Wolf Lore

Wolf Lore

         The fog billowed across the small valley as the sun strained to burn it off.  A lone eagle soared high above waiting for the sun to win its fight, in hopes of catching a meal.  The fog shifted in the wind as it tried in vain to exist.  As the sun penetrated to the grass a beautiful scene unfolded.
         Brogan watched from atop a cliff over looking the valley.  He waited patiently for a glimpse of his father returning from his trip into the city at the base of their mountain.  Brogan’s father had never taken longer than three days on his monthly trip.  He had been gone seven days now.  Brogan’s mother had begun to worry, very unusual for the mother of the mountain.  Brogan’s twin sisters had begun to cry at night.  Brogan decided if his father didn’t show by noon today he would prepare for the long journey down to see what he could do.
         Brogan glanced skyward and gathered his courage to go and tell his mother that he was heading down the mountain.  Brogan saw himself as a man, even though he had not yet had his feast of manhood, a traditional party thrown for boys in the mountains on the eve of their 17th birthday.  He knew his mother would disagree but his resolve would not allow her to stop him.  If something had happened to his father it would fall to him to take care of the family.
         When he reached the house his mother meet him at the door.  Holding a satchel, she looked into his eyes.
“I know” she said with tears in her eyes.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, with Dad.” He promised.
“Just be careful and don’t listen to the soldiers or the miners.”
“I won’t” he said.
“Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise.”
         His mother hugged him and wished him a safe journey.  Brogan grabbed his satchel his mother had packed.  With a quick look inside he took inventory.  A loaf of bread, some dried meats, some fruit and a change of clothes.  He picked up a lantern and some flint and the tinder ball his dad had shown him how to make.  With a deep breath he started down the mountain.
Brogan had made the trip with his father only once.  He had been fifteen and had begged his father until he had given in.  When they had returned home Brogan had resolved to never make the trip again.  The men in the small town were ruthless and uncouth at best.  Several whores had approached his father, saying they wanted to lie with a real man for a change.  They even said it would be free.  Brogan’s father was known in the town as “Man from wolves”.  Brogan had never thought of the pack of wolves that often visited the house as unusual.  He had always played with the young ones and sat around the fire with his father and the wolves when they showed up.  His father had always gone and killed two big deer to give to the wolves.  He called it a family tradition from the early days.  The ancestors of the wolves and Brogan’s ancestors had always been close knit. 
         Since he started at noon he knew he would have to camp in the open tonight.  He walked along the path his father had worn on his many trips to town looking at different animals that left the wood to watch his passing.  This far up the mountain they didn’t know to fear man.
         As the sun began to set he caught a glimpse of Gray Beard, the pack’s oldest male, shadowing him through the wood.  He knew not to approach the wolf in his element, it was bad form.  His father had told him he had certain gifts that only the first born son of every tenth generation was given.  Broghan, Brogan’s father, had explained that the gifts would take time to mature and then he must learn to control them.  The first of his latent innate talents had surface when he was twelve.  At night Brogan could sense the direction of every wolf within the pack.  Two years later every time the wolves showed up for a night feast he could talk to them.  His father said it sounded like Brogan was growling and barking at the wolves but to Brogan it sounded as though the wolves were speaking in a human tongue.

to be continued...