Wolfman's Sweater

One morning, before the sun had fully declared itself from the skies, Gorf the wolfman found a solitary rose and a finely braided basket stuffed full of muffins outside his den. This was unusual for he had no close neighbors with such domestic skill as to deliver baked goods. Wolfmen may live in proximity to other such creatures but not a single one of them could master the use of a kitchen fire or even grasp a utensil in their large, clumsy paws. The paws of Gorf were more adept at churning up earth in his wake as he crossed the moonlit dells and streams of his forested home. Better yet, he could raise them to strike and slash at beasts of both prey and competition.

Gorf's home had been in some woods or another for as long as he could remember. His brother and sister had dens closeby. They visited amongst themselves in day to day life, sharing blood-soaked slabs of meat and Gorf himself always glad to be the playtime punching bag for his nieces and nephews. 

Gorf had caught fleeting glimpses of humans on the rare occasions which found one or more of the species wandering near his den. Woodsmen straying dangerously close never had eyesight keen enough to discern Gorf’s hollow of a den, a deep and cozy depression blended seamlessly with the forest floor. A solitary creature, aside from visits to his family or the odd run-in with a bear, Gorf enjoyed huddling inside his home, then drawing a loosely woven blanket of twigs and leaves across the opening. Today, Gorf was puzzled at this greeting of objects left at his doorstep, denizens of a world he was largely unacquainted with. 

So, Gorf stumbled into the offerings waiting outside his cozy den, as though they had been placed there for him. Whom did he know that could tend roses and delicately pluck one from its plant, just for him? Who possessed the lithe human hands which could mindfully combine such delightful-smelling ingredients and bake them to perfection, presented in this wholesome manner? 

Steeling himself a fair amount, Gorf shuffled toward the unanticipated gifts, reaching a trembling and unwieldy paw out to grasp at the rose. Inhaling deeply, the luxurious aroma achieved a sort of taming affect, as though his wolfishness were lessened by its beauty. With an uncomfortable jolt, the wolfman recognized that he had, in fact, found the flower to smell quite pleasant indeed. Furthermore, it smelled nearly as appealing as, say, a freshly slain deer or a ravaged hen-house. 

At his favorite drinking stream, some time later, Gorf felt as though he were being watched. The telltale patterns of his siblings’ or their offsprings’ paws did not accompany this sensation. Nor did he recognize the distinguished scents of marking by his familial beasts. It gave Gorf pause when he reconciled with himself that he should not feel any unease in these woods, his home. He and his kind were at the pinnacle of the hierarchy out here after all. 

Oddly enough, Gorf had not noticed that he was standing on his hind legs and that he was cupping his front paws together to drink from the stream. Not a single member of his lineage or species would ever have done so. That was supposedly a habit of the stenchy man-men, from their cramped living quarters and bustling existence. A wolfman would never lower himself to such indecency. Promptly, Gorf glanced about, as if to reassure himself that no one he knew or valued the opinion of would have seen his demeaning behavior. In the blink of an eye, he had dropped his fore-paws to the bank of the water and lowered his snout to continue lapping up his fill of clear, quenching streamwater.  

“Uncle Gorf! We missed you!” 

“Come play!” 

The cheering yips of his nieces and nephews welcomed him when Gorf strolled- on all fours, mind you- into the clearing in which they often played. Gorf sensed that he would find his family here. Pups needed to play the day away in order to give their tired parents rest when it was time to retire to the family den each night. 

After taking a barrage of nips to his ears and tackles in the grass from the little scamps, Gorf managed to slip out of their midst and saunter over to where the adults huddled. Ytna, Gorf’s eldest sister, with silver whiskers and kind eyes, glanced her brother over, inquiring, “Why do you not seem yourself, Brother?” 

Pointing his own whiskered nose toward a copse of trees along one edge of the clearing, Gorf gestured to Ytna that they should converse in a more reserved location. She obliged, following her much-loved younger brother. Ytna was a protective sister, ever more so after the last of the previous elders had journeyed to the Moonlit Fields of the beyond. 

“Tell no one,” Gorf implored before relaying to Ytna the puzzling turn of events from this morning, the disquietingly unusual objects left at his den as though a gift or offering. 

After the story was fully relayed, Ytna’s eyes shone. “Why do you study me so?” demanded Gorf, slightly more abrasive than he intended. 

“Well, Little Brother, isn’t it obvious? You have an admirer.” 

Gorf scoffed, “An admirer?" Him? Single, old wolfman Gorf had never had an encounter with a wolflady outside of his family circle. Such beasts were not quite common in the world anymore. 

“Not a wolfwoman, Gorf,” Ytna showed her teeth as though very pleased with herself indeed. Then she proceeded to confess to him a story which she had left untold until now, leaving her brother rather dismayed. “A human woman from the nearest city does venture out here at times.” 

In disbelief, Gorf started, “Have you indeed seen such a thing? Or have you gone mad?” 

“Not a thing, Dear Brother. A creature, and a beautiful creature at that.”

Gorf stared dumbly, mouth a bit agape as she described the human woman she had seen on more than one occasion. “She has kind eyes and she forages for mushrooms and wild herbs. I have never noted her to take more than she needs and she always leaves an offering close to her foraging spot.” 

Breathlessly, Gorf grunted, “But what could she want with me?” 

As usual, Ytna had a wise answer for everything, “You do recall the stories the elders told us when we were pups, do you not?” She knew he did recall and thus she did not wait for him to indicate that he did. “Well, I think she must be a witch from the stories, or a wild woman with the forest in her spirit.”

“Oh, I see,” said Gorf. He did understand, as it turned out. In fact, he had wondered what it would be like to lay beside a warm human woman, the curve of her hip nestled into him and waves of long hair only on her head, brushing his cheek, beside him in a plush bed beside a crackling fire. 

“You see, Gorf?” Ytna continued. “This could be what fate has designed for you. Perhaps this is how you get a family of your own.” 

“You are my family,” was Gorf’s flat growl in response. 

“And we always will be, dear Little One,” Ytna reassured him, reaching a paw to gently tousle the fur atop her brother’s head. “Just think about it.” 

Gorf had little time to think about it. The next morning, as he arose from his den, a lumpy package wrapped in brown paper laid upon his doorstep. Promptly allowing his curiosity to overcome him and shredding the paper with his claws, a soft yarn-spun sweater was unveiled. No doubt, the foraging woman was trying to court him in her strange way. 

Grumbling to himself, Gorf ruminated on the fact that this woman would have to in fact possess magic if she expected him to become some polite member of the society of the man-men. 

Even so, he slipped his head into the sweater. It was a grueling process, but some thirty minutes later he had donned the plush article of man clothing. 

With haste, Gorf- not quite knowing what to think about his predicament- rushed to the stream for his morning drink. Before he could taste his first gulpful, he stopped short.

His face was that of a man’s. Without pausing to notice the shift in his bones, he had jogged awkwardly to the stream on the hind-legs of a man. Now, a man with a dark tangle of hair stared back at him from the water’s reflection. 

The sweater- it was enchanted. Was this how she had planned to make his acquaintance? How rather forward this seemed to Gorf. Pondering, he used a human gesture, placing one finger upon his chin. He should go meet this intriguing creature. Rising from the stream, he carried on his awkward two-legged stride toward his favorite mushroom patch. 

No one was there. Interesting. He made haste to where the mountain mint grew in emerald-green leafy abundance. Her back was to him, long hair flowing to her waist and a basket upon the earth. 

Confounded by the change in him and his bold decisions thus far, Gorf cleared his throat, though it contained the essence of the growling tone he had used up until this point in his life. She turned and looked up at him, smiling when her eyes landed on him. Clearly, she approved of the man she had brazenly chosen for herself. The sweater was just the perfect fit.