Chapter 3

Like breeds like, as they say, although it wouldn't become apparent until much later. Alix walked in silence behind the mysterious woman. Her eyes were red and swollen, and tears would not stop making their way down her cheeks. She didn't think to ask the woman's name or which Lord she owed fealty to, she didn't even wonder about the wolves that were following them: grief overpowered her mind, dulled her senses, and indulged in the cruelty of repeating the bloody scenes she'd been witness to that afternoon.

They travelled further and further into the forest through paths that rarely saw human footsteps. It was a slow procession, one that took a good part of the afternoon, but the simple-mindedness of the task suited the exhausted survivor perfectly: it was easy to focus on each step, stamping little by little on her grief as she dodged low hanging branches, jumped over fallen trunks, and moved bushes aside. The silence was only interrupted by the song of birds and the excited yipping of the wolves. Sharp barks would be exchanged here and there, but they dissolved into background noise in Alix's ears.

Night was near when the swordswoman finally put a stop to their march: they'd arrived to a small clearing. Beyond the trees arose the familiar sight of the "lost siblings", twin rocky peaks that, legend said, had once been two unnamed children of Adam and Eve who had lost their way as their parents wandered the earth after their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Falling into the trickery of demons, they'd been turned into stone, eternally reaching out for each other for the comfort of each other's embrace. It was difficult for Alix, as she stood in the clearing looking up, not to carve her own features in the darkening landscape, searching for her brothers' fate in the peaks. She had heard one version of the tale from one of the farmers' wives that had once visited her father's shop, and afterwards she heard another from her mother, who revisited the end of the story to add that through the grace of their Lord Jesus Christ the souls of both children had taken flight and ascended to Heaven with their parents, leaving a white trail of stars behind.

As the Sun descended into the underworld, the moon and the stars shyly attempted to take its place, illuminating the dark sky with a thousand images. The path of the lost children reached far into the heavens, originating from the midpoint between the peaks, promising to all who wander that the faithful will always reach the same, and final, destination. This comforted Alix, and she fell asleep on the spot. In her dreams, she saw herself standing between the mountains, her weightless body ascending through the white path as her parents' and brothers' voices welcomed her back.

There was warmth in her dream, and it slowly seeped into her physical body, growing in intensity until it was pure heat, one so fierce that it began to dry her throat and layer her skin in sweat. Alix woke up, gasping for some cool air, and found herself surrounded by the bodies of sleeping wolves. A number of them had surrounded her as she slept, providing some shelter from the morning chill.

She stood up cautiously, not wanting to stir them awake, and tried to find a way out of the circle of beasts. It was a difficult task, since she had little space to prepare for a jump; she doubted that she could get out without stepping on a tail or a paw.

Alix was surprised to feel two hands grab her from behind, lifting her up by her armpits. The strong arms raised her above the sleeping wolves and carefully placed her outside the circle. She turned around to face her rescuer, but the mysterious woman had already turned her back on her, and was now walking to the edge of the clearing. Alix followed her.

A firepit had been hastily made, and in the midst of the remnants of the previous night's fire the young girl could see small charred bones. The large wolf who'd faced her the previous day, the one who seemed the eldest and largest of the pack, was resting next to it. Its yellow eyes followed her with lazy interest as she approached, but unlike before, Alix was not afraid of it.

The grey-haired woman sat down, and Alix followed. Before the younger of the two could say anything, the knight reached for one of the larger leather sacks that hung from her waist, and from it produced a little package wrapped in waxed paper.

"Eat," she said, handing it to the youngest. Alix opened it to reveal a small piece of cheese and four strips of smoked, dry beef. As if a magic spell had been broken, she suddenly became hyper aware of her body: she was thirsty, hungry, and her body ached where it had hit the floor in her panic the day before. She mumbled her thanks as she wolfed down the food, stopping only to take large sips from the water skin she had been carrying in her belt.

Something had washed over the scene, and it no longer seemed as surreal as it had been before, despite the circumstances. Perhaps it was the needs of her body, or the pain that her exertion had caused; there was something about the grounding reality of her physicality that brought her back to the present, ripping her away from the embrace of the previous day's nightmare. She realized, for the first time, that she was alive. She had survived the massacre. It might have sounded like a statement of the obvious even for her own mind, but it was the only way she could describe in words the strange sensation she was feeling then. Like a veil lifted, and in spite of the pain in her heart at her parents' deaths and her brothers' uncertain fate, a new dawn had come and she was there to see it.

In the forest, everything went on as it had been the day before. Birds sang the song of morning, the wind blew through the forest bringing the fresh smell of spring dew, and from far away a river could be heard flowing through the mountains. Beyond the hedges, the massacre of a village was of no concern.

"My name is Alix," the girl said to the silent grey-haired knight. The woman nodded, fixing her eyes on her, but didn't offer a reply. Alix decided to press on, "what's your name?"

A low rumble came from the wolf, sounding almost like a snort. The woman crossed eyes with it briefly, before a small smile tugged on her lips. "I don't have one anymore."

"Huh?" the girl was dumbfounded, "how do people refer to you, then?"

"They don't," her voice was soft, but had a quality to it that Alix had always assumed came with age, as it was present in her mother's and that of other women in the village, but not in hers or her friends'. "I left the villages of men a long time ago; therefore, I don't have need of a name."

"But everyone needs a name! It doesn't matter if people are not around to use it!" argued Alix. "Even wolves have names."

The young girl gestured at the wolf next to them, who by now seemed to be listening in intently to their conversation. The older woman, amused at her, arched an eyebrow as she countered "oh? What makes you think they do?"

"Well, a year ago I was milking one of our goats when I saw a wolf come out of the bushes, at the edge of the village. Branon, who is the chandler's son, his dog was out in the fields. I thought the wolf would try to eat the dog, but then the wolf howled, and another one came out, and they started playing with Branon's dog. There was a third one in the bushes, but he didn't come out. I thought the first one had called the second one to come out."

The older woman shook her head.

"Wolves don't have names, they have titles," she explained. "Titles that change with them, as they grow older."

Alix drew her eyes to the closest wolf to them. The unnamed woman understood where her mind was going, and supplied the answer to the question that was yet to be asked, "He is called 'Father' by the rest, as he is the oldest and wisest."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I've led a long life and learnt all manners of things," the woman supplied as she stood up. Becoming aware of the mystery left behind by her words, she seized her companion for a moment before offering a truce of sorts: "We are moving north, towards a land called by the wolves' ancestors the Garden of Apollon. Perhaps I will tell you how I came to learn these things on the way."

Her curiosity picked, Alix rose to her feet. "For now, let us wake the young ones. We need to be on our way."

As if reacting to her words, the old wolf called 'Father' stood up with them and made his way to where the rest of the pack was sleeping. His howls and yelps had a very human quality to them, carrying to the forefront of her mind the imprint of the memory of her father trying to wake her and her brothers up in the mornings. She could almost hear the chastisement in the canine's voice, as he prodded with his muzzle one wolf or another, and lightly bit those that still were deep in sleep.

More wolves emerged from the shadows as the ones in the clearing awoke. Those that had stayed with her through the night, Alix realized, were the youngest in the pack. As they came to, absolute stillness morphed into chaos: restless and full of energy, they began playing with each other, jumping around and chattering. Some of the older wolves snapped at them, clearly annoyed at their antics.

Two younglings approached her. They yipped and whined at her, prodding her back and hands with their muzzles. Almost instinctively, Alix reached out to pet them, scratching the fur on the back of their ears. Apparently, this was the right thing to do as they leaned into it, barking appreciatively at her. The girl crouched, trying to get into a more comfortable position. This, however, goaded the animals into taking advantage of it, and they descended upon her trying to lick her face in what they considered a friendly greeting, but that was too overwhelming for a young human woman.

A series of angry howls stopped them. The notion that 'Father' had come to her rescue crossed her mind, despite the sounds having a weird, high-pitched tone to them that seemed at odds with the wolf's deep growls she'd heard so far. However, once the two excited pups had retreated, she saw the grey-haired woman looking sternly at the two animals, and had the strange idea that perhaps it was her who had issued the command.

"Come here, Yew-child," the woman said. "They are cheeky, those two. We call them Mountain-stream and Magpie."

Alix stole a glance at the two wolves as she walked to the older knight's side. "Why are they called like that?"

"In the spring, as the snow melts, mountain streams swell and run down into the valleys with a virulence that seems almost frightening; as you can see that young pup cannot sit still. So the wolves took to call him Mountain-stream, as he's just about to reach adulthood and thus cannot contain his excitement. Magpie is a bit more subdued, but just like the birds, all shiny new things cause him to forget himself."

"Yew-child, then, is my title?"

"That's how Father likes to call you."

"And what do they call you?"

The woman looked back to the wolf pack. "Wolf-mother," she replied.