anselm couldn't address that logical -- and almost fair -- inquiry with an equal measure of seriousness. If more people ignored me when I approached, it vould save me a fuck-ton of headache. Vhat is it about you vomen that are so sensitive? Vhy have you all -- he motioned to her kind in a sweeping gesture -- mastered the art of playing victim?

He denied the reality that she had been ignoring him. It seemed his version of events and those that had happened—even in the past minutes—were wildly different. Fiona began to wonder if he had even one of his four paws in reality, or if he was always living in his own world. Ah, and there, a jab at all women. Again, she wondered what his mother had been like. His father? Had both of them raised him to hate women, or at least thing much less of them? Perhaps his mother had been a weak woman who had finally stood up to his father in the end.

I do not see myself as a victim, she said. I hold my own in this place. Do you disagree? Fiona hunted often to fill the caches, never took more than she needed, and kept interlopers away from their borders. She might have referred to Anselm as her leader to others, but in her mind, she did not see him as a leader. He lacked the skills—not to mention the personality—to lead anyone but his own ego.

Irrational as Anselm may be, he saw the conversation shift back to him; each blow he conjured artfully deflected. 

His fur bladed in annoyance. He would not beat her in the court of barbs or words — and he knew it. 

You can hold your own, and still be irritating. Anselm hiked his tail as if a gesture of obscenity. There would be no tactful retreat from this conversation, so Anselm threw all his cards on the table.

 You decide to go into heat or vhatever like she did — He gestured to where Heda’s scent lingered. You find someone outside the hollow to fuck you. Don’t bring your shit here. If I find you fucked Etienne — Anselm’s head lowered, posture threatening. I vill kill your children myself.

If she'd had less training, Fiona might have smiled at his comment on her being irritating. As it were, she was used to being tested. It was part of her job, after all, to listen through the worst insults and jabs. And, apparently, threats on the lives of children that had no chance of being conceived. The thought of bedding Etienne was anything but appealing. The same went for Anselm, although Fiona did think it would be fascinating in its own way for the science of it.

Her ear twitched, but she didn't move from where she was, even when his posture became oh-so-similar to the one he had shown on their first meeting. She had leverage now, and chasing her off now wouldn't do anybody any good.

Still, she mulled over the specific suggestion he'd had, should the tincture fail to do its work. He didn't want her for himself, as she had originally thought. The witch found it strange, then, that he should bed the other woman.

I have no interest in him, she said. Not romantically. Fiona studied him a moment longer, and it dawned on her. The homophobic jokes about Etienne's grandmothers, the pent up anger, the lashing out; he had not meant that Fiona should stay away from Etienne because he wanted her for himself. He wanted Etienne for himself. It played nicely into his hatred of women, she realized.

Anselm turned the full of his attention upon Fiona following his last statement. He expected outcry or shock, even -- but instead, Fiona looked on him in the measured manner of a clinician.

This irritated Anselm further - for he felt that she was somehow peeling back layers of his psyche that he did not want revealed to the world. He wanted any sort of emotion besides this -- clinical interest.

It didn't occur to Anselm in that moment that she was aware of his tryst with Heda -- nor did he realize Fiona had dissected enough of his personality to connect pieces even Anselm refused to acknowledge about himself.

Vhat does that mean, romantically? The woodsman growled, wanting to leave no misconception between them. His fur prickled in a surge of jealousy that he did not bother to smooth back.

Fiona felt the air electrify as soon as the last word rolled off her tongue and the realization came to her. The witch would not have said it if she had known before it came out of her mouth that it was what it was. But the damage was done, and now she merely had to remain calm. Luckily for her, it was one of her best skills.

I mean exactly what I said. I don't want any romantic involvement with Etienne. And I certainly do not want his children. She didn't want Anselm's, either. In fact, Fiona was pretty sure bringing kids into this place would be a death sentence. Etienne was a poor medic in her eyes, Anselm was on the verge of murdering kids who didn't even exist, and the one other woman who lived among them hadn't even bothered to think of her own life before geting knocked up even when given the chance. Fiona would have better luck raising kids on her own than here, and she certainly had no intentions of doing that, either.

If all went well, her tincture would keep her fertility at bay.

Anselm was barely comforted by Fiona's words. She could be lying. Or worse -- she could believe it true, and fuck him anyway.

Insecurity coiled its hideous grip around his belly. Then we are on the same page. His shaky nerves were returning one by one. A few more seconds, and he would be gaining control of his barely concealed temper.

There was nothing left to discuss. He let his gaze linger unkindly. Remember vhat I said, Fiona. But then he stepped off, prepared to leave her alone unless she said anything back.