Beneath A Yankee Sky

by J. M. Snyder

  ::And you're being stupid,:: Brance grumbled.

  Stupid and proud, but though he'd never admit it, Brance was thankful for Caleb's presence. His mate's body was warm and solid against his own, a comfort in the cool evening. Nothing in the scurrying of nocturnal creatures or the rustle of leaves around them suggested pursuit. The men were gone, for now--probably rooting through the goods Brance and Caleb had left behind. If anything remained of their camp in the morning, Brance would be surprised.

  With a weary snort through his whiskers, he lay his head down on the soft bed of leaves beneath him and shut his eyes against the pain that pulled in his leg.

  For long moments they waited, each lost in his own thoughts. Caleb was quiet for once, though each breath he expelled tickled through the fur on Brance's belly. When the first faint stirrings of hunger rumbled through Brance's stomach, Caleb stood and stretched, claws scraping through the leaves and the dirt. ::I'm guessing they didn't bother to follow,:: he said with a yawn. ::It's about time to eat, don't you think?::

  Earlier he had wanted Caleb to leave; now that his mate seemed ready to depart, Brance had second thoughts. ::Wait.::

  ::Go on, wait,:: Caleb teased. ::Make up your mind, but we'll starve if we hide here. It's bad enough we let them scare us out of our routine.:: He rubbed his head against Brance's, purring. ::I want to eat, and then I want you to fuck me. Like we normally do. Is that asking too much?::

  Brance started, ::We have to be careful--::

  ::We can outrun them,:: Caleb countered. ::That fat one? You think we can't hear his lard ass sneaking up on us in these woods?::

  ::But that other,:: Brance reminded him. ::Men like him are slick.::

  Brance licked his tongue across Caleb's mouth. At the touch, his mate's purring revved up a notch, interested in more than just talk. His tail swished, releasing a heady, wild scent into the night around them, a musk that roiled Brance's blood and spurred his own sexual desire. ::This is our time, Brance. Ours. No one can take it away from us.:: Touching his damp nose to Brance's, Caleb added, ::Let me get you something to eat.::

  As he watched him slink off into the shadows, Brance knew he was right--this was their time, and Brance would never give it up.

  * * * *

  He woke with a start.

  The woods were silent. Even the pain in his leg had stopped, as if waiting for some sudden movement to jolt it to life. The night was quiet, too quiet, and the heavy hand of winter pressed down around him, frosting the grass and shivering the air. Brance was alone, his mate still on the hunt, but something had cut through his thin doze, had silenced the birds and the owls and their prey, had scared the very darkness into submission. Something--

  A cry pierced the night, an inhuman howl that hurt to hear it. In an instant, Brance was on his feet, the hair on his hackles standing on end, his tail spooked into a bottlebrush shape. The cry lingered on--not a wounded animal, but a trapped one, calling for help, calling...

  For me.

  Caleb.

  Adrenaline flooded his veins like kerosene, igniting him into action. The pain in his leg flared but he ignored it as he raced through the underbrush, over exposed roots and under low branches, bursting through leaves that tangled in his hair and tearing through thorns that scratched his face. Caleb cried again, an urgency in his voice that goaded Brance on. He heard paws scuffing through soil, the crunch of leaves kicked aside, a jangle of tin cans, and Caleb screaming out above it all, screaming out in pain. The sound cut through Brance like heartache, threatened to take his breath away, but he spurred himself on, trying to outrun the frenzied fear he heard in that lonesome, lonely cry.

  At full speed, he tore into a clearing and saw Caleb lying on his side, one hind leg twisted back at an awkward angle. Leaves were strewn around the ground in thick, moldering bunches, torn up and tossed aside by Caleb's flailing limbs. His forepaws scraped for purchase; his hind legs kicked out rapid-fire, the twisted one cut above his foot and bleeding. The sharp coppery scent clogged Brance's senses. ::Caleb, what...::

  The howl came again, unreal at this close range. Caleb's eyes rolled back in his sockets, and a fine spittle of white foam coated his lips. When his hind legs kicked out again, Brance saw the telltale flash of wire and knew his mate was caught in a snare. ::Quiet!::

  Caleb's cry cut off, but he began to whimper in pain and fear. Brance pressed his nose to Caleb's; when his mate licked out, his rough tongue tasted both their lips. Though every hair on his body was raised and his every instinct told him to run, Brance struggled to rein in the animal he was and hoped there was enough human left to get them out of this. ::Caleb, listen to me. You're in a snare. Stay calm.::

  But at the word "snare," Caleb began to thrash again. Brance circled behind him, away from those powerful claws that dug into the earth and air, and took a quick look at the captured leg. It was a crude trap, not meant for a large animal, probably set by those damn hunters with little regard or care for what it caught. A collection of empty tin cans clattered together along its length, to attract the hunters once a quarry had been snagged. The infernal noise rattled through Brance's skull, making it hard for him to think. He placed one forepaw on Caleb's haunch, a firm, gentle touch that stilled his mate. ::Let me think this through,:: he said, to fill the silence between them. ::I'll get you out.::

  Caleb's reply was breathless with thinly veiled hysteria. ::I'm dead,:: he mewled, whimpering again. ::It hurts, Brance. God, it hurts. It hurts so much, just cutting through my leg, cutting it in two. I can't feel my foot. It's still there, right? I can't feel it...::

  He started to kick again. Annoyed, Brance pressed down harder, pinning Caleb in place. ::Keep still, you fool. You're making it worse.::

  ::It hurts,:: Caleb started.

  ::I know.::

  When he was sure Caleb wouldn't move, Brance sniffed at the captured leg. The stench of blood was overpowering--blood matted Caleb's fur, trickled over the swollen pads on the bottom of his foot, and dripped into the thirsty soil beneath his leg. Brance licked out to clean the wound a bit, just to see what he was dealing with, but even the touch of his tongue was too much for Caleb--his mate yelped and tried to pull his leg up, which prompted another hair-raising howl of pain.

  ::Quiet,:: Brance admonished. He hunkered low over Caleb, ears swiveling as he listened in all directions for any sound of approach. ::You want them to hear us?::

  ::Sorry,:: Caleb gasped. ::It's just that it--::

  ::Hurts, I know.::

  Brance buried his nose into the thick, coarse fur on Caleb's back, just above the base of his tail. Despite the snare and the pain, Caleb's tail swished at the touch, and for one brief moment, his whimpers turned to a ragged purr. Brance tamped down the sudden helplessness that welled in him, threatening to strangle him with despair. It would not end like this, here. The two of them had come too far in so short a time--they had left the war and man behind, only to have the love they shared strangled in a mindless snare?

  No. He would not allow it.

  Circling around Caleb again, Brance lay down alongside his mate, his body pressed to Caleb's exposed belly. His powerful forepaws held Caleb's leg down, one on the haunch, one on the foot with just the slightest touch. His tail flicked at Caleb's nose, over his whiskers, over his ear, until his mate caught it beneath his own forepaw and began to lick the tip to distract himself from the pain. ::This will hurt,:: Brance cautioned as he kneaded Caleb's thigh with just a hint of his claws.

  ::It already hurts,:: Caleb replied. ::Just make it stop.::

  Brance nuzzled a tender spot on Caleb's underbelly. ::Stay still. Every time you move, the wire tightens. Whatever you do, don't kick.::

  Caleb's response was another purr as he smoothed down the fur on Brance's tail.

  With a disgruntled huff, Brance set to work. Gingerly, he cleaned the blood from Caleb's leg, claws extended to keep his lover still. When he could see the bright wire, he nipped at it--a world away, a low growl erupted from his mate and
sharp teeth gnawed on the tip of his tail. Brance got one of his long fangs under the wire; it slid up the tooth and cut into his gums, the pain so fast and bright it made him swoon. He pulled back, releasing the wire, and it snapped into place on Caleb's wounded leg.

  Hours seemed to pass as Brance worked at the wound, cleaning away the blood and matted fur to expose the wire tight around the irritated skin, but the moon didn't move from its spot among the trees and the hunters who had set the snare never came. Perhaps time had frozen, chilled by the same winter wind that cut through the wood and howled away into the night. Perhaps the moon was stuck in the sky, unable to advance or fall back. There had been many days on the battlefield when Brance had suspected the sun of standing still, as if horrified by the bloodshed below. Now it was the moon's turn to linger, peeking through the leaves that still swayed on their branches, buying Brance the time he needed to set his mate--his lover, the tangible part of his soul and all that he held dear in this world--free.

  Finally Brance managed to locate the knot that pinned the wire against Caleb's leg. He tried to get his teeth under it, but Caleb's skin was so swollen, his mate growled at the touch. He couldn't even pick at it with his claws. Nosing the wire, he stood and followed the thin line to where it hid in the ground. ::Brance?:: Caleb asked, fearful. ::Don't leave me...::

  ::I'm right here.::

  Brance's whiskers brushed over the old tin cans tied to the wire. The snare led into a stand of tall grasses; he scratched through the grass, paws scraping over the top of a small peg. One claw caught the wire, setting the tin cans jangling and earning a hiss from Caleb. ::Stay still,:: Brance said, distracted.

  The peg had been forced into soil already broken up by grass roots--Brance scratched at it, tearing the grass aside, his large claws ripping through the earth. After several long minutes, he nudged the peg with his nose but it held fast, so Brance renewed his attack, digging down deeper where the dirt was rich and dark and pungent. He nudged the wooden peg again, then leaned his head against it, pushing it toward Caleb. He heard the wood crack somewhere in the dirt below him and stood back to set his paws to the peg, throwing his entire weight against the snare.

  Caleb began to whimper again, his injured foot held still in the same position it had been when Brance tended to it. ::Not long now,:: Brance assured him. ::Stay with me. Caleb?::

  ::I'm here,:: he sobbed.

  The words were almost lost beneath the splintering sound of the peg giving way. Brance's forepaws thumped to the ground beside the peg, cracked and broken in churned soil. He paused to sniff the wood, then hurried back to where Caleb lay. He nosed the pads of his mate's feet. ::Caleb?::

  A shuddering breath extended Caleb's side, though his voice was weak, worn, a shadow of its usual self. ::It hurts,:: he sighed. ::How much longer, Brance? I don't think I can stand much more.::

  ::You're free.::

  Caleb lapsed into silence. Brance lay beside him and began to work on the wound again--this time there was no tension in the wire, and when he eased a claw under the knot, it slid open, releasing Caleb. As Brance widened the noose, Caleb's leg twitched, then kicked free from the wire. When Brance began to clean the wound again, his tongue rasping over the bruised and injured flesh, Caleb started to purr.

  * * * *

  Once Caleb was free from the snare, the moon seemed to race across the sky, as if making up for lost time. Dew descended like a fine misting rain, covering grass and fur alike. Brance scared up a few field mice for supper--nothing grand, but they filled the belly. As Caleb ate, Brance nursed his mate's wound. Another couple of hours and he could care for it properly, staunch the flow of blood and wrap it against the elements...

  With what?

  That thought gave him pause. Everything he owned was back at the camp; when morning came, Caleb would shiver to death from exposure, and his wound would bleed freely. At least now his fur had clotted the blood a bit, like a natural bandage. But infection could set in, and then what? Brance had seen too many young men lose limbs during the war; here it was just the two of them, no field doctors around, no one to amputate except himself, and he couldn't imagine putting Caleb through that procedure.

  When his mate had finished eating, Brance sat back and washed the blood from his face. He sensed Caleb watching him, waiting, but he took his time, licking his forepaw then slicking it back over his ear, again, and again. It was a comfort to lose himself in the repetitious motion--for the first time since he had awoken to Caleb's cries, he was able to release the fear and tension wound up inside him, and by concentrating on grooming, he could ignore the relieved tremble in his paws.

  He found a stubborn spot of caked blood above his left eye and rubbed at it. Caleb batted the tip of Brance's tail, which flicked out of reach, then back again like a teasing piece of string. When Brance was satisfied with his grooming, he stretched, claws raking over Caleb's forearm with the lightest touch. ::I'm going back to the camp.::

  ::I'll never make it that far,:: Caleb said. ::Why can't we stay here--::

  ::We need supplies.:: Closing the distance between them, Brance rubbed his head against Caleb's cheek. A rumbly purr rose in him to soothe his mate. ::I'm going back to get my haversack, if nothing else. We need blankets, and clothing, and something for your wound. Hide if anyone comes. I'll be back before dawn.::

  Caleb started, ::But--::

  ::I'll be right back.::

  Without further argument, Brance turned and slipped into the shadows.

  * * * *

  Brance hurried through the woods at a fast, loping run. In the sky above, clouds scurried after him, as if chased up in his wake. He passed the copse where they'd rested earlier; had it only been a few scant hours since they'd lain among the bushes, his leg the one that hindered them? Farther on he found the tattered remnants of Caleb's discarded shirt. With a sense of direction borne of instinct alone, Brance followed their trail back to the stream near where they had camped. Earlier, chased by the hunters, their flight into the unknown had seemed to take forever but before Brance knew it, the camp came into sight, just on the other side of the stream. He slowed as he approached, the low mutterings of the water covering any sound he made. Keeping to the shadows, he crouched amid the leaves and stared at their camp.

  It looked the same as it had when they left it.

  The cookware sat on the bank of the stream, water gurgling over the edge of one plate. His clothing lay scattered nearby, where he had stripped it off during his change. Farther away, Brance could just see the circle of rocks where their fire had been and beyond that, their tent squatted in the darkness, one flap partially open, inviting. Nothing looked amiss.

  But the stench of the strangers filled Brance's senses. He bared his teeth to draw the smell in--those men were out there still, waiting. He knew it. He strained to hear anything unusual, the crack of a branch, the rustle of leaves, the crunch of stone underfoot, a cough, a sigh, anything to warn him, to tell him where they hid...

  Nothing.

  Maybe they had left. Riffled through the supplies here, took what they wanted, returned to their own camp. Maybe...

  The clouds parted above, and sudden moonlight glistened off the ring of stones where Brance had buried their fire. Something flashed, catching his eye; he looked closer--a shining wire lined the inside of the fire pit.

  Another snare.

  With a start, Brance realized the whole camp was rigged. Metal flashed among the tin cutlery, another snare encircled his clothing. A large wire rimmed the open tent flap, hidden among the fabric, half-buried in the sand. Of course the hunters were gone--they had laid their traps. Sure, they had seen Brance and Caleb transform, but the fact that their prey was human part of the time meant nothing to them. They wanted furs, or hides, or whatever they could take, and they didn't give a shit who died in the process.

  A thick, rugged growl started deep in Brance's chest and grew louder with indignation and hate. Every time he spotted another wire the growl increased, until he
barely managed to rein it in. Like the rumble of distant thunder, his growl cut across the gurgling stream, over the twitter of pre-dawn birds, and even seemed to silence the wind through the trees. If Caleb hadn't been caught, would they have walked right into this trap? Which of them would've been snared as they crawled into the tent? Or gathered their clothes from the bank? Or tried to light a fire?

  What other traps lay in wait for them?

  Brance didn't know--he didn't want to know. He wanted to rid themselves of this menace, these hunters with their wires. All he wanted was to be left alone with his mate.

  And he would do whatever he needed to do to ensure Caleb's safety.

  * * * *

  Skirting their camp, Brance picked up the scent of men among the bushes. It was an old smell--they had left hours ago--but it was still traceable. He followed it through the woods, ignoring the instincts that railed against the stench, and soon found himself on the same path Caleb had led him down the night before.

  As he approached the hunters' camp, orange firelight flickered among the brush, fighting back the shadows. Brance crouched down and crept through the undergrowth, silent. Perhaps he would catch them asleep. What he'd do then... well, he hadn't thought that far ahead, but his claws kneaded the ground as if eager to tear into human flesh and, try as he might, he couldn't stop his rear haunches from screwing up to pounce.

  At the edge of the clearing he stopped, just inside the bushes. The fat man called Len sprawled by the fire, a revolver on the ground by his side in plain sight. Josiah lay curled into blankets, out of the firelight, his dark skin blending in with the night. Only the whites of his open eyes showed that he was awake. The tall, mean-looking stranger was no where to be seen. As if he could read Brance's thoughts, Len muttered, "Don't know what in tarnation's keeping him."

  Brance started, spooked, but the man wasn't talking to him. Josiah's gaze flickered from the firelight to his companion, then back again without a word. Len continued, "The cans stopped rattling hours ago. Whatever's caught up in there's sure as dead, don't you think?"