FSE

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Edited and corrected by Ben243

Once upon a time there was a hunter named Seymour Johnson, who lived in a cottage, in the midst of the wild mountain forests near Albarn County. He had a beautiful wife named Elenor. She was blind, but never bitter about it, because she had learnt to use her other senses and how to read the wind in the leaves. Seymour loved Elenor with all his heart, nothing was more precious to him.

Seymour had been a great hunter: Cunning, untiring and strong. He was able to trace even the smallest critter and it's said he once fought an angry Grizzly with his bare hands. He was admired for his unrivaled bravery, by the other folks and hunters he met once in a week, in the Tavern at the small nearby settlement that would one day be called after him - a fact of course, nobody was aware at this point!

One day it was rumored a Wolf had arrived in the forest. An uncanny beast like none had been before, its fur shining white like the moon, mystic in its ways. Some had tried to hunt it down, but failed miserably as it retrieved to the more rough and thorny parts of the deep forest. Seymour, sure of his victory and drunk as hell, boast he would make it. He would bring that White wolf down!

When Elenor heard about that, she tried to convince her husband to leave the White wolf alone. It had, as a matter of fact, done nothing wrong. "Yet!" replied the hunter and reminded her of the word he gave the other men. This was a question of honor now. If he had known what was about to happen next, he would have withdrawn the idea immediately.

The very next day Seymour went North-West, where the ominous beast was seen last. He found its tracks within an hour and followed it through the nearly impassable undergrowth. His face was covered with scratches, his hair a total mess. But at the end it was worth it! Seymour lurked inbetween bushes down the hill, at a small brook. There he was, drinking from it. So white everything surrounding it looked dark in comparison: The legendary White Wolf!

Cautiously he prepared his rifle. Salty sweat running down his scratched forehead, he ignored that it burned like hell, while aiming slow and carefully. Any second now... the wolf looked up, suddenly alarmed... a shot fell, echoing across the whole forest. And then silence again! The wind had stopped. Instead a chilling fog was coming up.

As Seymour approached to fetch the dead body, that didn't looked that white anymore, he discovered he wasn't alone. There was a woman with long white hair and big piercing eyes, filled with tears. She wore strange leather clothing and had on her belt separate little sacks in which the hunter assumed were all sorts of herbs, because he could smell them on her. Which was odd, because a second ago there was nothing and his nose was normally as reliable as his hunting instincts.

She ran down the path she'd come and kneeled down to the wolf, screaming heartbroken and stroking its now lifeless fur in desperation. For a while Seymour stood there, unable to speak. But he had to say something eventually, so he apologized, he hadn't known this had been her pet. Upon this last words she looked up in anger. "Pet?" she yelled. "You murderous bastard killed the most beautiful and mightiest creature these woods had ever known. And you dare to reduce it to a mere PET?!!"

She pointed her fingers in his direction. "Hear my words you stupid fool! This was Toha'essa, last of the great White Wolfs, guardian of the northern forests, protector of all things living or dead! More than that, he was my familiar, and as such I'm permitted to punish you in his name!" The wind was coming back, rising up to a storm, but the fog wouldn't swirl away, on the contrary. It whirled around him, surrounding him. That woman, she was a witch! No doubt about that! What would she do to him?

As it seemed: Nothing. The Fog faded away and to his relieve both the witch and the wolf had gone. Had it all been just a dream? He touched his face and flinched, still feeling the scratches. So, it was no dream! He checked his whole body... nothing. Puzzled what the woman meant with her threat he went home. What he would tell the others at the Tavern was the least of his concerns now.

It was about to get dark already, when he finally his way home. He saw Elenor had already fired up the oven, its light glimmering softly through the windows. He was tired and starving. Elenor may have cooked him a good soup, then he would feel a little better. He opened the door, calling out to greet his beloved wife. But instead of her light, warming voice he heard a strange whining sound. And then he saw it: The White Wolf!

The beast was back, in all its glory. Maybe to have its revenge. So it should have it, thought Seymour, about to grab his riffle and kill that monster once more. But something rather disturbing happened. As it heard the noise of his rifle, it ran away in panic, hit its head on the table and chairs, ran over some furniture and not even once looked at him. In the end it backed itself into a corner, shaking in fear. That wasn't the behaviour of an untamed wild beast! For the first time he looked at its eyes, milky and blind like...

Seymour startled backwards. His rifle nearly fell out of his hands. That couldn't be true! How was this even possible? If he was right, it wasn't the same Wolf he had shot only a few hours ago. It was Elenor! While he was about to digest what happened, Elenor used his confusion to run him over and get outside through the still open front door. In fear something could happen to his dear wife, he pursued her as fast as his already tired feet could take him.

To his disadvantage Elenor got rather good with her remaining senses, thanks to her new body. It was too dark to follow her tracks and the fog wasn't helpful either. He found some broken branches here and there, but at the end he was forced to return to the brook, to find the witch. She already waited for him, an evil satisfaction on her face, while she admitted it was her doing, Elenor was now running around on four legs.

Seymour begged her to undo her spell, willing to do anything. But it seemed she couldn't turn her back, even if she wanted. It wasn't exactly her witchcraft that made this happen. She exploited the last of the White wolf's powers to curse Seymour into becoming a hunted beast himself. To see how it was - always running, always afraid for his life. But they were meant to bring balance to nature, not revenge. So it was 'A loved one for a loved one' instead. All in all she might have lost control over the whole curse. Anyway, to see how it tortured him made her day!

Seymour was furious. He screamed in anger and was about to strangle her, as she simply pointed at him and an invisible force threw him against the next tree. As he looked up in great pain and utter desperation, she stood over him, still thirsty for revenge. In her hand she held a dagger, ready to slice open his throat.

All of a sudden a white Wolf jumped out of the bushes and knocked her over. Elenor came to his rescue - but for what a price! As Seymour looked up he could see her lifeless body, the once so shining white fur smeared of blood. His body filled with cold emptiness, he yelled in pain as he saw his wife dying. The witch on the other hand watched in horror as her arms began to shrink, white fur growing over everything. Now she'd taken Elenor's life, so she was supposed to take her place as the last White wolf! She stood up and ran away, leaving Seymour behind in his misery.

After he buried Elenor, who had turned back to her human form at least, he tried to hunt that witch down, but she had already left the mountains. Some said they had seen a White wolf with human eyes, which was mostly dismissed as an illusion. Because Elenor had no functioning eyes that could turn canine too, the witch was able to keep her own as she took her place. Which was more of a curse, because she couldn't connect with other Wolfs or Dogs, who were afraid of her because of it. Without her hands she wasn't even able to use her witchcraft to manipulate them. And because White wolfs were immortal she was forced to stay that way forever. Or so it seemed!

Although the story about Seymour Johnson and his wife was mostly forgotten, the Balance curse remained and shaped the everyday life of those who sat foot into the small town named Seymour.