Once upon a time there was a farm near the edge of the forest. The farmer was a childless widower of about middle age, living aloneraising goats and chickens and growing corn and potatoes. One summer night he was awakened by a dust-up in his henhouse--chickens squawking, crashes and growls. He jumped out of bed and ran to see what the matter was. In the moonlight he saw pale feathers drifting on the air in the chicken yard.

The farmer seized a pitchfork from his haystack and ran to save his poultry. As he reached the henhouse, a grey wolf charged out at him, with a chicken hanging from its bloody mouth. Seeing him, the wolf dropped the chicken and snarled. The farmer raised the pitchfork as the howling wolf leapt at him, and ran it through mid-leap. It fell to the ground, dying.

The farmer fetched a knife and returned to make sure the wolf was dead. When he was sure, he skinned it, keeping the grey-furred pelt and discarding the naked corpse in the midden. He nailed up the hide to cure beside his barn, in plain sight, as a warning to other wolves. When it had cured properly, he took it inside his cottage to use as a hearth rug.

Weeks passed, and summer drew on towards autumn. One night, during a terrible rainstorm, the farmer heard a knock on his cottage door. Wondering who could be wandering through such a remote area on such a wild, wet night, he cautiously opened his door.

There was a woman standing on his doorstep, two little tow-headed children clinging to her ragged skirts. "Please, goodman, help a widow and her hungry children," she pleaded, in a low voice like a wooden flute. Her wet hair, escaping its braids, was plastered to her face by the wind and the rain.

The farmer let the woman and her children into his cottage. "I'm sorry, goodwoman, but I have already eaten and put up my dinner. But I would be glad to make some porridge for you and your children to tide you through the night. You must stay here and breakfast with me. I will find dry things for you and your children to wear."

The woman thanked him graciously, and the farmer found a dress that had been his late wife's, and a pair of nightshirts for the children. Once the woman was dressed in clean clothes rather than wet rags, the farmer saw that she was beautiful, with milky fair skin and eyes the color of stormclouds.

The woman--who told the farmer no name to call her--insisted on fixing the porridge herself, and washing the dishes and mopping up the rain and mud from the floor. "I am in your debt," she said, "and must repay you." After the children had eaten, she took them over by the fireplace to get warm while the farmer fixed a bed of straw and blankets in the loft above them. The children cried and wailed when they saw the wolfskin on the hearth.

"Your children seem frightened," said the farmer. "Are there wolves where you came from?"

"Yes," the woman answered.

"Don't be afraid," the farmer told the children. "Shall I tell you the story behind it?"

"No," interrupted the woman. "They must go to bed."

The farmer assented, and showed her where to take them. She tucked them in warmly and kissed them. Then she returned to the hearth and sat down on the pelt, gently stroking its soft fur. Loosening her braids, she began to comb the water out of her tawny hair, softly singing to herself.

The farmer watched her, fascinated. The woman was so graceful and fair. He had been alone so long. And she was a widow. Suddenly she laid down the comb, stopped singing, and said, "Listen!"

He listened, then shook his head questioningly. "The rain has stopped," she replied. She rose, walked to the window, and threw open the shutters. The sky had cleared, and the full moon rode high, its light turning the cornfields to silver. The moonshine seemed to reflect in the woman's eyes as she turned to the farmer and said, "It is on nights like this that I miss my husband most."

The farmer smiled to himself. He knew what a widow missed. She was so compelling, her head thrown back, her hair hanging in deep golden waves past her hips. She returned to the fireside, and, facing him, began to unbutton her dress. The farmer's heart began to pound, and his pulse quickened. The dress fell to the floor. The farmer licked his dry lips. She was stunning.

The woman knelt on the wolfskin and gestured for him to come to her. The farmer took a step toward her, then stopped. Something was happening. It was then he saw her tail.

The Change came suddenly, and the tawny she-wolf attacked without warning. She tore out the farmer's throat before he could even react. As his eyes glazed in death, she changed back. She wrapped herself in her mate's pelt, and, licking the blood from her lips, she howled, calling her cubs to feed on her kill.