Sitting on his bed Quentin unbuckled the small satchel around his leg, throwing it to the side falling back onto the bed. 

Staring up at the ceiling he took a deep breath. 

“I’m exhausted…” For the past few days, he was helping train, and during the nights he was patrolling, searching for Moon Fiends. 

There truly was never a time to rest….

Bags formed under his eyes, he rubbed them hoping to shake the sleep away then he sat back up. 

I don’t have time to sleep, I need to make my report. 

Walking over to his desk, he tapped the candle and a flame arose, flickering in the night. 

Grabbing a quill he pulled out a notebook, quickly scribbling down his thoughts. 

Today in training Clover once again demonstrated her inhuman strength, able to crush the bones of Fiends with ease. 

Despite the obvious signs of her having a relation to them she seems to hold no emotions for the creatures of the night. 

Tapping the quill, he closed his eyes, his ears twitching as he pictured the girl, how she gripped her hatchet when she saw them, almost in anger. 

In fact, I think she might despise them for reasons unknown, further study will be conducted. 

Presscott had given him this assignment, watch over the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He said, it was a fitting task for Quentin after all…. 

Nobody knew the Fiends like he did…

His eyes flicker in the night, shades of blue and gray. 

Blowing on the ink to dry he promptly closed his notebook when he heard a knock on his window, jolting he turned around. 

“Clover??” He says, running to his window as he quickly opens it up. 

“What are you doing?! This is the third floor—“ 

“You said I can rely on you.” She said plainly, sliding into his room. 

“Yeah but—“ 

“I don’t like full moons.” Sitting on the edge of his bed, she looked away from the window as he looked outside, tilting his head. 

Closing the curtain as to not gaze upon the moon, he walked over to his desk, nothing but firelight lighting the room. 

“Why’s that? Remind you of something?” Curiously looking at her, he gently tapped his foot as she fidgeted with the ruffles of her apron. 

“I….I don’t know, whenever I think about it everything goes black.” Tapping her fingers against her apron, she scrunched up the white fabric.

She wasn’t lying, that he knew well, she never lied, and that’s what he couldn’t understand, looking into her red sullied eyes she had certainly seen horrors, but as to what degree he had no clue. 

Watch over her huh? Not very descriptive are you Presscott. 

He couldn’t help but feel he was missing something, something so plainly obvious but whenever he thought of something it would escape his grasp. 

Silence filled the room, for what seemed like hours. 

“I never noticed, what big eyes you have.” She said, hers glowing a brilliant blood red. 

Out of character, perhaps instinct he said. 

“Better to see you with.” 

He didn’t know what had taken over him, quickly covering his mouth his brow furrowed when a voice from long ago filled his mind. 

“I’ve given you sight for one reason, and one reason only…to see red.” 

But it didn’t make sense! His eyes flickered gray, blue, white, blue again, something was….

“Clover…?” He asked, only a mumble. 

“Have you ever heard of Grandmother's Curse?” He said, quietly in a whisper as she nodded her head no. 

Standing, he shuffled through his books, it was a hopeful endeavor, but…perhaps it would help shine a little light. 

Grabbing a rather dusty book, he wiped it off with his sleeve and sat on the edge of the bed, setting the book in his lap. 

“It’s a Fi- well for your understanding, a wolf created the curse, but it acts as more of a blessing.” Chattering away, he opened the book which was filled with notes and bookmarks. 

Grandmother’s Curse 

Long ago when the sweetness of red faded away, a wolf walked the lands, for the wolf had no ears and could not hear, for the wolf had given it to a deaf child. 

For its eyes, they were no more, for the wolf couldn’t see as it gave its eyes to a blind boy of little sin. 

For its claws, the wolf had no more, cut off as he had given them to a kind hunter who could not walk. 

And lastly, for its teeth they were no more, and the wolf couldn’t eat, as an old man had plucked them out so he could wear them for himself. 

For the wolf had nothing left to give, and over time the wolf grew old, and fell to the meadows. 

Finding him deep in the woods, an old woman brought him up, for she gave him a pair of ears, and whispered. 

“Hear again wolf with a black coat.” 

Then she gave him teeth, and fed him from the palm of her hand. 

“Eat again so you may feast once more.” 

The old woman then put his claws back to the way they were. 

“Walk again so you may always find another.” 

And lastly, she gave him eyes, but when he could see he saw that hers were gone…. The wolf began to cry. 

“See again, for I have gotten old, and cannot burden another, so watch over little red.”

And the old woman died, and the wolf ran off, to find what was red she spoke of. 

Taking a breath, Quentin ran his hand down the book as he looked over to see tears pouring down Clover’s face. 

Feeling as his heart began to break, he watched as the girl wiped her tears. 

“I’m sorry Mister Ram, I don’t know why I’m crying.” She said, a soft whimper following. 

He didn’t know what to say, how to feel, or what to do, so he did the only thing he knew how. 

Reaching up, he began to pet her head, as he softly smiled. 

Leaning in, she hugged him and he hugged back, patting her back, and after moments of silence, a question filled her mind. 

Why does Mister Ram always smell like a wolf?