This was originally part of the previous chapter. I divided them only because of length.
On the other hand, something else was supposed to happen, as well. That must wait until the next chapter, also due to length.

I own the hunter, the still-unnamed "witch," the kids and their parents, the random mostly anonymous villagers...and the creature. (It finally appears!)
I own nobody else. Which I guess is just Doyle.

Second Theft

The farmer—or rather, the landowner, as this was one of the wealthier ones—was only too happy to hire Doyle for the night. He admitted that Doyle didn't look much like a farmhand, but the redhead quickly demonstrated his knowledge, and he certainly looked like he could handle the wild animals.

Several nights passed, and Doyle saw nothing on guard duty. None of the other farms reported attacks.

Some mornings, after his shift ended, he saw that woman leave town. Sometimes that hunter was with her, repeating the same old argument, and sometimes she was alone.

And except for any hunters, the few people who were up and about that early avoided her. They were polite when they ran into her, but they clearly wanted to be somewhere else.

Doyle began to arrange his path so that he would see her. He thought it odd that she left so early; she probably wasn't spending the night in town, not when she clearly did not wish to live there, not when she supposedly lived elsewhere. He doubted she was here for the same reason he was, and wanted to know what she was up to.

One morning, he finally he decided to approach her. But she surprised him by confronting him.

"You've been following me for the last week," she said. "Who are you, and what do want?" She looked at him oddly, looked through him, rather. She held her walking stick uncertainly, like she wasn't sure if she should hit him with it.

Doyle hesitated. What reason could he, a 'farmhand,' have for following her? But she didn't seem all that impressed with that hunter's motives, either.

One of the townspeople hurried down the road, and Doyle moved aside to let him pass.

After the man had gone, the woman spoke again. "You must be new here," she said, still staring at the spot where Doyle had been standing, "otherwise you'd know to avoid me." She smiled, but her tone was bitter.

Doyle frowned. Why was she...? He looked again at how she held the walking stick. It wasn't white, but maybe...

He cleared his throat. She twitched at the noise—nobody else would realize he'd just startled her—and whirled to face him. And still looked through him. Thought so.

He decided to use the story Drew had given. Entirely truthful, but not the entire truth. "My family studies unusual animals," he said. "We've been looking into reports of this...creature attacking the farms, and we're kind of trying to get as much intel as we can. You're one of the few people we haven't talked to, yet."

"And why would you want to talk to a known witch?"

Doyle lifted an eyebrow. Is that the way of it, then? "Suspected witch," he corrected. "All I've heard is rumors. There isn't any evidence that I know of."

"And since when does anyone wait for evidence?" she muttered. "All they need is rumors."

The question, simple as it was, shook him worse than he could afford. He tried to ignore it. "Speaking of rumors, the way I hear it, nobody's supposed to be able to find you; you find them."

She smiled that bitter smile. "That's because nobody wants to find a known witch."

"Suspected," he said under his breath. "Rumored. Not known."

Her smile became slightly less bitter, but she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "The only ones who ever care to speak to me are—Nerrivik, help me, here he comes again," she breathed.

Doyle blinked. What was she talking about? He looked around and saw that hunter approach with a furious look on his face.

"Who do you think you are?" the hunter snarled.

Doyle believed it would only aggravate the hunter further, but he chose to ignore the tone and take the question at face value. "Name's Jonathon Benton," he said, holding out his hand. The hunter didn't even look at it, and Doyle let his arm drop. "Sorry. I'm new in town, fellow about a block over hired me a week back, and I haven't gotten around to introducing myself to everyone yet."

"Maybe it's different where you come from," the hunter replied, "but around here it's considered...impolite to hit on someone else's girlfriend!"

'Girlfriend'? Doyle thought. Didn't you tell Drew you were engaged? He forced himself not to smile. "A bit insecure about his hold on you?" he muttered to the woman in question.

"What hold?" she muttered back. "I was merely telling Mr. Benton about this creature you people are so afraid of," she said to the hunter, "since the 'great hunters' of this town somehow neglected to warn him." The hunter flushed in embarrassment. "Or, at least, I was about to tell him, until you—"

She broke off and began sniffing the air.

Doyle frowned. He'd caught it about the same moment she had. "Do you smell smoke?"

The hunter laughed derisively. "Of course you smell smoke. People should be starting to cook breakfast about now."

Doyle shook his head. "Not a cook fire; too strong for that. Wrong smell." He took off running in the direction the smell came from. The woman followed close behind, and the hunter, after a moment's stunned silence, followed her.

It would be in the center of town, Doyle thought. He stifled a groan. He didn't see any smoke, or fire, but the smell was stronger here. Too strong.

And she apparently thought the same. "The fire is small, yet, but it's putting out a lot of smoke," she said. She continued to sniff at the air.

"Can you see it?" Doyle asked. Then he realized what he'd said. "Stupid question, of course you can't." He scanned the buildings, looking for even a sign of the smoke. He thought he identified the right building. "Is there anybody inside?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure...the smoke is masking them...yes. Yes, children. Three of them, I think." She looked straight up at the building Doyle had marked. "Top floor. They're alive, but they've fallen to the smoke. They can't get out or call for help. Their parents are below, sleeping."

Doyle nodded. "All right." He made his decision. If the smoke had already gotten to them, then nobody else was close enough. "Call the fire station," he said to the hunter.

"What? But there's nothing—"

"Do it, already!"

The hunter blinked. "You're both insane," he muttered, but pulled out his cell to comply.

Doyle headed towards the front door, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll never get to them that way," the woman said. "Not to the children; not in time. The fire is spreading. I can hear the floors caving in."

"Then how do I get in?" Doyle asked.

"The house in back sits right up against it. And you'll want to warn them, anyway."

Doyle nodded. He dumped his jetpack—it'd be an explosion waiting to happen—and ran around to the house she indicated.

He kicked in the front door, and started pounding on doors as he went, shouting about the fire.

He reached the room she'd directed him to, and shot a hole in the shared wall. He couldn't help snickering at the resulting explosion; those people would have to believe there was a fire, now.

Doyle leaped into the other building, and proceeded to search for the children. He prayed to whatever gods were listening that the woman was right, that it was just the three of them, and that he would find them in time.

One, two... "Hey, kid," he said, gently shaking the oldest one awake. "Is there anyone else in here?"

The oldest child opened his eyes and looked around groggily. Then she started hacking. She looked at who else Doyle held, and nodded. "Mom 'n dad are downstairs," she said between coughs, "and my baby brother's in his crib." She tried to look around, and pointed.

Down the hall, where the fire had started.

Doyle's heart sunk. There was no way he could get to the baby now, not with the other two in his arms, but if he took them to safety first, the baby would die.

If he hadn't already.

The heat was building, the smoke was billowing and the fire spreading. Time had just run out.

Doyle turned to leave, to bring these two children to safety, when he heard the walls crack.

He sprinted back to the exit, but he was too late! He stepped on a weakened board, and started a chain reaction of loosening and breaking wood that ended with the heat-warped walls collapsing on top of him and blocking the exit.

"No!" he screamed. He could get out—he could get the children out—if he just had more time...

He felt the little girl tugging on him, but she was still so weak from the smoke, and he could feel himself succumbing, his struggles weakening, his vision fading...

He awoke to the sound of crying. He blinked groggily, and stared across the room. There stood what looked to Doyle's fogged mind like some great wolf made of shadow and light. And in its jaws was the baby, very much alive, upset at being woken, and crying its misery for the world to hear.

The wolf paced the room in confusion. It was looking for something—for us, Doyle realized—but did not seem to know where they were.

The smoke must be masking our scent! "Here!" Doyle called. He started hacking, and tried again. "Over here!"

The little girl stared at him as though he were crazy.

The animal crawled forward on its belly, whining entreaties to the children. It laid the baby down in front of them, then ignored the little girl when she snatched up her brother and tried to soothe him.

The wolf's ears pricked at the sound of Doyle's struggling. It pawed at the debris, then worked its way under to brace it. Slowly, Doyle managed to pull himself free.

The children backed away in fear of the wolf, unaware, or uncaring, that they moved closer to the fire.

Doyle looked at them. He tried to shake the fog from his brain.

He forced himself to stand and picked up the two older children, and deposited the smaller on the wolf's back before they could protest.

The wolf took the baby in its jaws again, startling a gasp from the girl in his arms, but it carried the child gently as could be. The wolf whined at Doyle, waiting for him to take the next step.

Shooting through the wall was risky, but there was no other good way to clear out the damage, and no time to find another escape.

He took aim at what he thought was a good spot. He fired, and before the damage could spread any further, he and the wolf took the leap and tumbled into the other house.

They made it downstairs and outside, to find that the fire trucks and ambulances had finally arrived.

And there were three people sitting in the ambulance. One was the hunter, looking a sorry sight and holding an oxygen mask to his face. The other two looked a bit like these children, and came running when they saw Doyle with them.

The little girl took the baby from the wolf's jaws, and the other child stood to join her. The wolf backed away, back into the shadows where they couldn't see it.

The parents gathered up their children in their arms, but before they could thank Doyle, they were all shuttled back to the ambulance to receive treatment for the smoke.

The hunter looked around wildly for something, and muttered to himself, saying "where is she" at random moments.

Doyle was too out of it to think of what that meant. When the paramedic's back was turned, he jumped out of the ambulance, found his jetpack, and flew back to the airship.

And promptly fainted.

How did the woman know about the fire, when nobody else did? For that matter, how did Doyle?

Where did that wolf come from?

And what did the hunter mean at the end?

A description of the other physical characteristics will soon come.