#alright so this is the prologue to a longfic that will be primarily from franken's pov

[clanoffelidae]

Beast of Gévaudan

Prologue: You Are Not Alone

???

“Tell me, little bird, what hunts in these woods? Wolves?”

“Always.”

“Men with their guns?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me, little bird, what hunts in these woods and yet leaves behind nothing?”

”Monsters.”

Jeanne Boulet was a very diligent young woman. The fourteen-year-old shepherdess guided her flock with a keen eye, ensuring that not a lamb nor ewe went off the path as they headed to the pasture. She tapped a wandering lamb on its hindquarters with her crook, herding it back to the safety of the flock. It bleated as it scampered off to its mother.

It was a warm day in June, the last day before the month turned to July. The hills of the Vivarais were lush and green, the ground sodden with moisture and sticky underfoot. The air was humid as well, creating a stifling weight in the summer heat. Thankfully, the oppressive feeling grew lighter the higher she climbed, the altitude of the hills cooling things off.

Jeanne gently nudged her flock over a rocky outcropping, the sheep bleating in protest at the uneven terrain. She herself nearly fell victim to the treacherous slopes, stumbling as she lost her footing on loose stones, but in time they were all safe on the other side.

She knew these hills like the back of her hand. She had come many times both alone and with her mother. She knew every twisting stream good for water and every place for safe grazing, every stony field that shifted underfoot and every jagged cliff that boded a terrible fall. Despite this, it was with no small measure of relief that she at last led the flock to their pasture for the day. The young teen took a seat on a nearby stone to take some weight off her aching feet as the sheep spread out into the fields to graze with wild abandon. The trek was no easier on them, and at least she had the option of eating as she walked.

After she felt more rested, she eventually got up to patrol the pasture, gently but firmly nudging any straying members of her flock back into the fold with her crook. The day was calm and restful, the rising sun burning away the humidity that lingered despite the altitude, leaving the area pleasantly warm but without its previous weight. Jeanne took a deep breath as she gnawed on a morsel of rye bread, swallowing contentedly as she kept her watch.

One of the lambs stumbled up to her, bleating entreatingly for a piece of her food. She ushered it back to its mother, tapping it firmly on the rear when it kept up its attempts. A few more taps and it conceded defeat, scurrying back to the others. She almost choked on a laugh as the little thing stumbled in its haste, righting itself before crashing into its mothers flank. Troublesome little things. She took another bite. Troublesome, but cute.

She whiled away the day in the company of her flock. It was an isolating experience, to be so far from help, so far from the presence of other people, to be the only one for miles, but it was not altogether an unpleasant one. On days like today, it could even be called peaceful.

Such a shame, then, that she was not alone.

Neither Jeanne nor the flock noticed the presence creeping up behind her. Or rather, the flock noticed, but upon seeing it to only be a man, cared little. After all, he was hardly as fearsome as a wolf, and to a sheep, a wolf was the only danger that mattered.

To Jeanne, whose startled and frightened cry was muffled by the hand that clapped over her mouth, there were things far more dangerous than wolves that lurked in the shadows.

A piercing scream suddenly echoed throughout the hills of the Vivarais before it was cruelly silenced.

~~~

It was Jeanne’s mother who came to fetch the flock when her daughter failed to return. The sheep looked up at her approach, but went back to their meals when they saw who it was. She called out into the field, searching desperately for her lost child.

“Jeanne!”

There was no reply. She hiked up her skirts as she ran around the edge of the pasture, bravely calling into the woods in the hope of a response. Her voice cracked from the strain of the calls.

“Jeanne!”

Her mother stopped short, seeing an abandoned pack laying on the ground. It was next to a splatter of blood on the grass, the humidity of the summer air keeping it wet. A lonely shepherd’s crook lay only a few feet away.

“Jeanne…?”

The flock continued to graze.