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deemoyza(Originally posted on October 26, 2019)
You Keep Me Warm | 1,899 words | Fantasy/Horror | WARNING for blood, animal death, and animal predation
In summer, she was shorn, and in winter, her wool was worn, and Lady would come to say, “Thank you; you keep me warm.”
It had been that way for years now. How many, though, the sheep could not tell, for she was not a bright creature — nor did she ever claim to be — and had never learned to count. But she knew that when the sun got too warm, Farmer and Lady would corral her and the other sheep, and, one by one, strip them of their old wool.
She’d been frightened the first time, staring at those metal shears, but once she was let back into the field and felt the warm breeze against her skin, she knew Farmer and Lady had done her no harm.
She always felt a swell of pride, too, whenever Lady thanked her, having spun her wool into a peculiarly colored coat of her own.
And so, the sheep lived, her life marked by the seasons, punctuated by the birth of lambs and the loss of her wool. It was a peaceful life, and, knowing no other, she was content.
One night in late spring, when her coat was growing full but not yet a burden, she woke to a strange sensation in her left flank. A pawing, a nuzzling, accompanied by tiny, desperate whimpers. Roused to full wakefulness, she rose, and sent a wolf pup scrambling backwards in the grass. She blinked at him, knowing she should be afraid; but, seeing him shiver in the cool air, her fear was pushed aside by a feeling of maternal concern.
“Hello, there,” she said. "Are you lost?"
The pup nodded.
"Are you cold?”
Another nod.
“Come here, then, little pup, and I will keep you warm until the morning light.”
“But — but you are a sheep, and wolves eat sheep. Are you not afraid I might eat you?” The pup bared its teeth and gave a half-hearted growl.
The sheep chuckled; those little teeth could hardly tear through the skin on her leg, she thought, and those little paws would not be able to part her wool to reach her flesh. She was quite safe, she figured, so long as the wolf was small.
“Is that how you would repay my kindness?” she asked in return. "Besides, if you eat me, who will keep you warm?"
The wolf seemed to think this over for a few moments, before deciding that warmth was more important than proving his worth as a predator. He trotted to the sheep’s side and, as she lay down again, nuzzled into her wool.
He disappeared before dawn, and the sheep missed him already. As she grazed, she kept an eye on the woods at the edge of the farm, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. And as she lay down to rest, she scanned the area once more.
He came after the moon had risen high, and nuzzled against her once more.
"You say you are lost,” the sheep said sleepily. "Where is the rest of your pack?"
"I don’t know. I chased a field mouse one day, to the edge of the woods, and when I finally caught it, I turned round to show my pack, but they had moved on. I searched and searched, but they have left me." He yawned. "Now, though, I have found you. You keep me warm."
"I am happy to help.” The sheep leaned toward the little wolf and drifted back to sleep.
Night after night, he visited, a shadow slinking through the dark so as not to alarm the other sheep. And in that time, he grew: his legs became stronger, his teeth longer and sharper, his scent the one the sheep had been conditioned to fear. But she pushed her fear aside and let him nuzzle her wool, for, being near him, she had discovered a delightful thing: he kept her warm, too.
She had always assumed it was a one-way transaction. She provided wool to others to keep them warm, and so, she was destined to never know that warmth for herself. But feeling the heat from the wolf’s body against her own, she learned what a luxury, what a gift, someone else’s warmth truly was.
One night, the wolf did not come. The sheep could not sleep without knowing what had become of him, and so, paced about her pasture until the sky lightened in the east. She spied movement near the woods as the stars faded, and the wolf approached her, head bowed.
“I am sorry if I made you worry,” he said, “but I am lost no longer. I have found my pack, and I will journey with them once more.”
“Oh.” For the first time in her life, the sheep felt true conflict in her heart. She wanted to keep the wolf near her, to continue to feel his warmth while she slept; however, she knew he was best off with his own kind, who would see to it that he was never cold again.
“I am happy for you,” she said at last. "Run home and be with your pack. And thank you; you kept me warm."
The wolf nuzzled her one last time, then turned and ran into the woods.
Over the next year, life proceeded as usual. Graze and lamb and shear, graze and bask in Lady’s gratitude. But the life the sheep had always known felt lacking, somehow, a cover for a hollowness in her chest that she could not define.
Then, on a night near the end of spring, the sheep felt a nuzzling in her flank, accompanied now by hot breath on her neck, and the tips of very sharp teeth on her skin. Startled, she sprang to her feet and scrambled away, bleating to wake the others. They followed suit, not really knowing why, and the wolf scampered away, tossing an apology over his shoulders.
That voice. Could it be? Had her wolf pup returned, fully grown? A full-grown predator?
She felt the nuzzling and the pawing again the next night, but this time, she simply opened her eyes and greeted the wolf.
"You have come back, I see,” she said, and watched guilt play across his features as he sat back on his haunches.
“Yes.” He could not meet her eyes.
“And you’ve come to try to eat me, I suppose.”
“… No.”
“Then why are you here? Why did your teeth graze the skin on my neck just last night?”
“I didn’t come to eat you. I … I came to … to keep you warm.”
The sheep’s eyes widened. “Oh?”
“Yes. I know how much you enjoy receiving warmth, after giving it and giving it for years. And I also know a place where you will be warmest of all, forever.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. But it will take some work to get you there, and some trust on your part.” He finally looked at her. “You trust me, don’t you? I was but a poor, lost pup once, and you kept me warm. Allow me to return the favor.”
“Very well. I trust you. What do you need me to do?”
“First, come here, and lie on the ground. …That’s it, just like that. Now, hold very still.”
The sheep did as she was told, squinting when she felt the wolf’s breath on her skin. “Will this hurt?” she asked.
“Just for a moment. Hold still, now, and be quiet.”
The sheep winced and bit back a horrible bleat when she felt the wolf’s teeth pierce her skin and the blood vessels running along her neck. The blood that rushed out was indeed warm — hot, even — and she marveled at the thought that she had always had so much warmth right inside of herself. But as the blood continued to flow, her body grew cold, and with the last of her strength, she protested.
“I am not warm; I am very … cold. So … very … cold …”
“It’s just part of the process,” the wolf assured her, saliva dripping from his mouth.
The sheep did not hear him, for she had already passed from this world. The wolf congratulated himself on his cunning, and this very easy kill. He dragged the sheep’s body slowly, carefully, under the fence and to the woods, where he began to feast upon it.
He briefly considered taking it to the rest of his pack, but, as before, they had wandered off without him, and so, he figured, did not deserve to taste the fruit of his labor.
He took his time with the sheep, savoring every bite, and when he was quite satisfied, he slunk deeper into the forest to rest.
“You are right,” a voice said, waking him from his slumber. "It is very warm in here."
The wolf scrambled to his feet in search of the unwanted visitor, but saw no one around him. A sharp pain in his abdomen nearly brought him down, and he felt the contents of his stomach move on their own.
"Thank you very much,” the voice said again, and he recognized it as the sheep’s. “Now I get to feel the warmth I gave others all my life.”
“What? This can’t be! You’re dead,” the wolf said. "I killed you, and I ate you. You can’t feel warmth, you can’t feel anything!"
"Yes, I can. I feel warmth. I feel … affection. Thank you, dear wolf, thank you!”
The wolf cried out and placed his paws over his ears, but to no avail. With each rumble of his stomach, the sheep spoke again, statements of surprise and contentment and gratitude. The wolf tried to retch, to force the cursed flesh out of his stomach, but could not manage so much as a gag. He paced back and forth, talking to himself to drown out the sheep’s voice, reminding himself that, within the next few days, she would pass from his body and be gone forever.
But the sheep did not pass, and the wolf could not eat. Her flesh stayed inside of him, chattering away during the day, offering sleepy thanks at night. Try as he might, the wolf could not escape her voice, for it came from within. At the same time full and starving, the wolf stalked through the forest, muttering to himself and cursing his own greed. Finally, when he could take the sheep’s talking no more, he climbed to a high cliff, threw his head back, and howled, long and loud.
It was a sorrowful sound, full of pain and regret, and laced with frustration and fear. It was not the call of his pack; it was not the call of any other animal on earth. It was the call of a creature done in by his own avarice, cursed by his own lie, doomed to share his life with the gentle sheep he’d turned against.
He howled to drown out the sheep’s voice, and he howled louder to assuage the guilt in his own heart, but it did little good in the end. For soon, he would run out of breath, soon his throat would become raw, his voice hoarse, and he must stop.
Then, in the quiet moments when he could hear his own pulse in his ears, the sheep would start again.
“Thank you, dear wolf, thank you. You keep me warm.”
In summer, she was shorn, and in winter, her wool was worn, and Lady would come to say, “Thank you; you keep me warm.”
It had been that way for years now. How many, though, the sheep could not tell, for she was not a bright creature — nor did she ever claim to be — and had never learned to count. But she knew that when the sun got too warm, Farmer and Lady would corral her and the other sheep, and, one by one, strip them of their old wool.
She’d been frightened the first time, staring at those metal shears, but once she was let back into the field and felt the warm breeze against her skin, she knew Farmer and Lady had done her no harm.
She always felt a swell of pride, too, whenever Lady thanked her, having spun her wool into a peculiarly colored coat of her own.
And so, the sheep lived, her life marked by the seasons, punctuated by the birth of lambs and the loss of her wool. It was a peaceful life, and, knowing no other, she was content.
One night in late spring, when her coat was growing full but not yet a burden, she woke to a strange sensation in her left flank. A pawing, a nuzzling, accompanied by tiny, desperate whimpers. Roused to full wakefulness, she rose, and sent a wolf pup scrambling backwards in the grass. She blinked at him, knowing she should be afraid; but, seeing him shiver in the cool air, her fear was pushed aside by a feeling of maternal concern.
“Hello, there,” she said. "Are you lost?"
The pup nodded.
"Are you cold?”
Another nod.
“Come here, then, little pup, and I will keep you warm until the morning light.”
“But — but you are a sheep, and wolves eat sheep. Are you not afraid I might eat you?” The pup bared its teeth and gave a half-hearted growl.
The sheep chuckled; those little teeth could hardly tear through the skin on her leg, she thought, and those little paws would not be able to part her wool to reach her flesh. She was quite safe, she figured, so long as the wolf was small.
“Is that how you would repay my kindness?” she asked in return. "Besides, if you eat me, who will keep you warm?"
The wolf seemed to think this over for a few moments, before deciding that warmth was more important than proving his worth as a predator. He trotted to the sheep’s side and, as she lay down again, nuzzled into her wool.
He disappeared before dawn, and the sheep missed him already. As she grazed, she kept an eye on the woods at the edge of the farm, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. And as she lay down to rest, she scanned the area once more.
He came after the moon had risen high, and nuzzled against her once more.
"You say you are lost,” the sheep said sleepily. "Where is the rest of your pack?"
"I don’t know. I chased a field mouse one day, to the edge of the woods, and when I finally caught it, I turned round to show my pack, but they had moved on. I searched and searched, but they have left me." He yawned. "Now, though, I have found you. You keep me warm."
"I am happy to help.” The sheep leaned toward the little wolf and drifted back to sleep.
Night after night, he visited, a shadow slinking through the dark so as not to alarm the other sheep. And in that time, he grew: his legs became stronger, his teeth longer and sharper, his scent the one the sheep had been conditioned to fear. But she pushed her fear aside and let him nuzzle her wool, for, being near him, she had discovered a delightful thing: he kept her warm, too.
She had always assumed it was a one-way transaction. She provided wool to others to keep them warm, and so, she was destined to never know that warmth for herself. But feeling the heat from the wolf’s body against her own, she learned what a luxury, what a gift, someone else’s warmth truly was.
One night, the wolf did not come. The sheep could not sleep without knowing what had become of him, and so, paced about her pasture until the sky lightened in the east. She spied movement near the woods as the stars faded, and the wolf approached her, head bowed.
“I am sorry if I made you worry,” he said, “but I am lost no longer. I have found my pack, and I will journey with them once more.”
“Oh.” For the first time in her life, the sheep felt true conflict in her heart. She wanted to keep the wolf near her, to continue to feel his warmth while she slept; however, she knew he was best off with his own kind, who would see to it that he was never cold again.
“I am happy for you,” she said at last. "Run home and be with your pack. And thank you; you kept me warm."
The wolf nuzzled her one last time, then turned and ran into the woods.
Over the next year, life proceeded as usual. Graze and lamb and shear, graze and bask in Lady’s gratitude. But the life the sheep had always known felt lacking, somehow, a cover for a hollowness in her chest that she could not define.
Then, on a night near the end of spring, the sheep felt a nuzzling in her flank, accompanied now by hot breath on her neck, and the tips of very sharp teeth on her skin. Startled, she sprang to her feet and scrambled away, bleating to wake the others. They followed suit, not really knowing why, and the wolf scampered away, tossing an apology over his shoulders.
That voice. Could it be? Had her wolf pup returned, fully grown? A full-grown predator?
She felt the nuzzling and the pawing again the next night, but this time, she simply opened her eyes and greeted the wolf.
"You have come back, I see,” she said, and watched guilt play across his features as he sat back on his haunches.
“Yes.” He could not meet her eyes.
“And you’ve come to try to eat me, I suppose.”
“… No.”
“Then why are you here? Why did your teeth graze the skin on my neck just last night?”
“I didn’t come to eat you. I … I came to … to keep you warm.”
The sheep’s eyes widened. “Oh?”
“Yes. I know how much you enjoy receiving warmth, after giving it and giving it for years. And I also know a place where you will be warmest of all, forever.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. But it will take some work to get you there, and some trust on your part.” He finally looked at her. “You trust me, don’t you? I was but a poor, lost pup once, and you kept me warm. Allow me to return the favor.”
“Very well. I trust you. What do you need me to do?”
“First, come here, and lie on the ground. …That’s it, just like that. Now, hold very still.”
The sheep did as she was told, squinting when she felt the wolf’s breath on her skin. “Will this hurt?” she asked.
“Just for a moment. Hold still, now, and be quiet.”
The sheep winced and bit back a horrible bleat when she felt the wolf’s teeth pierce her skin and the blood vessels running along her neck. The blood that rushed out was indeed warm — hot, even — and she marveled at the thought that she had always had so much warmth right inside of herself. But as the blood continued to flow, her body grew cold, and with the last of her strength, she protested.
“I am not warm; I am very … cold. So … very … cold …”
“It’s just part of the process,” the wolf assured her, saliva dripping from his mouth.
The sheep did not hear him, for she had already passed from this world. The wolf congratulated himself on his cunning, and this very easy kill. He dragged the sheep’s body slowly, carefully, under the fence and to the woods, where he began to feast upon it.
He briefly considered taking it to the rest of his pack, but, as before, they had wandered off without him, and so, he figured, did not deserve to taste the fruit of his labor.
He took his time with the sheep, savoring every bite, and when he was quite satisfied, he slunk deeper into the forest to rest.
“You are right,” a voice said, waking him from his slumber. "It is very warm in here."
The wolf scrambled to his feet in search of the unwanted visitor, but saw no one around him. A sharp pain in his abdomen nearly brought him down, and he felt the contents of his stomach move on their own.
"Thank you very much,” the voice said again, and he recognized it as the sheep’s. “Now I get to feel the warmth I gave others all my life.”
“What? This can’t be! You’re dead,” the wolf said. "I killed you, and I ate you. You can’t feel warmth, you can’t feel anything!"
"Yes, I can. I feel warmth. I feel … affection. Thank you, dear wolf, thank you!”
The wolf cried out and placed his paws over his ears, but to no avail. With each rumble of his stomach, the sheep spoke again, statements of surprise and contentment and gratitude. The wolf tried to retch, to force the cursed flesh out of his stomach, but could not manage so much as a gag. He paced back and forth, talking to himself to drown out the sheep’s voice, reminding himself that, within the next few days, she would pass from his body and be gone forever.
But the sheep did not pass, and the wolf could not eat. Her flesh stayed inside of him, chattering away during the day, offering sleepy thanks at night. Try as he might, the wolf could not escape her voice, for it came from within. At the same time full and starving, the wolf stalked through the forest, muttering to himself and cursing his own greed. Finally, when he could take the sheep’s talking no more, he climbed to a high cliff, threw his head back, and howled, long and loud.
It was a sorrowful sound, full of pain and regret, and laced with frustration and fear. It was not the call of his pack; it was not the call of any other animal on earth. It was the call of a creature done in by his own avarice, cursed by his own lie, doomed to share his life with the gentle sheep he’d turned against.
He howled to drown out the sheep’s voice, and he howled louder to assuage the guilt in his own heart, but it did little good in the end. For soon, he would run out of breath, soon his throat would become raw, his voice hoarse, and he must stop.
Then, in the quiet moments when he could hear his own pulse in his ears, the sheep would start again.
“Thank you, dear wolf, thank you. You keep me warm.”
