Chapter 17 - And then, in the middle of the night, a howl (part II)

****Brooke

I laughed. “Put that way, Mr. Farrow, it sounds a lot more unpleasant than it is.”

“Try not to jump on me tonight and you'll see there won't be anything indecent.”

“How cheeky.” I laughed, trying to elbow him. However, my elbow got stuck in the sleeping bag and I just hit the fabric.

“If you feel the need to hit me, I can make it easier for you and get a little closer.” he mocked me.

“No! It is not necessary!” I answered quickly. Very fast.

And again his laughter echoed through the night. I was almost getting used to hearing him laugh.

“You are the purest and craziest woman I've ever met,” he muttered to himself. He rested one elbow on the floor and rested his head in the palm of his hand. His eyes studied me with genuine curiosity. “Seriously... how did you do that? How did you manage to stay so real?”

“I didn't do anything, Mr. Farrow. I think it's you who sees me as I'm not.”

“I could be wrong about a lot of things, but not about this.” His voice was low, just a whisper. “There is something extraordinarily beautiful about you, and the fact that you don't realize it makes it all the more wonderful.”

“That's a lot of compliments in one night.” I procrastinated.

“Are you asking me to save some for tomorrow morning?”

“What? No, definitely! I did not mean…”

“Brooke.” he huffed, reaching out to ruffle my bangs. “Go to sleep, you're starting to talk nonsense.”

I changed position and stretched my legs to bring them closer to the heat of the fire. Some still-damp logs hissed, emitting white smoke that made my eyes burn. The smell, however, was good, and depending on how the air blew I could feel it mixing with the musk. I could also recognize the scent of the flowers and, just as Mr. Farrow had taught me, they merged with the memory of this day. I knew I would never be able to remember their names, but I also knew with absolute certainty that every time I smelled them, today would come back to me.

I observed the sky, trying to locate some stars among the thick clouds that were slowly lowering in altitude, giving a small outline of the moon. Then the howl of some wolves echoed in the distance and I opened my eyes wide, wary.

“Mr. Farrow?”

“Hmm?”

“Mr. Farrow, did you hear that?”

“What?”

I crouched down, hugging my knees to my chest and scanning my surroundings.

“The Wolves. They howled

“Hmm

“It's strange, don't you think

“What?” he murmured with his eyes closed. He could sleep on the damp grass as if he had done nothing else in his life.

“What a howl.”

James let out a long, resigned sigh, raised his arms above his head to stretch, and then rolled onto his side, toward me. “Now, Brooke, even though it's very late and I'm not sure I'm awake, I'm going to tell you a few things that I hope you understand.

I shook my head frantically, looking up at the peak as if I could spot some wolves. I finally got back to him.

“Come with me, darling,” he murmured, his voice full of sleep. “The horse neighs, the sheep bleats, the elephant trumpets, the cat meows, the wolf howls…”

“You're not taking me seriously.” I scolded him.

He rolled onto his side, tucking his windbreaker under his head, determined to go back to sleep.

But I didn't give up. “Shouldn't they only howl when there's a full moon?”

“These are werewolves.”

“Are you making fun of me again?” I protested, my teeth chattering in fear. His calm was absurd.

I patted his shoulder to get his attention until he resignedly turned toward me.

“Listen to me, little disaster, wolves communicate continually. When they howl in packs, they harmonize rather than tune to the same note, to appear more numerous. The howl you heard was none other than that of two adult specimens returning from hunting raids. They howl to receive a response from the cubs and reach them more accurately. That is all.”

“That is all?” I shouted. I was about to suffocate in panic. “Mr. Farrow, that means they are hunting, that they are hungry, that they can choose us for food.”

He frowned, giving me a surprised look. “Do you think I would let a wolf or anyone else get close to you? Brooke…” He took a strand of hair that had ended up in my mouth and placed it behind my ear. It was a quick gesture, although it seemed to me like it was happening in slow motion. “I promised your father I would take care of you and I intend to do so. I don't make random promises. I was very serious when I told him.”

I felt nervous. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to question your words. But a wolf against you could really…”

“...scream,” he spoke over me.

“What does that mean?”

“Wolves howl when they are in pain. And, believe me, if even one of them dares to approach us, he will return from whence he came, whining so loudly that the cries will seem as sweet as pie in comparison.”

His calmness, due to an evident certainty of knowing how to face and deal with beasts, finally managed to rub off on me. I curled up in my sleeping bag and lay in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the forest.

James's breathing became heavy again, a sign that he had resumed sleep where he had interrupted it and I leaned towards him, taking advantage of the last remnants of flames to observe his face. When he slept, he was a completely different man, completely devoid of any icy, detached expression that might inspire admiration in anyone who had the unfortunate misfortune of having to deal with him.

His lack of people skills was evident. Used for years to living alone, wandering from mountain to mountain in search of the perfect photos that made him a world-famous photographer, he had very little in common with people immersed in the chaos of the city.

He had sewn onto himself an armor of solitude in which small cracks allowed the penetration of a small circle of people. Underneath the armor was a sweet, patient, and extremely intelligent man. I could have listened to him for hours as he talked about nature and photography. Otherwise, when that brazen and arrogant side of character prevailed, it became difficult to keep the level of tolerance high.

Another wolf howled, and despite Mr. Farrow's assurances, I began to grind my teeth.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered.

“The only thing I feel is cold,” he replied immediately, a sign that he wasn't sleeping as I thought. “Is your proposal to share the sleeping bag still valid?”

“I didn't propose this to you. That is...if he wants to… he...well.”

“Trying to summarize before I go into hypothermia, is this a yes? Can I come steal some heat from you or risk giving you a heart attack? You know, a workplace accident would be a real pain.”

I unzipped the sleeping bag and laid it out, turning it into a blanket. The cold seeped into my clothes, reaching my bones and sending a shiver down my spine. I crawled to the side and pressed my shoulders against James's, covering us as best as I could.

“Brooke.” I felt his voice vibrate behind my back. “Are you still scared?”

I thought a little and realized that from the moment I lay down against him, with our backs to each other, the fear had passed. It was incredible how his proximity could calm me down in the blink of an eye. His mountain background probably cheered me up.

“No, not anymore,” I replied.

“Let's try to sleep then. I promise nothing will happen to you.”

“All good.” I closed my eyes and relaxed. “Good evening, Mr. Farrow.”

“Just one thing.” he hurried to add, and I detected a distorted tone in his voice. As if he was suddenly nervous. “Try not to move too much. I have... some trouble sleeping when I smell you.”

“Is he that strong?”

“It is not strong. It's yours.”