Once upon a time there was a farmer, Farmer O'Dell. His first wife, a sturdy, comfortable woman, had given him four stalwart sons before a cow kicked her in the head as she bent to clean up a spilled pail of milk. A few years after her death, Farmer O'Dell took a second wife. If his first he married for strength, his second he married for beauty, for she was as fresh and delicate as a flower. Too delicate. She died bearing a daughter, who was as fair as the mother, but proved as she grew to be her father's child in her resilient good health.

This daughter was the apple of O'Dell's eye, and he and her brothers watched over her like a jewel, indulged her like a princess, from her infancy. As this girl--named Daisy for her fair coloring and laughing disposition--grew, her eldest brother's wife taught her the ways of minding a household. In time Daisy became mistress of O'Dell's house, freeing his sons and his sons' wives to go out and make homes of their own on lands adjacent to his farm. The farmer was perfectly satisfied with the arrangement, and as his daughter arrived at marriageable age, he jealously warded off prospective suitors who might disturb his comfort by taking his Daisy from him.

So closely kept was Daisy that she became bored, discontented, and lonesome. She took to walking in the fields, looking yearningly toward the wooded hills, longing for change or adventure. One day she went walking late, after the evening milking, as the purple twilight began to gather in the soft summer sky. Her wanderings led her to the edge of the forest, but, mindful of her father's warnings, she did not enter its eaves, merely wished that she dared.

As she looked and longed, Daisy heard a rustling as of an animal between the close-growing saplings, and saw an amber gleam of eyes. Frightened, she drew in her breath sharply, prepared to scream for her brothers' help. To her surprise, a strange man emerged from under the trees. The first thing she noticed about him was his eyes, light brown, almost golden, flecked with green. She mentally laughed at herself for thinking they were animal's eyes, for surely they had merely caught the gleam of a shaft of light from the setting sun. Then she saw that the stranger was young and handsome, and she felt sure that finally her wishes had been granted, that her ennui and solitude were ended.

She greeted the stranger politely, introducing herself. The stranger replied in kind, saying that he was a hunter, and that she might call him Signatus. He asked her what she was doing so close to the forest at the edge of nightfall, and she told him of her wretched restlessness. "Are you not afraid of wild animals?" he asked her.

She tossed her yellow curls scornfully. "I don't believe there's anything to be afraid of, even if my father did blame the loss of the calf last spring on wolves. I think," she said, "it was stolen by the gypsies who passed by."

Nevertheless, Signatus insisted on walking Daisy back to the edge of her father's fields, for her own protection, he said. As they walked, Daisy couldn't help watching him. This man seemed so different from the lads of the village and the neighboring farms. Though slighter than her big (in both senses of the word) brothers, he moved with confident grace and pride, and carried an air of mystery that fascinated her.

When they reached the O'Dell land, Signatus said, "If you wish to venture into the forest, meet me tomorrow at dusk at that same spot, and I will be your guide."

Daisy happily accepted this invitation, which became the first of many trysts. Signatus showed her the forest paths and the dens of badgers, birds sleeping in their nests and rabbits playing in the fields. He taught her to know the sounds of the evening, the call of owl and nightjar. He showed her how to find her way and tell time by the stars and moon. He brought her blackberries and wild honey, and in return she contributed cakes and pastries, so that they stuffed themselves on sweets like children, laughing all the while. If Daisy had been ready and waiting to fall in love with someone, she could hardly help herself, given so much encouragement, when one evening as she bid Signatus goodnight, she timidly kissed his cheek before fleeing to her father's house.

He didn't come the next night. Nor the night after. Daisy cried herself to sleep, calling herself a shameless hussy who'd chased off her only beau. She hardly dared venture out the night after that, lest she should once more find their meeting place empty. But venture she did, and nearly wept with relief to see his familiar figure silhouetted by the rising moon, just past its full. She struggled not to betray her hurt and anguish, though she trembled inside. Instead, she drew herself up, calling pride to her aid, and demanded to know why he hadn't come, what possible excuse he could offer.

To her surprise, he seemed grave and sad, not his usual easygoing, assured self. He would not meet her eyes as he said, "I could not come before, because the moon was full."

Daisy stamped her foot, exclaiming, "What has that to do with it?"

Signatus hung his head and sighed. "I did not want you to be afraid of me," he said very softly. Then he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

At first, she met his familiar light brown gaze. But then, as she watched, something happened, and she saw the same amber glow that had alarmed her the night she had met him. "S-s-signatus?" she stammered, suddenly frightened. His eyes returned to normal, though clouded with distress and uncertainty. In as even a voice as she could manage, Daisy said, "You are a wolf."

Mutely, he nodded. Daisy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a chill travel down her spine. She had grown up on tales of wolves seducing girls and taking them off to their dens to be torn to pieces and devoured by the pack. Could such horrors be true of him? She didn't want to believe it, but couldn't help the doubts that assailed her.

"Please don't hate me," he begged. "Daisy, no matter what you have been told, you must believe me. Yes, I am a wolf. No, I do not mean you any harm. If I had, I could've acted upon it when first we met, too quickly for you to have a chance of escape." He seized both her hands in his, startling her. "Contrary to human belief, wolves mate for life. And it is you I want for my mate."

Stunned, Daisy could only stare, open-mouthed.

"I love you, Daisy," he said.

Daisy closed her mouth, swallowed, then burst into tears and, freeing her hands from his, flung her arms about his neck. "I love you, too, Signatus," she sobbed.

For a while they just held each other, then at length he spoke again. "Actually," he said, somewhat embarrassed, "I'm not truly entitled to that name. I'm second of the Signatus pack, and really only the pack's leader has a right to be called by the pack's name."

Daisy giggled a bit, and asked what his real name was, then. He explained to her that wolves don't generally use individual names but get their identities from their places in the pack. "And I," he added proudly, "intend to be the Signatus, the packleader, someday. Our current leader is getting old, and I will Challenge him soon. But first," he added slyly, "I must have a mate. Who ever heard of an unmated packleader?" And he grinned at her, his former confidence restored.

So then they discussed how they could be together. The packsecond of Signatus wanted at first simply to take Daisy home with him. But she pointed out to him that if he did so, her father would surely launch a search that would lead to the wolfpack being hunted out. Instead, she suggested that they wait until the gypsies returned to town at harvest time, as they did each year, and then she would make it seem that she had run away with them.

Although they had to wait for the harvest festival for Daisy to leave the O'Dell farm, she and her wolf were too impatient to wait to become mates. When they were not thus preoccupied, they spent a great deal of time talking, Daisy asking her mate everything about wolves, and him explaining as much as he could. That summer was a season of happiness for them both, as their love increased with each passing day.

Now, Farmer O'Dell had not worried overmuch about Daisy's evening rambles, for the summer days were long and the nights mild, and there were no young lads nearby to be courting his daughter behind the farmer's back. After his day's work was done, he wasn't inclined to join her strolls, but preferred to rest his aging limbs. But one evening a stir in the chicken coop drew him out of the house. He killed the weasel that was trying to steal the young chicks from the nests, then decided to walk to the edge of the property to look for his daughter. He saw a figure approaching across the pasture, and opened his mouth to call out, when he realized there were two shapes walking his way.

The farmer hid behind the trunk of an apple tree, and waited. The couple stopped at the stile, and he could hear their voices, though he could not make out their words. There was no doubt about it: the person with his daughter was male. And not one of her brothers.

Farmer O'Dell was angry. His daughter, his only daughter, deceiving him this way. He slipped back into the house, and tried to act as natural as he could. Daisy would hardly have noticed even if he weren't trying. She was too preoccupied with thoughts of her true love. When her father asked if she'd had a nice walk, she replied affirmatively, and drifted off to bed.

The next day, Farmer O'Dell gathered his sons together and told them what he'd seen. They agreed to join him in catching out the pair, and that night as soon as Daisy left for her walk, the five men, each in a different strategic spot, watched which way she went. When they were sure of her location, they followed as quietly as they could.

The young couple were so lost to anything but each other, as they stood there hugging, that the farmer and his sons might have been a brass band and still have surprised them. But the O'Dells got an even bigger surprise. After revealing the truth to Daisy, the wolf had stopped hiding his tail in his pants during their visits, and there it was, out and wagging, for all her kinsmen to see.

With outraged yells, the men seized the couple, pulling them apart. Three of the O'Dell boys began punching and kicking their sister's lover, while Daisy's father and her youngest brother held her. Daisy begged and pleaded that they spare her mate's life, but her father struck her across the face--the first time in her life he had ever done so. Desperate, she threatened to tell the village that she was a wolf's mate, if they killed him. She knew what a disgrace this would be to her family if it were known. When they saw that she meant it, they stopped beating him, and at her frantic insistence, pledged to spare the wolf's life.

Then Farmer O'Dell ordered his three elder sons to hold the wolf, while he and his youngest son dragged the struggling girl away to lock her securely in her room. All the way, she demanded to know what they would do, but got no reply. The farmer left his youngest son to guard Daisy while he returned to the others.

Daisy begged her brother to set her free, but to no avail. A few moments after her father had left her, she heard a dreadful sound that made her shudder: a wolf's howls of pain and despair. Daisy whimpered and covered her ears, biting her lip nearly through in her terror of what would become of her mate. Shortly thereafter her father returned. His face was crimson with anger, matching the hue of his bloody hands and stained clothes.

"You promised me you wouldn't kill him!" Daisy wailed.

"I kept my word," her father said, "but I've made sure that filthy animal won't ever again meddle with you or any other man's daughter."

"What have you done?" came her appalled whisper. By way of reply, her father cast at her feet the things he had in his gory grasp. She looked down, and recognized what her horrified eyes had refused to identify. Then Daisy screamed and fell to the floor in a dead faint. Farmer O'Dell had cut off the wolf's tail and castrated him.

The smell of burning fur and flesh woke Daisy. She looked around wildly, and when she saw her mate's tail in the fireplace, she was violently ill. She staggered to her bed, leaving her kinsmen to clean up the mess.

For the next several days, Daisy kept to her room. The poor girl would not, in any case, have been permitted to leave the house. Her father and brothers kept close watch over her, first to ensure she could not run away, and secondly to prevent her from doing herself a harm. Daisy let hardly a bite of food pass her lips, and what little she swallowed seldom stayed down, for she cried herself sick so often. At length Farmer O'Dell resorted to telling his daughters-in-law that Daisy, who had never before known a day's illness, had a brain fever and needed nursing. Daisy made no effort to contradict his story, for if the truth spread, she had little doubt that the wolf pack would be hunted out.

Daisy became pale, thin, and weak. At first she didn't care, but soon she realized that more than grief was making her unwell, and she started to make an effort to recover her strength. As her family saw her on the road to improvement, they felt encouraged, and began to take her with them when they went to the village. So it happened that Daisy was in the village when the gypsies came for the harvest fair.

Now, Daisy knew that if she tried to run away, her family would know where--or at least, to whom--she'd gone. So she didn't try. Instead, she asked her father to let her have her fortune told. He agreed, and she entered the fortuneteller's wagon. There, instead of asking to know her future, Daisy asked the gypsy woman to have a message sent for her. She wore a necklace with a locket on it, and if the gypsies would take her message, she would give them the locket. If they brought her an answer, they could have the necklace as well. The fortuneteller agreed, and after handing over her message and her locket, Daisy left the wagon. Later, as she waited while her father looked over some pigs for sale at the fair, she saw a gypsy lad trying to catch her eye. She managed to get close to him inconspicuously, and he whispered an answer to her message, for which she gave him her necklace, as promised.

A couple of days later, Daisy found an opportunity to speak to her father. She told him that she couldn't regain her health if she stayed, and asked to be sent to spend the winter with her aunt, her mother's older sister, in a large town at a distance from the farm. This pleased the farmer, for at her aunt's Daisy would be further from the forest and would have more distractions from thinking of her former lover. So he agreed, and arranged to have her taken by wagon with a neighbor who was traveling on business of his own.

On the appointed date of Daisy's departure, she and the neighbor set out well before first light, that they might drive in darkness while on familiar roads, rather than drive at night in a strange place. Daisy had brought hot tea for them to drink on the way, for summer was fading and early mornings were becoming chill. Always considerate, Daisy stirred plenty of sugar into the driver's tea. About an hour later, the driver dozed off, and Daisy, with difficulty, managed to stop the team. Then she got down from the wagon and stepped off the road into a thicket. There she found her wolf waiting for her as they had agreed.

After the O'Dells had left the beaten, mutilated wolf, he had painfully dragged himself into the woods and curled up in the underbrush. There he had lain whimpering until his pack, following the scent of his blood, found him. They took him back to the den and tended his wounds, but for many days he lay silent and unmoving, refusing to eat the meat his pack brought him and turning away from their compassion. He gave himself up to despair, for what the farmer had done to him had put a stop to his lunar cycle and taken away his ability to Change. No longer would he be able to hunt with the pack, bringing down deer and elk with no weapon but his fangs, nor could he meet another wolf in formal Challenge. His dream of leading the pack was ended. He had lost his rank in the pack, and could never regain it. His injuries slowly healed as much as they ever would, but his anguish had no surcease. Even the arrival of a message from his--could he call her his mate, now?--from Daisy failed to give him any comfort. But he went to meet her, all the same.

Daisy was shocked by the wolf's haggard appearance. She hardly recognized him, limping from pain still, shoulders slumped, all grace and pride gone. Still, she made to embrace him only to have him pull back from her touch.

"Why have you sent for me, Daisy?" he demanded bitterly. "I am neither wolf, nor man. I am nothing!"

"That's not true!" Daisy cried. "You are my true love and the father of my child!" She laid a hand protectively on her belly.

For a moment the wolf stood staring openmouthed. Then the import of her words sank in, and he stepped into her arms with a sigh that was half groan. As he breathed in her scent that confirmed her pronouncement, he felt the painful resurrection of his will to live.

"Daisy," he said, after a moment, "you must come back to the den with me. If you stay with your father, our cub will not be permitted to live."

"No, love," she said, "I have a plan that will protect our baby and your pack."

When she described her plan to him, he agreed to it, and she returned to the wagon where the driver yet slept. After a few moments, the driver woke. Daisy gently chided him for being so unprepared for the long trip, and they resumed the journey.

When Daisy arrived at her aunt's house, she hastened inside before anyone could see her, and poured out to her kinswoman a tale of woe. Not, however, her own. Daisy's aunt was the widow of a merchant who'd left her money, but no children. She was a worldly woman, fond of her comforts, sympathetic to youth. Daisy's invention of a seduction and desertion left her aunt clucking over the wickedness of men and the naivete of girls. She readily agreed to help Daisy conceal her pregnancy. "But what," she asked, "will you do with It?" (By "It" she meant the baby.)

"I know of a hermit-woman, an anchoress, living in the wood near my home," said Daisy. "She is skilled in healing and midwifery. When I am near my time, take me there, and afterwards I will leave It with her."

Daisy's aunt readily agreed to this plan, and the next months were spent in seeing to her niece's well-being. When Daisy calculated she had only a few days left, her aunt took her to the place she had said, driving her own horses. The aunt agreed to return in about a week to take Daisy to her father's house. Daisy insisted that her aunt drop her off at the edge of the wood and let her walk alone to the anchoress's hut.

Daisy trudged heavily into the forest as the evening shadows drew on. She had not walked far when a once-familiar figure greeted her. Unable to run, she waddled toward him, and was received with a cautious hug. The wolf was immediately joined by others from his pack, and they carried Daisy to their den, where the packmother treated her graciously.

Two days later, attended by the pack's healer, Daisy gave birth to a strong, healthy, half-wolf son. The former packsecond of Signatus wept as the healer placed his cub in his arms. He had lost much, but in his child he regained part of his mate, part of himself, and a status as sire that could not be challenged. He stayed beside Daisy and the newborn as much as he could, but their time together was brief. One of the wolf-women, who was in the process of weaning her own offspring, agreed to be wetnurse to Daisy's baby, and Daisy regretfully took her leave.

"Are you sure you cannot stay?" the new father asked, cradling his son. "Our cub needs you."

Daisy shook her head. "I dare not endanger him, or you. We've discussed this before."

The packmother of Signatus, though she agreed with Daisy's judgement, said, "You have given the pack a new member, and therefore will always have a home among us should you choose to claim it."

"Thank you," Daisy replied. "I hope in time, when my father's suspicions are eased and his watchfulness relaxed, that I will be able to accept your offer. But I fear that it will be a very long wait." And with that she returned to the edge of the forest to meet her aunt.

Daisy's aunt, upon seeing her, asked, "Are you well enough? And what will the hermit-woman do with It?"

Daisy sighed dully, and answered, "I am as well as I can be. The midwife can leave It for the wolves."

The aunt shook her head sorrowfully. She was reluctant to return the suffering girl to the farmer's house, but Daisy put on the brightest manner she could manage, and her aunt said nothing of her worry. O'Dell received his daughter gladly, pleased that she'd put weight back on after her previous illness, and made his sister-in-law welcome for several days before she returned to town.

Daisy never once alluded to the last summer's events. Her father saw that she returned to her former chores and habits, save that she was not permitted to walk alone. He guarded her all the more closely for having so nearly lost her, although he needed no longer chase off would-be suitors. Daisy's sorrows had sapped her beauty and cheerfulness.

As the months passed, Daisy's brothers became increasingly absorbed in their own concerns and paid little heed to watching her. Her father, however, did not forget. He taught his dogs to follow her and herd her like a sheep. He kept the farmhouse locked securely at night, the keys under his pillow. Daisy remained a prisoner, even though she was meek and biddable, showing no sign of rebellion or desire to escape.

Months turned to seasons, and in the following spring Daisy took to growing herbs close to the house. That summer she harvested the soft, silvery leaves of a sweet-smelling perennial she called artemisia to make a pale green, licorice-flavored cordial for her father. When the cordial had fermented, she began giving him a glass every evening that autumn, to ease the nerves and sooth the stomach, she said. Daisy was the child of O'Dell's age, and time seemed to be catching up with the tough old farmer. He became weak and absent-minded, requiring her constant attention. All her kinfolk and neighbors marked how devotedly she nursed him for months after a sudden stroke left him half paralyzed, how she never left his side as the attacks became more frequent and severe, until he died, nearly four years after her secret ill-fated affair.

Daisy remained in the farmhouse after the funeral, wearing black and hardly venturing out. She divided up most of her father's things among her brothers: the fields, the livestock, even the dogs, though her youngest brother thought she should keep one as a watchdog. As months passed, the eldest brother became concerned. He ought to have the lion's share of the O'Dell estate, and worried that Daisy might marry and take the house and what remained for her husband. As it turned out, though, his fears proved groundless. For after that year's harvest fair, Daisy disappeared, to all appearances run away with the gypsies. The O'Dells washed their hands of her and ignored the wagging tongues of the neighbors. Her aunt, wiser than the rest, thought otherwise. Without knowing the full truth, she privately surmised that Daisy had sought out her former lover. And, in fact, she had returned to the forest to be reunited with her young son and his father. And it is further said that in time the half-wolf cub grew to become packleader of Signatus. So although stories of wolves cannot end in Happily Ever After in the Nine Kingdoms, perhaps they need not end in death by horrible curses always.