The Song Of The Wolf (Unedited)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

With winter banished to memory and its sombre majesty long forgotten, a goldfinch took flight –its feathers camouflaging it to near invisibility among the wisps of wood that promised blossoming life. The winged creature relished in the seasonal change, glee radiating off of it. The April air was cool, but the bird could feel the potential warmth within as it hopped down onto the newly defrosted balustrade of the courtyard, and burst into a tune.

Maebh observed the performance; the melody rising, softly floating and free; the chorus dancing like the musical notes of an orchestra as the bird swooped elsewhere, to the crown of the valley where the river rushed hither and thither.

She averted her scrutiny back to the courtyard that buzzed with chatter; it had been transformed to accommodate the throng of invitees. The curious mixture of festivity and formality, which characterised Hèmène's 89th birthday gathering, was depicted in the richest of ornaments and embellishments.

The cobblestones that normally paved the courtyard were decked out in sumptuous carpets adorned with golden threads; tapestries of the royal insignia hung from the exterior walls of the castle; floral arrangements consisting of wildflowers in every corner.

Highranking guests were clad in garments made of the finest fabrics, precious jewels glimmering in the light of countless torches that bordered the courtyard; holding conversations like it was an intuitive skill granted at birth, smiles tugging at lips as drinks were sipped daintily.

The indigo gown that Maebh wore was of the highest standard, classically elegant in the way it dropped off the shoulders and accentuated the waistline, its short train dragging behind her as she walked. And yet, she felt like a slice of prosciutto that had mistakenly made its way onto a vegetarian pizza.

Amongst the crowd, there was one other that didn't appear to truly belong. Whatever tête-à-tête he was participating in, the other person seemed enthralled, yet afterwards didn't recall anything specific in what he had said, like a binding spell that kept them from remembering. As if he could converse without leaving any verbal fingerprint.

"What a delightful suggestion!"

Maebh jolted from her musings when the queen settled a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't you think that would be enjoyable, darling?" Hèmène asked.

Maebh smiled politely and nodded, "Yes." she had no clue what she had just consented to but she was fairly confident it wasn't of true consequence. Surely, the queen would abide from discussing political matters during her birthday gathering.

"Wonderful! You'll go tomorrow."

Go where?

Discerning her muddled expression, Benjamin stepped forward from where he had been standing guard and discretely whispered, "His Highness is to take you on a tour of Lykaion Óros tomorrow."

A light bulb went on in Maebh's head as she remembered reading about what she referred to as Arcadia's beehive mountains; a duplet of protruding towns that had been chiselled from rock.

Lykaion Óros, or Mount Lykaion, had initially been one mountain that due to millenniums of erosion had been split in two by the persuasive force of melting glacial waters. Whilst divided in form, the distinct rock formations were united by interconnected walkways that bridged the meandering river below. The northern mount served the purpose of housing for the inhabitants of Arcadia and the southern mount was devoted to public amenities, facilities and shops where provisions could be sourced along with the luxuries of life.

Maebh's shoulder sagged at the revelation and she smiled at Ben in thanks.

The piercing chorus of heralding trumpets erupted, a deafening announcement that immediatly incited entire streams of partygoers to trickle from the courtyard and down the castle's hill, until only a handful of familiar people remained.