Page 31
Story: Feed Me to the Wolves
The waters were as calm as I’d ever seen them. If not for the smell of brine, I could almost have imagined myself out on a lake, headed to some opposite shore instead of into the unknown and unfathomable.
I was feeling reckless.
The islands that scattered out from the shoreline gave me confidence, unwise as it may have been. They made me feel like I had not completely untethered myself from the land, and I kept looking for that next outcropping of trees, feeling comforted when it appeared and directing my vessel further and further still.
I’d always heard about the Hinterlands, but it was another thing to behold for myself. The forest was pregnant with flora. Trees pierced the clouds that hung low in the sky, and there seemed no end to the inlets, and the coves, and the outcroppings, and the islands. I’d never seen the ocean and the land play back and forth with each other like they did here, Elsynbr and Rynwin blending the lines of their domains like it was a game, or maybe art, or maybe both.
It encouraged me onward.
The terrain unwound in my mind’s eye. Even when the rain moved on, I left the map rolled safely away. I didn’t need my parchment or my lead. The space before me was giving itself up to my knowing, and I wanted to feel it first. I would start laying down the shapes on my way back.
The low-lying clouds did not lift, and it wasn’t long before a fog rolled over the face of the water. It was not too dense to navigate, but the wiserside of me knew what could come if I let myself get more caught up than I already was. It was time to turn around, while I still could.
But before I set my sights back home, a movement on a nearby shore drew my eyes. There on the banks of an island, nosing through rocks and driftwood—was a wolf.
It lifted its head to look at me, and my oar stilled. In that moment, it was like the rest of the world had fallen away. The wolf and I studied each other over the short stretch of water that lay between us, and there was nothing else.
The wolf’s cheeks and legs were a ruddy brown while the tips of its tan fur grew black, giving a stunning backdrop to its golden eyes. Long-legged, wet from rain, and bigger than I’d imagined, with alert ears and a steady gaze. It was a sight, impressive and stern, but it was not ominous. It watched me carefully, but I could find no threat in the creature’s stare.
The stories swelled in my mind. Wolves, the hunters told us, were the enemy. They were competition for our food sources; they were mangy and wicked, and they would kill any man who failed to kill them first. And kill them the men did, felling wolves wherever their exploits brought them. One wolf, one ear on your cord, one more demon of the trees culled by the strength of men.
And I’d never once questioned it.
The wolf blinked, and my heart was at ease in my chest. Then it turned and retreated, its pace careful and unhurried as it slipped into the forest with barely a whisper.
I turned as well, telling myself I’d never head back to that wolf’s island again.
But it was a lie.
That night, I went to the Wool Moon celebration with Indi and Esska, and I thought of nothing but the wolf I’d seen. I thought maybe I’d sleep it off, but the next morning came, and my mind was on that wolf again and all day after.
Two days later, I was back at the wolf’s island.
This time, I ran my canoe up on the shore. Unthinking and possibly possessed by forest spirits, I climbed the rocks and treaded the place I’d seen the wolf, unable to say why.
In the end, I followed the ravens to find them.
I ventured back in the direction I’d thought was my best chance, and the sound of the birds drew me in from there. Had it not been for the noise they made, I’d have never veered off to the east, and I would have missed what I sought altogether.
I approached cautiously. The first thing I saw was a flutter of black wings up in an old cedar, the branch dipping with the weight of the bird. As the space in the trees opened up, I caught my first glance at the ruins. Ancient beams holding up a roof that had long since succumbed to the forest floor. The walls remained, however, overgrown on the north side with moss, and trees grew up from between them. It was the carving over the empty door frame that gave it away. Two diagonal lines intersecting, setting apart four distinct spaces. Four clans for four gods.
It was an old Caed dwelling, built before the split into four separate clans, before the moves to the south.
It had been generations upon generations ago, but our kind had lived here once.
Now it was a home to wolves.
I knew it, though I didn’t see one. Still, the proof was there. Bones. Scattered across a well-trod piece of bare earth in front of the dilapidatedhut. Paw prints the size of my hand, pressed into mud and left to dry. The scent of them, sharp with a heavy tang. I felt the signs like a warning rippling across my skin. There was no denying it. I was in their territory now.
I edged away from the site. A wiser person would have left and not come back, but I’d not forgotten why I was there, nor had I lost the rebellion that had propelled my legs over all the miles to begin with. I backtracked to the place I’d seen a small rise that came to the base of an old cedar, and I settled in.
I had no weapons. I had no plan of needing one. I sat with my back against the tree, and I waited for the wolves to return home.
I waited for what felt like forever; I waited for what felt like no time at all.
They moved like ghosts through the trees. Long and lean, they streamed into their small clearing and slowed, panting as they came to rest. One wolf peered into a gap at the base of the hut. Moments later, a line of pups came pouring out, tails wagging as they toppled over one another.
I nearly gasped. Pups, and I had stood right there, so close.
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