Predawn light crawled over the snow-covered fields and brushed the bare tree line, barely touching the Red Hills which rose in the distance, marking the northwestern edge of Caerfiyrridin. Haf stumbled and half fell with every step. Her face was numb with cold, and she couldn't feel her feet or her knees. After a day and a half, it felt like she'd walked the whole island, and gone nowhere. The light glinting off the snow played tricks with her vision, making her dizzy.
A howl met her ears, stark and clear against the previous silence. Two more, and a third followed, and then finally a fourth. Each howl was closer – closer to her.
She scrambled, the soles of her boots slipped on the snow, sending her onto her stomach. The bare skin of her palms met the snow as she pushed herself up, its icy touch biting into them. She could hear the wolves now, their paw steps pounding ahead of her, five heaving sets of breath.
Five wolves appeared, their sandy coats standing out against the pure snow. Before Haf could pick a direction to run, they had surrounded her. It might have been a mercy – her body was beginning to betray her, signaling that it was on the verge of collapse. The fires of anger and desperation only burn so long. Heat consumes, and the hottest fires burn the quickest.
The wolf directly in in front of her transformed, his back rising up and straightening, his fur receding to reveal a cloak made from bear hide, a lined face, and greying hair the same shade as his other form's fur.
"Who are you?" the man asked, his words firm, but laced with fatherly concern.
"Haf," Haf said. It was the name her father had given her. The midwife had frowned at it. It had sounded like what he meant – half.
"Where is your pack?"
"I have none," she answered.
It was the truth. They had revoked her, and she had left them. They were no longer bound together. She was a lone wolf. She was living her worst nightmare.
"It is not safe to travel so early. You seem exhausted," said the sandy-haired man.
She wanted to say, "I'm fine," but only the "I'm" came out before her knees buckled.
• • •
"She is!"
"Is not!"
"Is!"
"Not!"
"Is!"
Haf woke to the unmistakable sounds of small children arguing quietly. Quietly meaning that their words were in whisper shouts, a sound that carried exponentially. She opened her eyes, the warm light of a fire revealing the woven rug she was curled up on.
She was in a den – the stone fireplace settled in where the scooped-out earth met the stonework of the top of the walls. Obviously this den was partially above ground. Some dens were fully underground, others completely above ground like most common houses or trade halls.
"She's awake!"
The owners of the small voices had noticed her stirring. As she sat up, two small girls with wild blonde hair scampered into her vision and sat side by side, facing her. They were almost identical, the only difference being that one of the two had made a failed attempt at braiding her hair.
"Hello," Haf said, trying not to sound wary. She was in a stranger's house, with two strange children looking at her expectantly.
"How old are you?" Asked the girl without braids.
YOU ARE READING
Haf
Fantasy"It was strange, that in her nineteen years of life, free as they were of war, she'd faced death more than most. She knew the taste of her own blood, the presence of Death warm against her neck. She did not fear death as her pack wished her too...
