A.N.D. - Wolf Woods

It was, of course, his bright, beautiful mate who solved the dilemma. Ordinarily the most patient of women-well, far more patient than he was!-she was starting to get moody from the pregnancy. To be fair, he’d be crabby if he was trying to sit for a picture when he had to go mark a tree every ten minutes too. Only he and Virginia had to actually pose for the portrait; Wendell and Tony had already had several sessions back when Wendell ascended the throne. So the royal artists were taking as many sketches of the newly married couple as possible.

Wolf had wondered if he could stay still long enough himself, so he’d started muttering to himself all the offers and orders Wendell had suggested, trying to find out which combination of words would sound the best to the wolves. Virginia, short-tempered and shifting uncomfortably, finally turned around and snapped, “Look, since nobody knows what the wolves really want, why don’t you go ask them? Start a dialog, don’t just order!”

Wendell, when told, wasn’t quite so pragmatic. “If the wolves have any solid demands, won’t they tell me directly? I get petty petitions every day.”

“Lead wolves-the ones you need to make contact with-don’t ask for anything,” Wolf explained. “Lead wolves can talk to other leaders, they can make suggestions, they can make demands, but they can’t ask someone outside their pack for anything. It would make them look weak. To ask is to beg, and no leader begs. Can you understand?”

Wendell had muttered something under his breath about Queen Red and the succession-Wolf got a chill at the idea of Queen Bitch the Turd having anything to do with Wendell the Liberator-but didn’t repeat it. Out loud he just asked, “What about my army? The squad leaders take orders from the leader. Who takes orders from me. Doesn’t that make them subordinates too?”

“No, because it was their choice to put themselves in that position. We understand hierarchy; it’s not a problem to be partially or wholly under someone else’s command. Sometimes many packs must blend to bring down big prey or defend territory. When that happens, there can be only one great leader of the mixed pack. But it is the choice of the other lead wolves to put themselves below the great leader. They were not defeated. They merely… recognized the necessity to put the greater needs of the pack above their need to lead. To Wendell’s Wolfpack, you are Great Wolf.”

Wendell had mulled it over for a full minute. “But if I send you to ask the wolves outside my Wolfpack what they want, would that be begging? Will that make you or me look weak?”

“It’s not quite the same thing. To ask what they want isn’t the same as asking for their help. You’re not showing throat, just… negotiating. It would be like two equal leaders negotiating over a contested bit of territory. First they meet, then they talk, then they try to find a compromise that doesn’t make either one look weak.”

“Wouldn’t they just fight?”

“Not necessarily. The problem with fighting an equal is that you might lose. If the negotiations go well, they might ally instead and become stronger.”

“Here’s hoping that things go well for you.”

So that’s how he ended up taking a trip in the royal carriage, his mate by his side and the signet ring of the House of White on his hand. Cripes!

“I’m worried about him,” Virginia said out of the blue.

“Ah, Wendy’ll be okay,” Wolf reassured her.

“Not him! Dad. He wasn’t there to wave us goodbye, did you notice?”

He had, but he’d hoped she hadn’t. She didn’t need more stress in her life, not on top of this adventure and the baby. “He can take care of himself.”

“What if he can’t? What if I’m not there to rescue him?” She fiddled with the glass pendants around her neck. “Maybe I should have given him one of these.”

“Those pendants are for you and the cub.” And until it was born, Virginia would wear both. Wolf insisted on it.

His creamy, dreamy one looked as if she wanted to argue further, but she suddenly sighed and rapped on the roof instead. “Stop by those bushes, will you? I need to go… again.”

Wolf peered nervously out the window as the smudge on the horizon slowly turned into a long stand of trees. According to Sebastian, several wolfpacks had taken over a small town on the fringes of the Disenchanted Forest, about a hard day’s run from Anthony’s castle. This was where the extended families of the wolf servants lived, with the part-wolves and human cousins in the town itself, while the pure wolves cautiously hunted the outskirts of the cursed woods.

Wolf knew it was far from being the only wolf settlement; every night he could hear the howling as smaller packs tried to establish territory on ground already covered by farms, fields, and villages. The Great Wolves, the leaders of the biggest packs, the wise ones the other leaders listened to, would be as worried as Wendell was about trouble. There would be a Leaders Council somewhere, and this was as good a place as any to start looking for it.

As they slowly plodded woods-ward, the howling changed. Virginia didn’t know the difference, but he did. Before, the wolves had been telling the world of their own existence. Now they were warning the world of travelers, passing the news that Wolf and Virginia were on their way.

He could tell what the howls meant. He couldn’t tell if they were happy or not.

The sign once read Snow Drop Dale, but the flaking paint had been crossed out and Wolf Haven written over it. The lettering wasn’t very professional, but it was readable. A paw print was in the corner. It wasn’t drawn in; it looked like a very, very large animal had simply dipped its foot in the paint. It probably had. A few more minutes and they were in the center of the town square.