The classic ‘I’m a wildlife biologist and I got called out to do radio tagging and release because a coyote trapper accidentally caught a wolf except I am PRETTY SURE you’re not a wolf’ halloween meet cute!
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Sansa dropped the bag as she approached the ridiculously large wolf that had somehow managed to get stuffed into the coyote trap.
“Fuck.” She swore, watching by the light of her torch and the full moon, as the large animal growled and whined and coughed. Its body pressing against the cage, as if it could break the metal that confined it.
“Okay,” she dug the tranquilliser gun, the one she had never had to use before, out of her bag, juggling it and her torch until she had both gripped in one hand and readied herself. “Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen.” She moved closer to the cage as she spoke. “I’m going to open this cage, you’re going to get out. You’re going home then I’m going home.” She placed her hand on the cage latch. “And no one is going to be mauled, okay?”
She took a deep breath and released the latch.
The wolf sprung from the trap. Its body convulsed and Sansa watched in horror as it coughed and gagged. Its fur seemed to recede, its limbs twisting, its body writhing. Soon it had vomited up the contents of its stomach, before turning its now human face toward her.
“What the fuck?” Sansa whispered. She soon realised two things, the first being the man was naked, the second being that he had barbed wire wrapped around his lower left leg. The wire was not just gouging the flesh but burning it.
Sansa pulled her jacket off and chucked it at the man before moving to her bag.
“What- Who-” The man panted. She glanced over to see his face screwed up in pain, but he’d covered himself with her jacket.
“You need bandages.” She moved toward him. “And antiseptic and probably stitches.” She snapped on the latex gloves. “This is going to hurt.”
She glanced up into his face. Her eyes met his and she paused for a moment. They were lovely eyes. Deep and dark enough for her to drown in, the same eyes as the wolf. He nodded.
As carefully and as quickly as she could she unwrapped the barbed wire. She could see the man wince in pain from the corner of her eye, but he didn’t move. She tried to distract him.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
“Jon.” His voice was strained, but he answered quickly. “And you?”
“Sansa.” She heard him suppress a gasp as a small piece of flesh came away with the latest barb she’d removed. “I work with the Winterfell Wildlife research program. I was expecting to find a coyote.”
“I’m a bit different than a coyote.” He said. Sansa chuckled lightly. For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to ask the only question that was in her head. It seemed like a logical conclusion, but the answer was completely illogical.
Werewolves aren’t real. She glanced up into Jon’s pained face. But what else is he?
After what seemed an age it was finally free of his flesh and Sansa chucked it a few feet away. She went to grab some antiseptic wipes but the man battered her hand away.
“It’s gotta stay open. I have to bleed out the wolfsbane.”
“That what?” Sansa looked at Jon. His face was pale and his dark curls were plastered to his head. “What- what the fuck is happening?” She asked.
“I need to see Sam. I have to get to Sam.” Jon tried to move, tried to stand, but the slight pressure on his wounded limb caused blood to pulse from the wound. Sansa’s hands were covered in the warm red liquid and the man cried out in pain.
“Shh.” She pressed her hand into his shoulder. “You can’t move yet.”
“I have to. I have to get to Sam if the wolfsbane is in my blood, I’m dead.”
“Who’s Sam?” She asked, scrambling for her phone. Her blood covered fingers smeared her screen making typing nearly impossible.
“Sa- Sam-” She glanced at Jon as he spoke. His eyes were half closed, his head lolling about, his lips moving without sound. Gods he’s going to faint.
“Jon!” She said loudly, moving until she was supporting his upper body. “Hey, Jon you have to stay with me!” She shook him gently and his eyes fluttered open. “Who’s Sam?” She asked, her voice urgent.
“Tarly.” He muttered back, his eyelids falling and rising like the tide. “Samwell Tarly, vet.” The last word was so slurred Sansa could barely make it out before Jon fainted. She glanced at her blood covered phone, her blood covered hands, and the bleeding man in her arms.
