Beauty and the Beast

The Attack in the Forest

The forest at night was a different creature entirely from the one Belle had ridden through with Philippe just days before. The branches that had seemed merely dark and strange by day became clawing hands in the darkness. Every sound — a snapping twig, a distant howl, the rush of wind through the canopy — jolted her upright on Philippe's back.

She told herself she was fine. She told herself the Beast deserved her departure. She told herself that no promise was worth what she had just endured. But the forest did not care about her arguments.

The wolves appeared without warning — five of them, lean and grey and silent until they were not. They came from the left first, then the right, surrounding Philippe in a ring of yellow eyes and bared teeth. Philippe screamed and fared. Belle clung to his neck, shouting, trying to steer him clear. But the wolves were everywhere. One leaped, and Philippe threw her, and Belle hit the frozen ground hard.

She scrambled to her feet, grabbed a branch from the snow, and swung it wildly. She hit one wolf across the muzzle. It yelped and retreated. But three more advanced, snarling low in their throats, and Belle backed against a tree trunk, the branch raised, knowing it was not enough.

Then the Beast was there. He erupted from the dark like a force of nature — roaring, throwing wolves aside with his enormous arms, taking bites and scratches with grim ferocity. He fought the pack off alone, and finally they slunk away into the darkness, whimpering.

He turned to Belle. Blood soaked through his coat. He swayed slightly. Belle looked at him — this creature who had terrified her an hour ago, now standing wounded in the snow because he had come after her — and made her decision.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

He nodded. She took his arm. Together, slowly, they walked back toward the castle lights.