The thick fog of the early morning had
nearly faded, but the old shepherd barely noticed. All he could see
were the agitated, fragmented remains of the flock in his care. The
day had hardly begun, and already they had faced the white wolf and
his savage attack. On his son's first day in the field, no less! He'd
wanted to show Tobin the normal, everyday duties of a shepherd... He
glanced at the sandy head sitting next to him and sighed. Ah,
well, the boy would learn of the white wolf's attacks eventually, he
thought to himself. It might as well be now.
He gripped the staff in his hand and
counted with his eyes. One lamb, a ewe, and the stodgy bellwether
were the only losses they sustained. Many flocks had fared worse,
elsewhere on the mountain; the grey-bearded man had heard tell of
communities afflicted by poachers and whole packs of ravenous beasts.
Sometimes, a single lamb and a ewe would be all that remained after
an attack. Yes, indeed; it could have been so much worse, if not for
the fact that they belonged to Queston.
"Burch."
The old man lifted his eyes and blinked
away his rambling thoughts at the sound of his name. One of his men,
a twinkle-eyed fellow named Edan, caught his eye and nodded toward
the edge of the field. Burch followed Edan's gaze to the lean figure
slinking out of the bushes. He felt Tobin tremble as the boy pressed
against his father's leg.
"A wolf!"
Tobin rasped in a small whisper. "Is it going to attack again,
father?"
Burch stood,
nudging his son's shoulder as he did. "No, Tobin," he said
softly, as the grey-brown creature approached with an even gait. "See
how the ears are turned to the sides? She comes in peace. This is not
the wolf that attacked us before, and this is the one wolf in the
whole mountain that you can always trust. There is no cause for fear
when the Red Wolf is near." He stayed where he was as the
she-wolf paced toward him, placing her paws on the log where Burch
had been sitting. Something red dangled from her mouth.
Burch held out his
hand, and she dropped the thing into it: a red collar with a
blood-stained bell hanging from it. The old shepherd felt a pang at
the sight of it. That would be Downey, then--the ram that had so long
served as the bellwether of the flock. No wonder they seemed more
scattered than usual, even after such a fatal attack. With his other
hand, he reached out and stroked the red wolf on the top of her head.
After a few pats, he looked down at his son.
"Well, Tobin,"
he murmured. "Don't be afraid. Hold out your hand."
Tobin obediently
raised his arm, but he was trembling too much to move forward. He
just stood there, hand extended well short of the she-wolf's body.
The Red Wolf
responded, stepping forward and over the log completely, letting
Burch's hand trail to her back, while she slipped her head under the
tentative fingers of the boy. There she stood, staring into his face
with her deep golden-brown eyes.
Burch watched his
son's shoulder's relax, and finally, he gave the Red Wolf a few small
pats. Seeing this moment took him back to the first day he had
encountered the tiny pup, trembling and alone in that abandoned cave
where Burch had tried to take refuge during a fierce storm. He had
taken pity on the pup, brought it back to the house, nursed it back
to health--and nearly scared his poor wife to death when the wolf-cub
somehow transformed into a little girl before their very eyes.
From that day
forward, in recognition of the compassion shown by the couple, the
Red Wolf became the steadfast guardian of Queston. Those who
encountered her knew her dual nature, but some dismissed it as a
woman and a wolf as separate entities bonded deeply one to the other.
Her reputation grew as the years went on, and yet she never failed to
protect and intervene when necessary--such as when, time and again,
the white wolf worried Queston's flocks.
Burch's trailing
fingers met a wet patch of matted fur, and he felt Red's whole body
flinch under his hand, though she kept her growls subdued. The moment
was broken, and the she-wolf stepped away from the shepherds.
Burch waved after
her as she disappeared back into the forest. If her encounter with
the white wolf had resulted in a wound, then she would be visiting
the town soon in search of Deborah's healing ointment. Burch smiled.
He would warn his wife to carry a few jars with her, in case Red
crossed her path.
He waved to the
other shepherds. "Let's get the flock back down to the village.
We need to get the injured sheep penned and nursed, and then we
should see about choosing a new bellwether to lead the flock. I think
we've all had enough excitement this morning."
Edan and the others
nodded, and he could see a new spring in Tobin's step as he watched
and followed the example set by the men around him. He would make a
fine shepherd, yet, Burch was certain.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Deep in the craggy peaks of a mountain, far enough to be out of the
range of normal human hearing, a young woman dragged herself into the
safety of a secure cave. A gaping wound on her side oozed blood, and small red scratches crisscrossed her arms and legs.
Anyone in her condition would not be able to move very far, but she
did. Sinking with a heavy sigh onto a pallet of pelts, she pulled a
squat jar out of a cleft in the rocks and scooped some of the healing
ointment onto her fingertips. She spread it over the wound, gritting
her teeth against the searing pain. She kept going until every
scratch and scrape has been tended, and only then did she allow her
body to relax, curling up in the pelts and closing her eyes to rest
and heal from the day's ordeal.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The village of Queston sat well-protected in a wide, flat valley in
the midst of tall mountains. Many tradespeople and farming folk lived
there, raising their families in relative peace. They were dependent
on people from the villages below willing to travel up the crags and
slopes for the things their own hands and skill could not provide.
One such traveler was Schoolmaster
Remani. The tall, lean scholar made the trek up the mountain every
year just after harvest time. He taught the children how to read and
figure for six months while the winter prevented him from leaving,
and then headed back down to his own village when the paths cleared.
Today marked the Schoolmaster's return
to Queston, and the whole town buzzed with excitement. No one knew
the precise hour, but he had sent a letter ahead from the inn at the
bottom of the mountain. It informed them that he hoped to arrive at
midday, so everyone desired to be ready for him.
The wives and older ladies set out a
sumptuous array of pies, cakes, cookies, and sandwiches upon tables
the men had built. Young women decked the walkways and windows with
flowers. The young men climbed ladders and drove nails to hang
colorful streamers and a banner that read WELCOME SCHOOLMASTER!
Red favored her sore hip and arm as she
milled about the town. She didn’t care to interact with the
villagers on a regular basis, leading them to depend on one another
for wildly-exaggerated stories of her prowess and valor. (Not that
she minded what they said about her in her absence, but she tired of
refuting it in person.) In spite of this, every so often she liked to
take a quiet, close-up inspection of the town she guarded so
carefully. Those who had interacted with her in the past gave a
subdued smile and nod, while the others mostly left the strange,
caped figure alone.
Her quick ears caught the sobs of a
child, but by the time she located the source, a little girl already
complained to her mother, "I left it right by the stair, and now
I can't find it anywhere!"
Her mother tried to console the child.
"Don't worry, dear! We can get another doll! Brand can make you
one, or we can see if the Peddler has one in his wagon when he
comes!"
"I don't want a
new doll!"
Sobbed the child. "Marilee was my best
friend and I told her ever
so many secrets! I couldn't bear
to tell another one while she's still
out there somewhere!"
Red pressed her lips in sympathy and
moved on. Almost as an afterthought, she passed close enough to the
mother and child to get a whiff of their scent. Not that she would
ever consider throwing away her watchful duties to chase after
someone's doll, but just in case it had fallen somewhere or had been
discarded by an inadvertent passerby, she might locate it when no one
else could. After all, Red was known for such things.
The town had been built along and
around many of the natural cliffs and mountainsides, and the small
valley floor served as a sort of central square for the residents.
Everyone climbed up and down the narrow pathways that would seem
treacherous to anyone who hadn't lived here their whole lives.
The "Town Square", as it was
known, had nearly filled with tables and chairs and all manner of
well-designed boards for games such as a bean-bag or ring toss,
horseshoes, wool crafts, painting, and a set of raised platforms
where the older children were just warming up to sing their welcome
song for the returning Schoolmaster.
Red wandered over to the refreshment
tables, where she saw the familiar, warm, round face of Mrs. Garrity,
a peace-loving goodwife who never hesitated to treat Red as one of
her own daughters.
Now, she unloaded baskets of clean
linens and heavy silver serving dishes, getting ready for the food
that came down from the cliffs in small groups. She stopped in the
process of setting out a collection of pewter drinking cups next to
an assortment of metal pitchers and crystal punch bowls to greet the
red-caped woman.
"Oh, Red, dear! So good to see you
up and about--word has already gotten around about what you did for
Burch and his boys this morning. Facing off against the white wolf,
yet again! He didn't scratch you this time, I hope?" Her
practiced eyes traveled down the long cloak concealing Red's body.
Red grit her teeth against the pain and
smiled for the old woman's benefit. "Not too badly, I'm glad to
say--just a few nips here and there. I came down to see if you had
any more of that magical salve you gave me last winter."
Mrs. Garrity nodded emphatically. "Oh,
indeed! As a matter of fact," she shuffled over to the limp
patchwork bag on the end of the table. "Here," she turned
to Red and handed her a small crock half-filled with the gooey
substance. "Take this one. I'm sure I still have plenty of tins
in my larder. I can spare plenty for our resident guardian!"
Red took the crock and tucked it away in the pocket of her cloak.
From the way her side was beginning to ache again, she would need to
reapply soon. “Thank you, Deborah,” she murmured. “I hope all
goes well for your party.”
Mrs. Garrity’s mouth bent into a
small frown. “Why, aren’t you going to stay?”
The cloaked young woman chuckled. “Only
you could ever convince me to forget my disdain for socializing!”
she mused. “But I think it would be best for me to rest and heal
while everyone is happy and peaceful, so that I can be ready for the
next time danger strikes.”
Mrs. Garrity gave a wistful sigh. “Oh,
you and your Lone Wolf ways!”
Red reached out and took the old
woman’s hand. “At least I always know exactly where to go when
things get too lonesome.”
Her words brought a smile to Deborah
Garrity’s face. She chuckled and moved over to another basket,
unloading the odds and ends and placing them on the table.
Red's nose twitched as she picked up a
whiff of something important. She began casually, "How are
things at home? You seem quite a bit more tired than usual."
The blue eyes came up twinkling. "How
did you--oh! Never you mind!" Mrs. Garrity waved a hand and let
her trembling hands fidget with her apron. "I'm all right, the
house is just as lively as ever!"
Red smiled, and took
the matron by the hand. "Deborah," she chided her as a
peer, not a parent, "I can smell
your fatigue. Don't try to hide it from
me."
Mrs. Garrity gave a nervous giggle.
"My, my!" she clucked her tongue, "What a keen nose
you have there, Lady Red!" She pulled away and returned to the
basket on the table, carefully counting out each item she retrieved.
Red came to stand next to her, placing
a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The better to sniff out signs of
distress or danger, my dear," she murmured softly. "Tell
me, why do you push yourself so hard?"
The older woman set down the silver
cruet in her hands and gave a sigh that weighed on her whole body.
"If you must know," she said softly, "it's Henny.
She's not a problem, don't look like that! It's just that... Well,
you know how she was always my right hand, always waiting at my side
and helping with absolutely everything I did--oh, it gave her such
pleasure to be working along with me! But since she graduated from
the Schoolmaster's lessons, last harvest season, she applied for
apprenticeship at Bethany's dress shop. learning about designing and
materials and all manner of sewing and tailoring."
Red's brow creased. "And this
troubles you?" She didn't see anything wrong with a young woman
learning the skills for a profitable trade.
"Not at all," Mrs. Garrity
wagged her head. "It's just that she spends so much time at the
shop, and I don't want to interfere with this good work she is doing,
but at the same time, I've got the young ones to tend to, as well as
the duties of the house, and all the other things--I really miss her
sometimes!" But she said this last with a small laugh, letting
the younger woman know that it really wasn't a terrible situation,
but a frazzled one. She reached into the basket, pushing aside some
linens to get to the very bottom. The smile disappeared in the wake
of a puzzled frown. "Hmm," mused Mrs. Garrity. "That's
strange."
Red tilted her head. "What is?"
"Well, I had some silver
candlesticks that I am sure I placed at the bottom of this
basket--heirlooms from my mother's family--but they aren't there!"
She tilted the basket to show Red the empty wicker bottom.
Red frowned. "Could they have been
misplaced somehow?"
"Oh, perhaps," Mrs. Garrity
answered. "Now that you mention it, I do think our storeroom has
been looking rather unkempt lately. It could be that I or Mr.
Garrity--maybe even Henny herself--could have been looking in this
basket for something else, taken the candlesticks out, and simply
laid them in the wrong place without returning them. Certainly I
didn't lend them to anybody!"
"Oh, Deborah!" Another woman
skated by their table. She ignored Red completely and held Mrs.
Garrity by the arm, arresting her full attention. "Have you seen
my nice platter? The gold-plated one? I put it out on the table over
by the breadstuffs," she gestured to the booth bearing baskets
of loaves and scones and muffins, "but when I came back to set
the rolls out, it was gone!"
Mrs. Garrity shook her head. "No,
Mallory; I'm sorry, I haven't. You might ask Chester the baker--he
could have swept it up to fill it, himself."
Mallory nodded, her thin face sagging
as her eyes darted back and forth, searching her memory. "I
suppose..." she murmured, wandering toward the bakery.
A commotion at the valley wall
attracted attention that way. Red saw a boy burst into view, running
full-tilt and waving his hat as he shouted.
"Wagon, ho! I saw a wagon! A wagon
is coming this way!"
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