“Know this first,” Ororo said softly. “He will die to defend you.”

And her gaze turned fondly to the sleeping beast, her hand reaching out as if to brush at his fur. The blue man she’d had with her having disappeared, muttering that she and Stray needed to talk. Quite without her willing it to, Stray’s voice rose in a snarl and the huntress stilled, though her expression wasn’t angry. In fact, she looked strangely serene.

The girl went back to stroking his fur, trusting her point had been made.

“Secondly,” Ororo continued after a moment, “You and he are tied together now. What harms one will harm the other, what strengthens you will likewise give him strength.”

“So if I’m hurt..?” the girl asked softly, “It will effect him in ways other than grief?” And she smiled, a shy little smile she hadn’t thought she still had in her, the knowledge- and it was knowledge- that someone would grieve for her making her feel unaccountably warm.

The huntress’ gaze was shrewd. “Aye,” she said,“He would feel it as a blow himself. But that works both ways; Just as he will feel the ghost of your injuries, you will feel the spirit of his healing. It was that which allowed you to go haring through the snow in your shift tonight and not catch your death, girl; I trust you’ll think to thank Logan when he wakes up.”

Stray inclined her head slightly, that tiny smile still tugging at her lip. “I will do.”

Ororo inclined her head in return. “Good. I would expect nothing less.” A dry smile darted across her face. “Though be sure to make Logan work for that admission; he’s far too used to grinning and getting what he wants from a lass.” Despite herself Stray laughed, and after a moment Ororo joined in. “Which brings us,” she said, “To the final and most important element of your relationship, the one which I suspect Logan will not willingly explain to you…”

Unaccountably Stray stiffened. “I am sure he would not deceive me,” she said.

Ororo’s voice was firm. “You misunderstand. I did not mean that he would lie, girl. I meant that he would skulk around telling you the whole truth.” And again the huntress’ gaze turned faraway and wistful, her blue eyes seeing beyond this cavern and the girl between the wolf’s paws. There were things in her expression Stray hadn’t a name for- Yet. “They are strange creatures, men,” the huntress said after a moment. “It is not the ability to turn into a beast which makes them so, I believe it is in their nature. The ones who are most worth having will often try their best to show their worst, if it means they can keep you safe.”

And she shook her head, frowning as if bringing to mind a memory that held no joy.

The prickling beast underneath Stray’s skin which had been so angry at Ororo grew more still; she knew how the woman felt.

“Do you speak from experience?” she asked quietly.

“Aye, I do.” And Ororo sighed, reaching her elegant, dark-skinned hand out to Stray, staring at the play of skin tones as their fingers met. The blue-to-white prettiness of the girl’s skin was in sharp contrast to the ebony beauty of her own. At the last minute she remembered Stray’s Curse and pulled her hand away.

The gesture made the girl feel strangely bereft.

A beat.

“As you may have guessed,” Ororo began after a moment, “I was not born in these lands. I came here, driven by the love of adventure and spices, a love I shared with the man to whom I was wed. His name was T’Challa.”

“T’Challa?” Stray tried to say the name, but she could not wrap her tongue as lovingly around it as Ororo did. Clearly it came from a language very different from her own.

The woman smiled. “That’s the closest anyone in this land has come to pronouncing it since I met Logan,” she said. “You have a mouth meant for language girl.”

Stray ducked her head in embarrassment, something telling her that compliments from this beautiful, fierce woman were rare flowers indeed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “More normally it’s said that speaking is no proper woman’s art-”

Ororo snorted. “Men say that. Especially those who fear the paltriness of their own words. You should pay it no heed.” And she moved her hand to stroke the wolf that was Logan. This time Stray let her. It helped that the beast nudged closer to her in its sleep despite Ororo’s nearness and warmth. “He’ll not harass you for what comes out of your mouth,” the woman said after a moment. “Language doesn’t come easily to him, so he has respect for those to whom it does.” And again she stroked the wolf’s fur, though this time it provoked no jealousy in Stray.

She had heard the longing in Ororo’s voice when she spoke of her beloved and she knew that this woman was no rival of hers.

Another, gentler beat.

“Was he like Logan?” she prompted after a moment. Ororo had fallen silent, apparently lost in her own thoughts. “Your T’Challa, was he like Logan?”

“Hmm?” The woman looked up, blinking in surprise. Just for a second she looked much younger than her years; Just for a second Stray felt very old. “In some ways,” the huntress said eventually. “My beloved was fierce as Logan is, he was loyal and strong and brave. There was nothing he would not do for me, and I suspect that the same will be true for the two of you- Once you’ve settled into love enough to not try tearing one another’s clothes off at every opportunity.” Despite herself scarlet stained Stray’s cheek, a life like that just described with Logan- especially the part about ripping clothes off- dancing behind her eyes. She told herself she did not believe it, that she could not be so lucky as that. But Ororo was not done speaking.

“He was stubborn, as Logan is,” she continued. “He could be… Irritating. Commanding. He could make you unsure whether you wanted to tear your hair out or kiss him until you both passed out. And of course, he was always certain that he knew what was best- For both of you.” And she gave a quick bark of laughter, her features growing more lovely at the sound of it. Stray suddenly felt an odd sense of kinship at her words. “He was… perfect,” the huntress was saying, “Perfect for me at least. He was the best part of me, my sunlight. We felt as if the Great Mother had created one being and split it in two, the better to increase its joy-”

And her smile widened, her expression becoming almost girlish.

Suddenly Stray could see the child Ororo must have been, and it was a very beautiful sight.

“It couldn’t last though.” Stray saw the light leave Ororo’s face, her joy fleeing even as the words caught in her throat. The girl remembered how Ororo described her beloved- had, was- and she realised that T’Challa must no longer be alive. The huntress must have read her expression because she merely nodded, her eyes closing for a moment. Her lips moving quickly as she murmured something- a prayer? An invocation?- before taking a deep breath and looking away. The girl wondered how long T’Challa had been dead for her new friend’s grief to still be this fresh.

“How did it happen?” she asked softly.

Ororo sighed. Her fingers moved restlessly over her bow, tracing its shape as if its mere presence soothed her. This part of the story was painful for her, Stray could tell. “You have heard of the King’s Conjurer, Victor Latverius?” she said eventually.

Stray nodded. There wasn’t a soul in the Twelvelands hadn’t heard about him.

“Latverius was told that in the lands beyond yours there were people to whom magic was still second nature. He was told that in the Spice Fields there were warriors who could turn themselves into beasts.”

Stray blinked. “Like Logan?”

Ororo nodded. “Like Logan. Though his people called themselves the Osarii, and they live in the Land of Promise to the West. But the journey to the Land of Promise is hazardous and plagued with difficulty; Not even Latverius could persuade King Richard to attempt it, no matter what soldiers it might buy him.” And she pursed her lips, her hands tightening ever so slightly on the bow. It occurred to Stray that she would not want to be the King’s Conjuror if the huntress ever caught up with him. “So Latverius decided on a new strategy, one which would guarantee him warriors the likes of which this land had never seen before. Warriors like my T’Challa, a man who became a great panther.”

“He stole him from your home?”

“No, we came freely.” She looked at the girl, her expression turning rueful, and suddenly Stray had no doubt whose idea the journey had been. “My mother’s family were spice merchants,” Ororo explained. “We were famed, but we wanted to open a new trade-route; Both T’Challa and I were young enough to consider ourselves invincible so when news came from the traders of Min Hadyn that the King’s Conjurer would pay ridiculous prices for spice, we persuaded my family to send us here. We thought ourselves well informed, safe from danger.” She gave a short, angry laugh. “We were wrong.”

“It was a trap.”

Sorrow raked its way across Ororo’s lovely face. “Aye,” she said. “It was. They took us and many others; Just the fact that you were from a land which was not this one was enough to make you suspect. At first in their fear they tried gentle persuasion but when that failed they took more… thorough measures.” She winced at the memory and the wolf whined sorrowfully in his sleep. Instantly Ororo pulled her hand away, unwilling to upset him. “T’Challa was told that if he did not transform and fight then I would be punished,” Ororo was saying. “He was told that I would be given to the soldiers for their amusement, with him helpless and forced to look on. If he did as he was bid however we would both eventually be set free and allowed to return home again…”

She shook her head, her expression turning furious.

Just for a second she looked harsh and unforgiving as hoarfrost.

“Needless to say,” she continued, “Latverius thought he had us at a disadvantage; But what neither he nor the men in the barracks understood was that my beloved had senses unlike a mortal man’s, and he could smell their deceit. Their lies did not convince him, and he knew well what the Head of the Guard wished to do to me. Would do to me, when his back was turned…”

“So he fought?”

Ororo nodded. Her mouth was a thin, humourless line. “Yes, he did. He thought that he might earn me enough time to escape them and in that he was correct. I ran, believing he was right behind me, believing that nobody could possibly best my glorious, beautiful man.” Her throat tightened painfully, caught with near-tears; Her grip was iron upon her bow. “But catch him they did, and defeat him they did. They slaughtered him as I escaped. It took fifteen of them to do it, but my beloved was still dead-”

The silence felt as if it could snarl and howl, so great was the huntress’ grief.

“You wonder, perhaps, why I tell you this story, girl,” Ororo said then. “You think perhaps I wish to reassure you that we are one and the same, that you have an ally, but it is nothing like that.” And she gestured to the small metal pendant Logan had looped around Stray’s neck not an hour ago, her eyes burning. The girl couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. “You took that talisman of your own free will, didn’t you?” she said intently. “You knew there was something important about it.”

The girl dropped her eyes. “I thought- I thought it might be something about what you called me earlier, in the caravan,” she said hesitantly. “You called me Logan’s Moonlight Key, and I supposed this might be a part of that.”

Ororo inclined her head curtly. “You are intelligent, Mistress Stray,” she said. “His giving you his iron-cut acknowledges his connection to you, but it is not its source- Any more than my wedding bracelet was the source of my connection to T’Challa.” And her eyes flashed, her breath catching on his name. Just for a moment the temperature in the cave dropped to nought. “You and Logan are joined now,” Ororo continued, her voice turning intense. “It is far more than a love affair, though I suspect it will be a passionate one when it comes to pass- But you must remember it is more than that. You must remember that you each have a duty to the other, a duty to keep each other safe. By the time I understood that it was too late to save my husband’s life.” She shook her head to herself. “I would not see the same happen to you.”

Her voice was so deathly serious Stray could not look away.

“So you were- You were T’Challa’s Moonlight Key?” she ventured.

Blue eyes flicked up to hers, the gaze challenging. “Aye,” she said, “I was his Moonlight Key- And he my Sunlight Lock.”

Stray was getting tired of being spoken to in riddles.

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means,” Ororo said, “That as much as there are two beings living inside Logan, there are two beings living inside you. You saw this tonight when you attacked me for taking liberties with the man you’ve chosen for your mate.” Stray blushed but did not look away, nor did she call Ororo a liar. Like when Logan told her the nature of the cave and its magics, she felt as if she were being told something she had always known just never said aloud. “That is why the connection is forged in the first place,” Ororo continued. “That is why you and Logan are drawn to one another. You are Moonlight Key to his Sunlight Lock, two parts of the whole fitting together. Two beings who were meant to live as one. You bring him quiet, calmness; he brings you fearlessness, passion, strength. You can help each other, calm each other. Make each other whole again-”

“But why would I want to be a wolf?” Stray wasn‘t sure where the protest had come from but she had to make it- Didn’t she?

Surely there shouldn’t be warmth snaking through her belly at the thought that she was actually a beast?

The older woman merely shrugged. “It’s not what you want, it’s what you are,” she said bluntly. “This is not a choice you get to make. Logan would let his fear of his own beast convince him not to admit the truth about the nature of yours. He would try to see you as only a girl, the better to protect you- But strength is required to survive this life, Mistress Stray, and even for Logan you cannot stay a Spring Maid, trudging through the snow. You must be more.” She looked away. “I had no chance to do that for T’Challa; He kept the potential I held for strength and savagery from me. I would not see Logan’s obstinacy rob you of the chance to keep what is yours safe.”

And with that the huntress moved abruptly from her, pulling off the furs she carried across her shoulders and laying them on the cave floor. Her movements clearly showing there would be no more revelations- let alone conversations- tonight. For a second Stray considered trying to sooth her, asking even if she could share her furs and give her comfort, but one look at the woman told her it would be hopeless: Ororo had shared as much of herself tonight as she was ever likely to do. Now she wanted some privacy in her sorrow. So Stray settled herself down on the floor, shivering. Trying desperately not to look at the wolf to her right. Logan moved in his sleep, paws twitching, his form looking welcoming and warm even as she tried to pull herself away from him. Because she couldn’t do that, could she? She couldn’t fall asleep in the arms of a beast. And yet, and yet… His body still called out to her; She was so cold, and she wanted him so much. No matter what others might think of her she knew she couldn’t deny him for long, knew this thing between them was growing stronger… Knew that someday soon she would have to choose between it and that girl she used to be, sorting silk in her father’s mansion- But that night was not tonight.

So slowly, gingerly, she wrapped her arms around him, the feel of his fur comforting against her cheek as she burrowed in. The sound of his heart a tattooed lullaby beating beneath his chest. The warmth of him making her shiver in an entirely different way. Taking a deep breath she let her eyes droop closed, feeling unaccountably safe between the tender paws of her loving wolf-

She didn’t hear the tears Ororo shed when she was sure that she was sleeping.

And she certainly didn’t see the flash of gold and feathers which darted, just for a moment, through the cave.