Peony and the Wolf

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Swish, swish. The faint noise of a broom against stone floors was the only sound remaining in Meliora Flores, a small floral store on the edge of Riverforte. After a rather busy day where there was always at least one chatty customer, the silence seemed alien. It was peaceful for the shopkeeper though. While he did enjoy connecting with others over the many beautiful plants and flowers, the quiet evenings spent alone in the shop were his favorite part of the day.

Finishing up his sweeping, Dagda reached for the dustpan to his left. He brought the dirt to the nearest trash can, which was at the back of the greenhouse section of the building. Cool air was drifting in from the propped open door next to it, bringing in the scent of food from a nearby restaurant. The sun was nearly set, still casting its red and orange hues across the few clouds in the sky and giving a warm glow to the darkening landscape. The florist took a moment to breathe it in and enjoy the colors before turning back into the shop. His apron was covered in dirt from the day’s work, so he removed it and placed it on a hook by the door. To many customers, the sight of such a large, gruff, and intimidating man wearing an apron that was too small for him and selling beautiful, delicate flowers was something right out of a comic. People like Dagda were often expected to take positions of power or heavy, hard labor jobs. He looked out of place in such an elegant profession, but once they realized he had the knowledge and passion for it he seemed to fit right in.

“‘Night befalls the wicked.’” The ominous quote was spoken in a deep, quiet voice to a nearby orchid. The plant didn’t respond. “About time to get going.” Lines on his face creased as a grave look overtook him. The secret wolfman had other interests besides just flowers. Something more mysterious was on his schedule for the night. Information he gathered from talking to customers gave Dagda something to explore while he let out the wolf inside. Anything that he considered a crime against the natural world was something he took upon himself to enact justice against. However, it was safest to do it at night to not draw attention.

Dagda walked around the floral shop, turning off lights and closing the doors and shades. Taking his leave of the building, he locked the back door before shoving aside a plant pot with his foot and tucking the key underneath it. With his key secure and all his tasks done, it was time to go see what the night held for him.

Jogging a short distance from Meliora Flores, he stopped only when there was sufficient enough bush coverage for him to be mostly out of view of the sidewalks and roads. Dagda knelt down in the dirt, taking a deep breath before summoning the change forth. The infliction he’d harbored for many years was tough to deal with, but he’d found that if he transformed more often than not it was easier to undergo. The unnerving sound of flesh rearranging and cartilage cracking filled the air. He was thrown forward, hands splayed apart and fingers digging into the earth below as he grit his teeth through the metamorphosis. Groans of discomfort turned to animalistic growling, then quieted.

In the settling darkness rose a massive wolf where Dagda had just stood. His bushy fur was near black with gray underneath, scattered with various scars. Lowering his head, the beast scanned the night around him with piercing golden eyes. It was time to see what needed to be done.

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Dagda stalked off into the night from where he transformed. As he prowled, he periodically lifted his nose to the air. Due to an injury he sustained while fighting the werewolf who converted him, he couldn’t smell at all in human form. Luckily, the keen senses of a wolf allowed him occasional whiffs of scent if he concentrated enough. It was a weakness he worked hard to compensate for. He couldn’t allow himself to slip in alertness at the wrong moment. That was just the way he saw every situation - one lapse in judgment meant certain danger.

Pushing through some heavy bushes, the wolf’s ears swiveled backwards abruptly. He froze. Footsteps were approaching his direction and a quiet voice called out into the night. It sounded like a young girl. “Damnit!” he growled, whipping his head around and scanning the darkness. Someone had seen him! This was what he tried hard to avoid. If he could move about the nighttime without leaving any trace or drumming up any rumors from locals, he felt confident in what he was doing. He would have to keep his outings on the down low for a while after this.

Rushing forward, he darted from the bushes and over a fallen log. Dagda’s mind was racing. He wanted to run far away to avoid being seen again, but maybe if he tricked the person they would think he was a dark spirit or something. Glancing back at the decaying tree he had just crossed, he had an idea.

Should the pursuer follow him further, she would find the massive wolf standing along the top of the felled tree. His head was lowered like he was staring down prey and his fur was slightly raised to look larger and more intimidating. Hopefully the darkness would enhance that too. Glowing golden eyes narrowed upon the girl.

“Leave this place,” he snarled ominously into the air between them, baring his teeth and purposefully making his voice sound deeper and grisly. Dagda intended to look like an elusive angry spirit right out of a legend.

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