A.N.D. - Wolf Woods

Red was so nauseated by the sight of a human in a cage that she had to leave the square. She spent the next several hours wandering the town, her mind in a whirl, unable to concentrate on anything she saw or Lucy said.

As the sun started to go down, it seemed as if the whole town was moving back towards the center commons, sweeping her along with it. The horrible cage had been taken down and replaced with a platform which was being mobbed by wolves of all shapes and forms. Red craned on her toes in a most unregal manner-being short was quite a bother when the crowds refused to part for her royal presence-but all she could manage to see was just the top of the hero Wolf’s head and the faces of the helpers who stood behind him.

She was about to push her way to the front when Lucy caught her arm. “You can’t go up there!”

“Why not?” She might be dressed in peasant’s clothes, but she was still a queen and not used to being contradicted.

Lucy tossed her head at the people on the platform. “The papers said that Wendell was sending his last nursemaid down here.”

“Yes. I remember Mrs. Comfort with great pleasure. I used to see her when we made royal visits, before Wendell’s father died.”

“And she might remember you!” Lucy hissed. “If she does, what then?”

Red danced on the tip of her shoes, shading her eyes and trying to get a better look at the woman so far away. “Possibly she won’t. She seems quite changed from when I last saw her.” Lucy grunted in frustration, and Red sighed. “Still, you are right. I’ll stay here in the back of the crowd. I don’t want to go pushing through a wolfpack anyway!

Motherhood was a lot easier when there were a lot of people to help you, Virginia admitted to herself. Instead of feeling trapped and poverty-stricken as her own mother must have, Virginia felt pampered and praised for having her child. And it was sure nice to have help with the diapers! This whole nursemaid thing? Definitely the best idea ever!

Fleet-footed wolves had run to Wendell and Dad’s castle, telling them of the undenning. Wendell had been too busy to come, but Dad was here, and now he and Wolf were sitting on each side of her, each of them paying more attention to Dell’s every wriggle than to the line of well-wishers. Littlebit sat below them, handling the presents, and Edwina and Betty stood behind, ready to deal with diapers, bibs, or other messes.

The ceremony itself was much like the one when they had first come to town; they sat on a platform while everyone lined up to pass them. Only this time, everyone not only gave them a baby present, the wolves also took a long, lingering sniff of herself, Littlebit, Wolf, and Dell. Dell had a hard time sitting still for so long and took much advantage of the new faces presented to him, pulling several sets of furry ears and bashing at least two muzzles with a rattle. Virginia was humiliated, but the wolves were, fortunately, amused. A few of them even licked him and Virginia had to throttle the urge to wipe him off, knowing it would be seen as insulting. Behind her she could feel Edwina twitch and felt better knowing that she wasn’t the only one wanting to pull out a washcloth. Dell was tired by the end of it. Fortunately he was not by nature a fussy baby, and was contented to lie yawning in her arms or Wolf’s until he finally fell asleep.

When everyone with a nose keen enough had learned Dell’s scent, Virginia handed the now-sleeping baby over to Betty as Edwina gathered up all their new possessions. It was time to change positions, and give the platform over to the band of actors. Littlebit slipped backstage to help them.

She had to admit, she was wondering how this was going to work. Wolf and Littlebit had been profoundly affected by the night they saw Fiddler on the Roof. When the decision had been made to come back through the mirror, Wolf had charmed a copy of the script and score out of his actor friends, and he and Littlebit had been adapting it for wolves ever since. Since wolfpacks often had neither fiddlers nor roofs, “Wolf up a Tree” was going to be the inaugural performance of the New Sanctuary players.

Torches flared around the edge of the platform for lighting as a human-shaped wolf gingerly climbed a false tree and awkwardly changed to his fur form. Throwing his head back, he yipped out the familiar violin chords of the opening song.

Moon rise, moon set,
Moon rise, moon set
Swiftly runs the prey...

Queen Red perched gingerly on a stone wall on the fringes of the crowd. The indignity of having to jockey for a position in the back rather than sitting in the front row in a place of honor had long since been forgotten as she was swept away by the play and the crowd. How strange to have the characters talking so much of tradition-as strange as it was to see the wolves and halflings around her nodding. As if wolves had traditions! They were animals! They had habits, they had preferences, but they had no culture of their own, only what they took. Even this story was stolen, the wolf admitted it!

It was a simple enough story, told as much in song and dance as it was in dialog, and Red found herself slowly, unwillingly, captured. A male wolf in a remote, hardscrabble pack had not been paying enough attention to his children and now found his litter of beloved daughters not only old enough to look for mates, but to look in very inappropriate places. The first female fell in love with a low-ranking wolf in the same pack. The sire was horrified, but gave his permission in the face of the strength of her love. He agreed to allow them to marry, and Red gasped and shouted along with the crowd as Second Kingdom soldiers broke up the wedding, destroying and looting the presents because “wolves don’t own anything, this is all stolen.” How many times had her soldiers presented her with treasures “liberated” from “those thieving wolves”? Wracked with guilt and horror, she almost revealed herself by jumping up to order her soldiers to back off. She was on her feet before she came to herself.

But they weren’t her soldiers. They were actors, and they were forcing her to face the flip side of the mirror she’d looked in all her life. Humans in cages, wolves being stolen from-it was all backwards! She was so confused, shocked, and even... guilty?

The second girl ran off with an unknown man from a rival pack, leading to another round of angst and then forgiveness on the sire’s part. And then the third girl fell in love.

Benjamin rolled his eyes at the nauseating story on the stage. So the stupid girl fell in love with a human soldier and was thrown out of her pack. All the wolves around him gasped and murmured at it, and he was disgusted by their hypocrisy. Where was that shock when it was his mother begging her father to take her and her child back into the pack? Now the wolves cry and look unhappy as they watch actors, but they hadn’t cared at all when it was real people thrown into the wilderness.

When the mother defied her husband to talk to her outcast daughter, Benjamin snorted. He knew how implacable a shunning really was. He still had a scar on his leg from where his grandparents had driven his mother away when she made one of her pathetic attempts to get back into their graces. As if those animals would ever understand what she had seen in a royal guard, could ever forgive her taking the collar.

The only real thing in the whole play was watching the whole town be driven into exile, but it was ruined by the sight of the loyal third daughter and her ever-loving human going with them “in protest.” It was enough to make him want to puke. He knew the truth of it. He knew what it was like to follow behind his mother as she made a fool of herself over and over again-to the pack that threw her out, to the human she was stupid enough to love who had never loved her in return. All this happily-ever-after, mate-for-life stuff was nonsense. There might be a transitory attraction, but it would never last. Not when the human found a more politically correct human mate. Then it wouldn’t matter how much the wolf burbled about mating for life, she would be labeled nothing but a whore, and who would believe otherwise?

He shot a look over at the queen; he’d deliberately picked a spot where he could see her but she wouldn’t notice him. Tears were running down her face. How dare she be saddened by this, this-shallow mummery? She never saw her mother die, her blood pooling around the rock she’d been shoved onto. She’d never run after a galloping horse screaming “Wait for me! Papa, papa, wait for me!”

He’d run and run all day long and got so lost, and never found his father...

A quick shake put away the memory, but another took its place. She saw what happened to her father. So had he. He’d followed the scent of blood and saw what they’d done to King Carmine, those wolves, those animals, those vermin! A haze of anger blurred the sight of the tailed folk all around him. Wolves had mauled the king to death, the only man who was ever kind to him, the only one who had ever cared about him.

Murderers! Animals! They should all pay! They would all pay in blood and pain!

He frowned as the haze passed and he saw who was in the crowd. He knew some of these wolves. The herbalist, with her uneaten human husband by her side. The guard he’d outed as a wolf. The nervous, submissive embroideress who hadn’t been submissive enough to give him a tumble when he’d demanded. The housemaid who wouldn’t steal for him. The cook who had refused him extra food. So many more. If the queen saw any of them, he’d be the one paying.

If. He’d played this game too long to be caught out so easily. Time to tell his loving mistress what to do again.

The moment the play was over, while all the fools around him were leaping to their feet, applauding and howling, he pushed his way to his queen’s side. “My lady! My lady!” The aborted move to bow as he came up to her was inspired; he saw her face soften more. “We must talk!”

The herbalist was coming their way; he used his size to push the diminutive queen and her secretary out of her path, leaning in close to keep their focus on him. “There is a plot against you, my lady! You are in great danger!”

The short twit sniffled and wiped her eyes on a sleeve, trying to listen. The secretary was a harder sell. “How can she be? They don’t know who she is here.”

“No, not against your person. Against your throne!” Yeah, that was it. Hit her where she lived. “Do you know why Wendell wanted your wolves and now your lumber? He’s trying to take over your kingdom! I’ve heard people plotting in the woods!” That much was true at least! “He has been funding the rebels, hoping to take away your resources so you couldn’t fight back, then keeping his hands clean by blaming your demise on conspirators. But it hasn’t worked, so now he’s gearing up for a direct invasion!”

The queen’s mouth was open, but the expression in her eyes was getting colder and harder. Stupid Lucy stayed skeptical. “Why? What’s in it for him?”

“No one trying to take his wolves back. More raw goods.” C’mon, c’mon, believe me! I can’t use Persuasion on you, you’d see my eyes change, c’mon, listen to me, I know you hate him in your heart, c’mon... “Why else is he putting all this time into building an army and a communications system? With the Evil Queen dead, he has no true enemies. So why is he so intent on preparing for a war? And now you’re here, m’lady, away from your throne.”

She was listening. “Away... and vulnerable,” she repeated thoughtfully. She nodded once, decisively. “Lucy and I will ride straight home now, avoiding all garrisons. You-stay here, deliver the lumber, and tell them you’re defecting. Cut your collar-do anything you have to do to meld into the society. But keep me informed! Can you do that?” Please? her eyes added.

Of course I’ll do it! “I have no higher purpose than to do my duty for you. I could not live without you.” Several humans and wolves would take great pleasure in making that statement come true. I’m not going to give them the chance.