12.

As on most Tuesday mornings, Belle had slept in far past the sun's rising, last eve's book lost within her bedding and empty wine glass atop her bedside table. Dressed in comfy pjs and a light sweater she pads out into the bright corner of her favorite room in the house, a steaming cup of coffee cradled between her palms.

Sinking into the large 'granny chair' which had in fact actually belonged to her grandmother, hence it's dated floral and lace, she gazes out the large window beside her in silent appreciation. Belle had years ago allowed her next door neighbor, the aged widower Mr. Higgins, to take landscaping liberties of her back yard. The patch of grass had done little else than sprout weeds when she had purchased the house, and not even cacti could thrive in her own care, so there was little to think about when the man had presented the offer. Even now in the onset of Autumn, what had become one sprawling patch of flora displayed splashes of color with bright yellow and vibrant purple complimenting one another beautifully. In short, it was a win win. She never needed don gloves and tend anything, AND she had her own patch of what resembled Burnett's Secret Garden.

Slipping her feet into the worn, gray slippers which had been resting beside her chair, Belle rises and exits the house via the nearby back door. Her footfalls crunching fallen leaves beneath her, she sips her coffee and heads toward the tall, wooden arbor still laden with some manner of vine. No doubt Mr. Higgins had told her the name of the vine at one time or another, like most of what lived in this patch of soil, but Belle had little memory for such things. The woman could recite nearly all dialog of A Midsummer Night's dream but don't ask her to identify a morning glory from a petunia.

Pausing to caress the last remaining bloom clinging to the arbor's greenery, Belle takes a deep inhalation of the morning's crisp, Autumn air. Winter would soon blanket everything in white and while Belle didn't mind months of curling up before the hearth with a blanket and a book, she was in no rush for the cold. She rounds the corner of the stepping stone pathway, pulling her cardigan a bit tighter about her with one hand. Spying Mr. Higgins, or rather his rubber gardening clogs, poking out from between two rose bushes, she moves toward him with a smile. "You really don't spend much time indoors, do you?" She asks, coming to stand near his ankles but in doing so drops her coffee cup, shards of teal glazed clay scattering every direction as it lands at her feet. Both hands flying upward to muffle the scream which escapes her, Belle stares down in horror.

Her pale green eyes now wide, she takes in the scene before her. Poor Mr. Higgins was face down, or rather chest down, for his neck was twisted at a most unnatural angle causing his one visible, glazed eye to 'look' back over his shoulder in her direction. What was normally lush and green was splattered a deep crimson. Within the stiff fingers of one gloved hand still rested a small trowel and the ratty straw hat which normally sat atop his balding head was bent and laying beside him in a pool of blood...so...much...blood. Hot tears of panic suddenly blur Belle's vision and after several shocked moments of immobility, she feels her body begin to tremble. Forcing her legs into action, she sprints back to her house, snatches her phone from her nightstand and manages to tap out a shaky 9-1-1. While giving the necessary details, her voice far calmer than her emotions, she steps back out onto her back porch, sucking deep breaths of cool air in an attempt to steady her thumping heart.

The voice on the other end of the line assures her that help is on the way, and urges her to stay inside with doors locked until someone reaches her. Belle numbly agrees before hanging up, slipping her phone into her sweater pocket. Her back pressed up against the exterior wall beside her porch door, she takes three more cleansing breaths...in through her nose...out through her mouth, then reaches for the door's latch. Before she can pull the screen door more than a foot outward, a deep, rumbling falls upon her ears, causing her spine to tingle and every muscle to tense as if frozen. With the sound of leaves being trod upon and drawing closer, Belle wills her neck to turn just far enough so that her eyes may take in the slowly approaching form of a large, gray canine. Unsure how to respond and not knowing whether her body would do as she wanted it to anyway, Belle remains there as she is, one hand with a death grip upon the screen door's metal handle and eyes locked upon the wolf who's muzzle she now realizes is stained a dark red.

In a tone barely audible to even herself, she whispers, "Nice...wolfy." knowing the words to be rather ridiculous, but a soothing tone could go a long way with humans, why not large, blood thirsty beasts? The wolf, seemingly having heard the whisper, cocks its head to one side and confidently lifts one massive, muddy paw to the bottom stair of the porch, making the distance between them a scant ten feet. A whimper escapes Belle's trembling lips, and having decided to take the chance, she springs for the handle of the inner door at the same moment the wolf lunges toward her. She feels the sharp sting of teeth grazing the flesh of her right shoulder and hears the tearing of stitches as the sleeve of her sweater comes away at the seam but the further mauling which she had been expecting never comes. Instead, she hears a solid thump, deep snarling growls and spies a massive dark blur in her peripheral. Clutching at her shoulder now wet with liquid warmth, she races through the door, knocking it closed behind her with one hip and slams the deadbolt into place. Though pain and fear cause her vision to tunnel slightly, she sidesteps then slides, back against the wall to the nearby window, wanting to be prepared should anything wish to come crashing in behind her. Peering around and out to the porch, she quickly realizes that there were now not one but two wolves and they were engaged in a loud and violent brawl. Despite herself, Belle cannot help but watch while the two beasts tear at one another with tooth and claw until it seems the new wolf, manages to take the upper hand, pinning it's opponent to the wooden slats beneath them. Much to Belle's horror, the second wolf proceeds to savagely rip away the other's throat, thus putting an end to their battle.

The victor, it's deep copper and black coat now splattered red, turns to catch her gaze through the panes of glass, it's large eyes glowing a bright golden amber and bits of it's opponent's bloody fur dangling from the corner of it's mouth. Her heart hammering within her breast, she clenches the sheer, teal drapery in a small, white knuckled fist. For far longer than she cares to, she stands transfixed, her jade eyes locked with the wolf's gold until the creature gives what almost resembles a nod then turns and limps away. She watches the injured animal lope down the porch steps and out of sight then promptly vomits upon her slippers before sinking to the floor.

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