Title: Of Cats and Wolves
Author: Sol aka Zefyr
Muse & Beta: Katikat
Pairings: 1+2, 3+4, 5+TBA hehe.
Rated: PG or PG-13 at most
Warnings: Minor OOC due to AU situations; shonen-ai; fantastical animal/people mixes; gratuitous use of improper Gaelic; crazy adaptations of Siberian and Native American traditions.
Archiving: Please ask separately for this fic and one of us will get back to you, since it’s a collaboration. Also found at www-geocities-com/ mystera_k... Replace dashes with appropriate punctuation.
Disclaimer: We don't own, but we're having fun anyway. No harm meant.
Summary: In a world of Creatures, Heero is a young half-Wolf who wants only to help his adopted brother, Wufei, find a good mate. Really. Trowa, a half-Jackal, helps, and it goes downhill from there...

NOTE:
This is a joint effort. KatiKat wrote the teaser, then I saw Asuka's art for the werepervs, and then I watched Cat People right after re-watching GW epis 1-5, and... the rest is history. The prologue (chapter 1) was written by KatiKat, and edited by Sol. The rest of the chapters are written by Sol, with beta comments and additional muse-inspiration provided by Katikat.

 

 

     Heero strode through the crowd, not so much navigating as simply watching people move out of his way. His silver tail whipped out and around behind him for balance as he turned on his heel, following the sound of girls laughing. He surveyed the traders’ setups around him. This was the area for linens, wool, and even some silk brought by the human traders. If there was any likelihood of finding a girl, the odds were better he’d find her sorting through fancy winter dress. The drawback to the plan suddenly occurred to the young Wolf, and he narrowed his eyes to slits as he studied the young feline and canine women swirling around him. If he found the girl, it was highly likely there were other girls with him. Heero could feel his face getting hot, and he clenched his fists. He was a warrior. He could do this.

     The half-Wolf set his jaw, spun on his heel, and nearly ran into a young female Wolf who’d been walking up behind him.

     “Heero!” The girl’s voice was soft, but excited.

     She opened her arms like she was about to throw herself at him. Heero dodged to the side on the pretense of being still off balance from nearly running into her. Catching himself and stepping once more out of arm’s reach, he resisted the urge to push her out of his personal space. The warrior settled for glaring at her instead, and his silver tail lashed several times around his legs in exasperation.

     “Relena.” The half-Wolf’s voice betrayed no emotion.

     “You’ve been hard to find today,” the Wolf-girl chided. “Are you shopping for someone?” Her large gray-blue eyes swept across his body, noting the single small bulge in the leather pouch hanging against his hip. Her gaze wandered up his chest, and down his arms to his wrists. “Oh!” The girl’s eyes went even wider, and she raised one hand to her mouth as if in shock.

     Heero frowned, his eyes darting around the girl as he continued to look for the Chieftain’s daughter. Frustrated, he dragged his gaze back to the Wolf-girl in front of him, who still hadn’t said anything.

     It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive; Jairunn had pointed out a number of times that if Heero ever wanted to achieve status in the Mountain Wolf Clan, Relena was clearly willing to be that ticket. Her honey-brown hair fell almost to her elbows. She had pulled back some of it into two braids, heavy with multiple iron beads, and those two braids in turn held back the rest of her hair. Both of her golden ears were cuffed with silver-chased iron cuffs, a slightly smaller size indicating her status as a Hunter. Her vest was unusual, a soft blue reminiscent of her eyes, with silver beads hanging like charms from the hem all the way around.

     She was blushing prettily. Heero glowered, confused. He knew how girls acted when they were sweet on someone. But to call someone’s name and then act shocked for several seconds wasn’t a normal way of expressing it. He wondered if Relena were a little touched in the head. It would explain a lot, he told himself. The half-Wolf stared at the girl, seriously tempted to just walk away, but decided against it in a rare fit of conscience. Zechs already hates me, he thought; no need to make it worse. “Please excuse me. I have to go.”

     “Oh,” she said. Relena dropped her hand and seemed to find her voice again. “Are you going to watch the dancers?”

     “Yes,” he said, and gave her a quick bow. Without waiting for her response, he turned and ducked back into the crowd.

     Relena stared at the departing Wolf-boy, a small frown marring her features. A familiar scent came to her nose, and she sniffed imperiously. “Dorothy, I thought you said you were going to melt those down.”

     “I planned to,” the female Bobcat said from behind her. Dorothy was dressed in one of the circular-hem loincloths favored by the Bobcats, and its mustard-yellow length swirled around her calves as she gave Relena a mocking little bow. Her loose vest was a brighter shade of yellow, and decorated with subtle gold-thread embroidery. “I suppose my uncle put them out for sale. He’d do that,” she mused, tossing her knee-length white blonde hair over her shoulder as she held up two scarves. “What do you think? Blue, or red?”

     “Red,” Relena said, sparing the scarves a cursory look. “What am I going to do? I didn’t think those would fit!”

     “I told you they would,” the Bobcat-girl replied saucily. “Next time, listen to me.”

     Relena sighed, and let the scowl slip off her face as she regained her composure. “Now I have to find something else to get him,” she grumbled, starting to walk back to the silk trader’s stall, suddenly stopping with a stricken look on her face. “You didn’t even engrave them, did you,” she wailed. “Now he’ll never figure it out!”

     Behind her, Dorothy shook her head and paid the trader for both scarves.

 

 

 

    

     Heero was about to give up when he sighted a young Jaguar fitting Meiran’s description. She was barely an inch shorter than Wufei, and was probably one of only a handful of black Jaguars at the entire festival. The half-Wolf debated asking another Jaguar if the girl were the Chieftain’s daughter, but settled for eavesdropping. It wasn’t long before one of her friends addressed her by name, and Heero smiled to himself. Now all he had to do was wait for the right moment to grab her.

     Ten minutes later the young warrior had purchased a lightweight linen winter wrap, and was contemplating whether he should get the white silk or iron-gray linen arm-wraps. Nearby, the Chieftain’s daughter was waving to her friends as they headed to the dancing grounds. Fitfully Heero hoped there was still a chance for a good spot in the front. If Trowa had to stand at the back after so obviously looking forward to the event, the Wolf suspected it’d be most of the gathering before the Jackal would let him forget it.

     Heero glanced over at Meiran. Not only was she alone, she was slipping back between the tents as though taking a short-cut behind the traders. He ran his tongue over his eyeteeth as he grinned wickedly and stepped behind the trader’s tent, surreptitiously moving out of the crowd and into the temporary alley. Ten feet down, he had his arms around the young girl and his hand over her mouth. With one swift gesture he’d thrown the winter wrap over her head, gagged her with one of the linen arm-wraps and tied her wrists with the other. He threw her over his shoulder and a minute later was carrying her behind the trader’s tents, heading for the woods.

     At the rock, Trowa and Wufei were nowhere in sight, and the young warrior frowned as he slowly slid the girl carefully to the ground. She’d fallen silent once he’d picked her up, and he’d been worried. A girl was supposed to scream and shout when being kidnapped. First Relena’s strange behavior, and now this Chieftain’s daughter being so quiet even when being kidnapped. Heero scratched behind one of his ears, adjusted his ear cuff, and sighed. Settling down on the edge of the rock, he began watching the path that led back to the gathering grounds.

     The next thing the half-Wolf knew, the world had suddenly gone dark, and a little scratchy.

     The next thing Heero knew after that, his head was echoing from a sudden blow.

     The next thing he realized he’d gone from standing to laying down.

     Fast.

     And that was the last thing Heero knew.

     Over his head, Meiran dropped the rock, satisfied as she studied the unconscious warrior. She contemplated pulling the winter wrap off the Wolf’s head to get a look at his face, but figured she’d seen enough. There were only two or three Wolves at the gathering who had silver tails. As long as she avoided all of them and stuck close to her friends, everything should be fine. The young Jaguar-girl watched the man’s even breathing, and made a face as she considered the situation. If anyone saw him carrying her off, her week was definitely ruined. It would get back to her father, and that would mean this wonderful week of freedom would be history way too soon. The girl scowled at the Wolf’s prone form.

     The wind changed, and the black Jaguar sniffed the air, her skirts whirling around her ankles as she turned, trying to pick out the scent. A canine, but too spicy to be a Wolf, she decided. Meiran stuck her tongue out at the fallen warrior, and took off down the path back to the gathering. If she was lucky, she could join back up with her friends at the dancing grounds. She’d still get to spend the rest of the week free of bodyguards or overbearing older brothers, and no one would be the wiser.

 

 

 

 

     “Heero!”

     The half-Wolf groaned, pushing weakly at the hands grabbing him by the shoulders. Someone was shaking him, and he groaned again, one hand going up to clutch at his head. There was a fading scent of something spicy lingering in the clearing, but he couldn’t place it. Blue eyes slowly opened, met dark brown, and closed again.

     “Big brother,” Wufei cried, shaking the warrior a second time. “Wake up! What happened?”

     “This is what happened,” Trowa said. “And you can stop shaking him now.” The Jackal held up the rock, and let it drop again. “It was displaced from over there, where the grass was squashed down.”

     Wufei stared at the taller warrior, a look of shock in his eyes. “Someone attacked him? Why?”

     Heero sighed and slowly got to his feet, sweeping his tail a few times to shake the dirt off. “It’s nothing,” he said. Glancing around, he could see the winter linen was intact. That must have been what happened: the girl got loose from the arm-linens, threw the winter shirt over his head, and hit him with a rock. He could see the quick footprints leading away from the clearing, too small to be male and too heavy to be someone walking at a normal pace. The girl had definitely run back down the path to the gathering grounds. Heero sighed and collected his stuff with a purposeful look towards Trowa. Wufei was still kneeling, a confused look in his eyes.

     “Come on, little brother,” the Wolf-boy said. “Go watch the dancing. I’ll catch up.” He helped Wufei to his feet, and threw the linens over his pouch before adjusting the leather strap so the pouch lay against his hip. Absently he felt the pouch, checking for Wufei’s gift, then froze. His fingers felt out the pouch again. The woven-metal lump wasn’t there. Ahead of him, Trowa heard the inrush of panicked breath. The Jackal turned around, walking backwards with an eyebrow raised at the Wolf.

     It’s gone, Heero mouthed, anger and distress mixing in his face for a heartbeat. His face was back in its usual stern expression, though, by the time Wufei sensed the tension and turned around to look. Heero gave the half-Jaguar a crooked smile, and thought hard about just what he’d do to that girl when he saw her next.

     He watched his two friends disappear into the forest, and he headed down to the riverside, anger flooding his body in a series of frustrated waves. The Wolf-boy nodded to Otto, the brown Wolf guarding the Clan’s warrior tents, and dropped his belongings just inside the lean-to he’d be sharing with Trowa. Sighing, Heero forced his shoulders to relax.

     Six elk teeth, twenty weasel columns, and two hole-rocks, he thought. All for nothing.

     Heero set aside the self-castigation and sprinted down the path towards the gathering field. He could hear the crowd shouting, which meant the hosts were approaching. Shaking his head, he made it to the edge of the dancing grounds in time to see Trowa stand up one last time, looking around for him.

     The formal Clan Meeting always occurred in a natural depression in the landscape, and the downward slope meant Creatures on the outer rings of the dancing ground were above those in front of them. Pushing his way through the crowd down the slope, Heero headed for where he’d last seen his tall auburn-haired friend. The ground leveled out and Heero could no longer see over everyone’s head, but he kept going in that general direction. The half-Wolf was nearly on the dancing ground itself when he discovered Trowa and Wufei sitting at the very front.

     “Hid yourselves well,” Heero declared, collapsing on the striped trade blanket with a irritated growl. Where the ground flattened out, the front four or five rows tended to sit on the ground or low chairs so they wouldn’t block the view for people behind them.

     “Not like you had much to do with it,” Wufei retorted.

     “Be quiet, little brother,” Heero replied automatically.

     “Don’t tell me to be quiet. You can’t kick my ass anymore.”

     “Want to bet?” The Wolf leaned over and cuffed the young Jaguar, who turned and scowled.

     The Jaguar sitting on Wufei’s other side looked over and smiled faintly. “Both of you. Don’t make me break it up.” Her spotted tail thrashed a few times, just at the tip.

     “Oh,” Heero said, blinking. “Hey, Salli. Sorry. Didn’t realize you were over there.”

     “I noticed,” Salli replied, imperturbable. She was wearing a brown top, with yellow laces crossing over her shoulders, and her yellow-gold ankle-length skirt-cloth was thrown over her lap as she sat cross-legged next to her half-brother. Her tail curled around, only the tip twitching every now and then. Heero noticed the motion and took the hint, sitting quietly between Trowa and Wufei.

     This gathering’s hosts, the River Bobcats, had arranged themselves in a group at one end of the dancing circle. Dressed in everyday clothes, the hosts sought to make themselves as unimpressive as possible, so that their guests would shine in comparison. The next day the hosts would act as the guests, and another Clan would come as the hosts to perform the giveaway.

     Salli had seen some of the Bobcats unpacking their exchange gifts before the ritual, and was whispering to Wufei about the range and type. The number of otter pelts was less than she’d expected, but there were many beautifully-dyed linens and a number of fancy woolen blankets. Several of the younger Bobcats were holding beaded necklaces, and the female Bobcats were carrying baskets woven from river reeds. All of it would be given to the Desert Lynxes at the conclusion of the day’s dance.

     “We’re the hosts tomorrow,” the young Jaguar warrior was reminding her little brother. Heero glanced over, and she smiled at the Wolf-boy. “Are you dancing this year?”

     Heero shook his head, frowning at Wufei for a moment. Salli laughed.

     “I told her you weren’t,” the Jaguar-boy whispered.

     “Just hoping you’d changed your mind,” the woman said. “You’re a good dancer.”

     “Trowa’s dancing. That should be enough for you,” Heero said. He nudged Trowa, who patted the air with his hand as though telling the Wolf to be quiet. “What?”

     “They’re coming out,” the Jackal said. His tail thumped several times, although his face was solemn as the procession of Desert Lynxes wound around the hosts, coming around to stand opposite them across the grounds. Salli had chosen a spot that was directly between the two, allowing the four Creatures an excellent view of the event.

     The Desert Lynxes were smaller than most Creatures, being roughly the same size as Foxes. Most of the Lynxes had hair and fur ranging from a golden shade to almost white, with the only dark fur being the tuft of hair on the tips of their ears and the very tips of their long tails. Their skin was golden, but their hands were darker. The Wolf warrior asked Trowa about it.

     “They dress in linens year-round,” the Jackal explained quietly. “They wrap their heads and faces, too. I think half-Lynxes wrap their legs year-round, because their light fur doesn’t protect them against the southern sun.”

     As the Lynxes arranged themselves into a rough half-circle opposite the Bobcats, Heero could see their fancy-dress a little better. Many of the Clan had necklaces made of blue and green glass beads, and a few warriors wore breast-plates made entirely from the turquoise beads. The women wore one-piece short vests, many with more blue beads at the neck and along the bottom hem. Although the Lynxes wore their hair loose, they had a smaller braid that hung on either side of their faces. A number of the kneeling Lynxes had black-and-white feathers woven into the small braids, along with more of the turquoise glass beads. Every time a Lynx turned his or her head, the feathers fluttered.

     It was disconcerting, Heero thought. It made it hard to focus on any one point. The half-Wolf noticed there was no single drum being set up, and glanced at Wufei with a questioning look.

     “They don’t use the main drum,” the Jaguar-boy said. “I think they’re nomadic, so they only have what can be carried.” The six drummers seated themselves in a circle. Six Lynxes wearing distinctive blue-bead chokers flanked the drummers, and Wufei explained these were probably the singers.

     The rest of the Clan arranged themselves in a line around the perimeter of the dancing ground, kneeling between the crowd and the drummers and singers. Twelve Lynx flanked the singers, inside the kneeling line, and were dressed in blue-bead breast plates and carrying long staffs. Heero recognized the stances as those of seasoned warriors, and guessed they were the ones doing the first dance. Past the line of warriors, there were eight oddly-dressed Lynx, four on each end. Some of the Lynx were watching the drummers, while others waited quietly. Two of the dancers were whispering to each other behind cupped hands. The line was still pushing away from the drummers as the Lynxes arranged themselves around the edges of the dancing grounds.

     “Those are the bird-dancers,” Wufei explained. “Lynx have warriors, but those dancers mean they’re doing the Day Hunt Dance. I’d heard rumors but I wasn’t sure.”

     “What are you muttering about,” Trowa whispered loudly, leaning past Heero. The half-Wolf nudged the Jackal in the ribs and gave him a pointed look. “Well, I want to know,” the taller warrior complained. “I only got to meet two of them. I didn’t get to grill them on their entire culture.”

     “You can read it in one of Wufei’s books later,” Heero hissed.

     Someone laughed nearby, and the Wolf looked up to see the bird-dancers were now standing only a stave-span shy of Salli’s blanket. One of the dancers, a young male, was smiling in Trowa’s direction. He must have heard the Jackal’s complaint and the Wolf’s retort. Heero looked away, a little embarrassed. Trowa, meanwhile, didn’t seem to have noticed, and leaned forward, watching the drummers and singers prepare for their first set. His red-gold ears flickered forward and back as he tried to pick out the dancers’ whispered conversations over the people still chatting around him.

     Wufei saw a motion on the other side of the circle, and looked to see Meiran push her way out of the crowd and seated herself next to her father. The half-Jaguar swallowed hard and steeled himself to look indifferent, studying the nearby Lynxes intently.

     The bird-dancers had their hair braided in twenty small plaits, with feathers woven and tied along the length until they seemed to have hair that started blond and ended in a blaze of patterned black and white. There were more feathers tied to rings around their upper arms and their elbows, as well as black-and-white checkered feathers attached at the knees and ankles. Their chests and backs were painted with abstract black patterns that glowed darkly against their golden skin, flushed in the Summer-start midday heat. More black paint swirled across their faces, down their arms. Their leg fur was stiff with black paint tipping the golden-white hair. There were even rings of black paint circling the lengths of their tails. Their feet, hands, and tips of their tails were solid black. The effect was of strange black-and-white birds, their feathers tossing and waving in the light breeze.

     The dancers also wore knee-length loincloths, dyed in wild black and white patterns to match the various feathers adorning their bodies. Wufei noticed the rest of the guest Clan wore ankle-length cloths, and both men’s and women’s were cut to fall in a large swirl at the ankles. He guessed the special dress for the dancers was related to the hunting dance Trowa was so excited about.

     Glancing idly across the circle, Wufei’s eyes happened to fall on Meiran again. He was startled to see her eyeing Zechs with a nasty expression. The Wolf, standing at the edge near a cluster of Bobcat warriors, didn’t seem to be aware of the Jaguar-girl’s heated scrutiny.

     I wonder what’s going on, Wufei thought. I wonder if Zechs was rude to her, too. The half-Jaguar started to say something to Heero. Before he could open his mouth, Trowa was shushing them anxiously.

     “They’re about to start,” the half-Jackal announced as a solid drum beat filled the dancing grounds.

 

 

 

 

With thanks to everyone who responded, commented, and cheered: little duckie, Artemis, cryearthstearsfalltou, Nightwings, Casey Valhalla, Dyna Dee, Jadeduo, Morgan, Moffit, and CleverYoungThief.

For those who asked: Yes! Quatre and Duo have already made appearances in the story. That is, they’ve shown up, but they’ve not been identified by name. The inspiration for the ‘gathering of the clans’ is based on Scottish Games and Native American Powwows. The Scots have the parade of colors, while the Plains tribes have the giveaway (potlatch). If you’re interested in Native American traditions of the Plains tribes, a top recommendation is  Waterlily, by Ella Cara Deloria. Historical fiction, but written by an anthropologist and well-documented.

PS. If you’re wondering about the stolen gold hair-band, blame KatiKat for fulfilling her Muse Duties so beautifully. ;-)