Brenin had failed.
It had taken that human all he had to resist the urge and go for slaughter. Just the smell of poultry and pigs had had him ravenous.
Having resisted it, he had indeed found a cart at the sawmill, that he assumed was the carriage she had spoken of. That was about the extent of what he could tell her: he had no idea if it was lacking or complete.
She ensured he stayed a restless beast for the rest of the night.
Only before dawn did he get to turn back. The man felt cold, exhausted, his chest in pain at the calming stars drawn on his skin. But there was also relief on his tired face.
"Come."
She climbed out in the light darkness, helped him follow and while he still held her arm she turned back into a human.
For the second time Brenin saw that graceful appearance and froze.
The first had been in the dark, with but the reflection of his dagger to tell parts of her face. Here she was in noble garnments, skin softer than clouds, looking frail if not for those fierce eyes he knew too well.
A devil trapped in innocence.
She glanced at his grasp, which made him release his hold.
"You will turn after noon. When it happens, undo the brooch. Your mantle will hide all but your face."
He pulled the hood on him. No matter how lengthier she had made it, it would not cover a muzzle.
"Now, put those on."
She handed him the chemise and tunic, all gray as well but for scarlet finishes on the neckline and cuffs.
It hit him just how much richer those looked compared to his old, worn down cloth. Then it hit him just as well what she was asking him to do.
"Why here?!" He complained. "In the middle of a field?"
"You have a mantle."
"Oh screw you."
He wasn't one to be so soft as to care for looks but still turned away from her and crouched to try and change in peace.
Once done, he got back up and turned. To look the part Brenin still lacked a belt and better boots but in this attire his unkempt brown hair and solid face looked less like that of a peasant and more that of a ruthless men-at-arms.
"Come."
She was already walking back to the dirt path but he stopped her.
"What about the food? I'll quickly fetch it."
And he motioned back to the hole.
"No! No." Joan hurried. "You are getting on my nerves."
She pushed him back, undid the brooch and turned back into a beast to plunged back into the hole, leaving the mantle behind.
He watched her come back with the basket and nearly throw it at him.
"Don't stain your clothes."
At that moment she was genuinely mad at him, and him genuinely proud of himself, for having forced her to jump back into the cache. Joan could tell how the human enjoyed any moment he could get of her losing control.
He had no idea how effective that was.
Now her illusion of a noble was carrying a peasant's sack and a woodcutter's axe under his mantle; she just left it at that. They walked down the path and to the stream, crossed it just by jumping over some rocks and once across made it back to the road.
The village's bell rang afar.
The sky loomed heavy again, clouds turning grey to black and rolling in the horizon. Everyone could tell it would soon pour and so the farmers hurried to bring their harvest back.
Goats, sheeps and cows waited for the rain with disinterest, only fretting at the passage of those two travellers in grey cape.
However large it was, the muddy road to Cormoran was almost deserted. The only carts and people they crossed were those farmers and kids carrying food for the sheperds. At an orchard, a small crowd was preparing to collect it all before the rain fell.
It thundered in the distance.
"Let's head for the woods," Brenin advised, "we'll get some shelter there."
She shook her head.
"There is an abandoned hamlet ahead. We'll make it in time."
"We won't make it to the trees before we're drenched." He judged, head turned high.
Brenin probably didn't realize he was free to just leave her, so he stuck along and minute after minute expected for the first drops to fall. Minute after minute it was withheld.
Lightning stormed inside the clouds, but for another hour of morning the land was spared.
There was the hamlet, some seven stone houses lost where the fields ended and the road stretched alone in the plain. Traces of more houses had slowly been swallowed around. Just as it brought stones to the surface, the earth devoured the rest.
When they reached them, even with all the wind and the covered sky the air was drier than on a calm day. They could feel the tempest weighing with all its might.
They noticed a campfire among the ruined houses.
Brenin could not tell but for Joan it was from last night. She hadn't needed that however: from their breath alone she could perceive at least four people hiding from them.
Her companion's heightened senses seemed to miss that.
"This house will do." He offered.
But she pointed at one of the two she knew to be occupied.
"Here."
"Or we could..."
"The roof is in better..."
"It won't make a difference!"
She was already headed toward the occupied house. He walked past her to block her path.
"Do you even listen to people?"
"So you noticed them as well." She lowered her voice. "Are you scared of them, or scared for them?"
The woodcutter had not really noticed anyone, not even when one had glanced at the old door. It was simple deduction from his part.
He would not move, even when the first raindrops finally fell on his mantle.
His voice was just as loud as before.
"The way to get along with people is to give in some. All you have to do is humor me, just this once."
Behind them a second head was glancing in their direction. A man, a woman. Just from one eye she could tell he was a warrior. Likewise Joan could now perceive at least five.
It wasn't that Brenin was wrong. While leaving them alone risked pushing those people into a restless paranoia, it was in everyone's interest to avoid each other.
Or he really was clueless and just hated being dragged around.
"Fine." She looked away.
Joan followed him back to the ruined mass of rocks with half its roof collapsed, went through where a door had once stood and sat on the ground.
He joined her just before those drops turned into a hail, then a thick curtain that drowned both hearing and sight under its weight.
As a wolf she would have loved to run out and bask in that rain. Here she was waiting amidst the moss, rotten wood and wet stench. Rain seeped through and still fell on them, if in trickle, and they endured it under their cloaks.
She knew it would not let up for the whole day.