Well

Max was still sitting in the babbling stream, staring straight ahead with wide eyes as his lederhosen slowly soaked through.

In front of him, the creature had now straightened to its full height.

Its wings rustled softly once more, shaking off the last traces of salt before settling against its sides again.

What Max had first taken for nothing more than fur now shaped itself into an unmistakably humanoid form.

Powerful hind legs, a narrow waist, shoulders that spoke of quiet certainty rather than brute strength.

The thick coat concealed more of the clearly feminine body than it revealed, yet not enough to keep the sudden heat from creeping up the back of his neck.

Flustered, he wanted to tear his gaze away, but he couldn’t.

She, unmistakably so now, planted her paws firmly on the ground and leaned a little closer toward him, green eyes blazing.

“So?” she snarled. “Do you always greet others with such manners?”

Max struggled for words.

“I-I… I mean…”

It was hard to keep his composure.

A Wolpertinger alone would already have been more than his mind could bear.

And now there stood something before him that not only defied reason, but also spoke.

“Do you have the faintest notion how long it takes to work salt out of fur?” she went on, dragging her claws through the hair along her head and shoulders, shaking herself with clear irritation. “How does anyone even come up with something like that?”

Max answered without thought, his voice flat and automatic.

“The old hunters… that’s what they say. That this is how one catches a Wolpertinger.”

She stared at him.

“Ah. So that is where this foolishness has its roots.”

She cleared her throat, then drew in a sharp breath.

“This is nonsense. Pure nonsense. It’s salt! A seasoning. What sense is there in trying to snare someone with something meant for stew? Do your people truly have so much of it that they must fling it at whatever moves? There are other ways! And another thing...”

She suddenly cut off her rant and fixed Max with her green eyes.

He was still sitting there in the stream, mouth hanging open.

“…Say, will you squat there in the water all night? Not that I’d want to criticize your bathing habits…”

Max glanced down at himself and only now seemed to realize it.

He jumped up hastily and waded to the bank with dripping, squelching boots.

The figure now stood directly in front of him.

She was about two heads shorter than he was, yet the difference in height didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

“S-so you truly are a Wolpertinger?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

“What else would I be?”

Max swallowed.

“But before... you looked different.”

She flashed her sharp canines.

“And now I look like this.”

His confusion only deepened.

She sighed.

“The shape you met before is for running. For keeping to my paths.” She gestured at herself. “This here is for talking. Takes a lot of effort and concentration…”

She shot him a cold look.

“And you have forced me into spending plenty of both, though I made myself pretty clear last moon. Did I not frighten you well enough then?”

“Oh… that was you as well?” Max said faintly. “I… ah… my apologies.”

She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a brief once-over, then waved it off as if he wasn’t worth the trouble.

“It’s fine,” she said eventually. “I am used to your kind seeing no further than antlers and teeth. Why should you be any different?”

She regarded him a moment longer, head slightly tilted, as if weighing him one last time.

Then she shrugged.

“Our roads part here then. Farewell.”

She turned away, clasped her hands loosely behind her head as she walked, and strolled between the trees as if there were nothing left to discuss.

“And next time,” she added over her shoulder, “think before you season another soul without asking.”

Her voice faded among the trunks while Max remained where he stood.

He could still hear the soft rustle of leaves for a moment, then nothing.

“Oh… uh… yes,” he murmured into the forest. “Farewell…”

The words felt strange, barely spoken.

He lowered his gaze and began to gather his scattered belongings mechanically.

The sack. The candle. The mirror.

No one will ever believe this, he thought.

The realization struck him cold before he could dwell on it.

“The bet.”

He straightened at once.

“Wait!”

His belongings fell forgotten into the grass.

“Miss, wait please!”

He rushed in the direction she had disappeared, but the forest lay silent before him.

“There is something I must yet ask you!” he called, louder now.

His voice echoed between the trees.

He waited.

Nothing.

“Uh… Miss...  Wolpy?”

Still no answer.

Max drew in a slow breath and let it out just as slowly.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Gone already…”

He lowered his head and half turned away, ready to head back.

“Who gave you permission to call me that?”

Max spun around, startled.

No more than two steps behind him, she was leaning casually against a gnarled oak, arms crossed, one leg bent.

“Beg my pardon” he blurted. “I meant no offense, I simply did not know what name to use.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Well...”

Max blinked.

“…Yes?”

She sighed audibly.

“Well. That is the name you may use.”

He frowned.

“You mean... I shall call you Miss Wolpy after all?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“No.”

She pushed herself off the tree.

“Is thought such a heavy burden for you? My. Name. Is. Well.”

It took a moment for it to sink in.

“Wait…,” Max said slowly. “Your name is… Well?”

She crossed her arms again.

“Well… yes.”

She watched his surprised expression for a moment longer than necessary, ears twitching once.

Then she eyed him critically.

“Enough of that. Speak, then, what business do you still have with me?”

It took Max a moment to pick up the thread again.

“Well… Miss Well, it’s like this…”

He took a deep breath.

“I… I need your help,” he began hastily. “It’s about a bet. Back in the village.”

She listened without comment.

***

He spoke of Theresia, of the long table heavy with food, laughter and mockery. 

About the bet that had seemed so right in his anger and now felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

At some point, Max leaned back against the trunk of an old oak, hands fidgeting in his wet pockets.

On the other side of the tree stood Well, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the forest.

“…and if I don’t present a Wolpertinger by this Sunday,” Max finished in a strained voice, “then I might lose Theresia forever.”

For a moment, Well said nothing.

A short, surprised sound escaped her, half a laugh, half a scoff.

She shook her head once.

“You’ve really gotten yourself into quite a mess, didn't you?”

Max swallowed.

“I thought… maybe…” He hesitated. “If you would only appear just once. In your other form. I swear no harm will come to you!”

She slowly turned her head toward him.

“No.”

The word came without hesitation.

“But...”

“I will not be paraded before your kind like a fairground beast,” she cut in. “And if any debt stands between us, it would be yours. For the salt.”

“Please,” he blurted out. “I would make it right. However you ask it. I swear it.”

Well fell silent.

For a brief moment, she seemed unsettled by his words, studying him as if she were seeing him properly for the first time.

Then she shook her head.

“No. Farewell.”

Max opened his mouth, but before he could say another word, her posture changed.

Her body lowered, limbs stretched, fur and form shifting with fluid ease.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer.

Moments later, she had resumed her original shape.

Her green eyes flicked toward him one last time, not hostile, but firm.

Max raised a hand instinctively, then let it fall again.

With a beat of wings, she lifted from the ground and vanished among the treetops.

A few drifting leaves spiraled down in her wake and Max could only watch her go as he was left alone once more.

The forest grew still.

And with a long breath, Max bowed his head, as hope faded.