Down by the edges of a small village lay a tavern, modest and comforting. The tavern was owned by a pair of cats and their son, the barkeep.

In the forest, two miles south of town, was a small encampment near a river. There in the tent lay a wolf, sleeping in the shade of the tent as the midday sun stood high overhead, his rapier and clothing sitting neatly beside him.

Little did any know these two men knew one another, and had been carrying on for some time. The cat, a humble barkeep, and the wolf, a wanted highwayman.

And they liked it that way, carrying on in secret. The wolf would come to the cat's window each night and whisper words of love to him, promises of gold and a fanciful future.

And the cat would lie awake each night until a tune of birdsong caught his ear at the window, and he would grant soft kisses and gentle caresses to the wolf.

For many months this went on, with the highwayman only gaining infamy for his elusiveness and skill with a sword.  

The cat knew of the deeds done by the wolf, and cared not for the villainy he committed each night. He knew this wolf more deeply than that. He knew the pup within.

The wolf knew the cat would never join such a life, and cared not that he would need to wait until he could secure a safe home before they could truly be together. He loved the cat powerfully, and knew nothing could shatter their bond.

One night, the wolf returned to the window early. His tune carried to the glass and through it, rousing the cat from their bed. As the window lifted open, the wolf began to speak.

"I come to seek good luck, a fortune waits us both. A prize, mine tonight and ours forever, waits below the mountain in a gold-filled carriage." His hand lifted toward the window.

"A dangerous prize, no doubt" spoke the cat, smiling as his own hand met the wolf's. "One you'll be careful with, I hope. I know not your destination, Ryder, though I hope your journey is safe."

The wolf returned the grin. "A dangerous prize, indeed. Though with your wish, I know I will succeed. You know my blade is sharp, David, and know my skill to be unmatched."

"Unmatched of course, but against a musket or a bow?"

"A musket cannot stop me, and no bow has ever sent an arrow true enough to pierce the luck you grant me."

And so the wolf raised from his horse, and the cat knelt from his window, and they shared a kiss beneath the pale moon with no witness but the soft light it granted them.

"Will I see you again, Ryder? Will the soldiers catch you this night, or will you ensure a safe return?"

"Watch for me. I'll come by the next moonlight, even if hell should block my path."

With that, the exchange they shared each night came to an end and the wolf took his leave, rapier brandished and sparkling in the moonlight, a final farewell to his cat as he rode into the distance.

No news came of him the next day, and David knew his wolf was safe.

How twisted fate must be then, as a group of soldiers stormed the tavern, locking David's parents within their room and barricading them inside, only to bind David to his bed and stand it upright by the wall.

Finding his circumstance humorous, they adjusted his bindings, tying him to a straight stance, his hands stuck to his sides.

A final jest, the placed a musket against him, propping it against his chest with the barrel aimed skyward.

Soldiers at each window, David feared for one thing, and nothing more. He feared not for his life. He feared not for his safety.  He instead feared for his wolf, knowing his love would mount up soon, and begin his nightly ride.

And so it was, as Ryder began his ride, he made way for the tavern, the hoofbeats of the beast loud and clear in the night, David felt his heart sink.

However, no soldier heard the sound. Busying themselves with jests, drinks, and jigs, they heard not the sound of hoofbeats, they heard not the sound of birdsong ringing in the night.

They heard not the sound of David, struggling in his binds.

They heard not the sound of the musket slipping to the side.

They heard not the sound of his hand, bloodied from his struggling, found the trigger.

Only when the blast rang in their ears did the world sit still.

The soldiers clamored for the bedroom, as the wolf rode his horse west, turning sharply from the tavern.

"That was a musket firing....That...No. NO!"

He rode around the tavern, circling until he could see the front door, hidden behind the treeline.

He watched as the first soldier left the tavern, pale-faced and vomiting.

He watched as three more followed, shock in their eyes and anger on their faces.

He watched as the last two left, hands slick with sweat or blood, though he knew not which.

And he listened as the anguished cries of the barkeeps parents pierced the night, sounding their despair to all.

His heart cracked, small at first, building slowly, till it nearly broke.

Only then did he hear it. As if the world itself spoke in the wind, in the voice of his love.

"I saw you one last time, Ryder. The soldiers shan't catch you this night. Ensure your safe return, my love."

And in the sound of the fading wind, his heart swelled. The spirit of his love wrapped tightly 'round it, healing his broken heart.

The pain and anguish was soon replaced, a far more dangerous mixture taking hold in him.

His rage and his determination swelled along with his heart, and he took note of each soldier and their face. This would not be his last ride, though theirs would soon end.

As morning dawned, the village awoke to a piercing howl. The highwayman rode through with a furious wail, far more chilling than even the banshees of legend. Looking out windows they watched as the wolf fought for his life, and for the memory of his love. Many soldiers tried to end his ride that day, and many soldiers fell to the blade he swung with expert skill and practiced technique. Muskets fired to no avail, piercing his flesh but failing to penetrate his resolve. As he bled crimson in the streets, still he fought on.

Many men died, falling to the whirlwind of hatred he had become, until his body could no longer keep up with his anger, and he fell to exhaustion.

As the last few soldiers approached, he fought more than men.

He fought his own weakness, rising one final time, planting his feet firmly in place, and holding his sword high.

"You, who call yourselves men! You, who call yourselves soldiers! Warriors! You, who fight for king and country! It is you I want, and you I will have! The world has no need of you! I await you here! I await you now! Come closer, if you truly wish to take me! Though I must warn you..."

A musket fired, striking him in the chest, and as hatred and determination filled the blood dripping from his lips with every word.

"Hell...shall bar...your...way."

With that, he held his sword in front of him, pointed forward at nothing as he stumbled forward, taking no more than two steps before his knees gave way, dropping to rest on them for a mere instant before falling to the ground, cheek resting against the bloodied dirt. 

In his final moments, just before his eyes closed, he could have sworn he saw a pale and transparent figure leaning down, their lips touching to his as he faded into his eternal sleep.