Chapter Thirty-Two: The Forest’s Souvenir
A light rain pattered, accompanied by the soft jingle of metal and the whisper of leather as Selriph secured his items to the horse. The horse fidgeted, a minor adjustment to its new burden rather than a sign of protest.
The air was thick with the scent of pine, damp soil, and cool moisture surrounded them. Unlike the eager forest, the three at the lodge seemed to find no joy in the water’s sustenance. Nightwind stood neutral, but Selriph shivered, the cold seeping through even the heavy bear-fur cloak he’d acquired from Hagan’s storeroom.
To his right, a silent witness, one that he could not ignore; Emmett the Direwolf witnessed the boy’s every action, his bestial gaze seemingly appraising every little move the boy made.
Selriph could not discern the thoughts that churned in the eyes of the dire wolf; was it judging him? After all, the animal could see his act as stealing, if it even comprehended the concept. Perhaps it held resentment toward the boy for not bringing its master in one piece, contemplating whether it should exact vengeance on him?
It could be simpler; perhaps it was in grief and wanted the company of the boy and their new acquaintance. At least, until they departed.
After all, the wolf had remained alone for two days.
Selriph glanced at the wolf, seated in a forward lunge, now framed as a tranquil tableau, accompanied by the meditative rhythm of the surrounding rain.
As a singular drop of cold struck his forehead, an idea sparked in his mind: perhaps it would be beneficial to bring the Dire Wolf along?
Selriph placed his foot in the stirrup, dismissing the notion. For one, a youth travelling east with a dire wolf in tow would draw unwanted attention—attention he desperately needed to avoid.
Given the explosive stir he caused, his face likely graced wanted posters of many settlements beyond the Shera Woods, regardless of the vector of travel.
Furthermore, there was the consideration of the eventual unlawful traversal of the border; it was sensible to bring the Horse along.
After all, if he made the crossing, he should endeavour to put as much distance as possible.
This was a sensible consideration; his destination offered no guarantee of safety. Although sympathetic to Eldeitian refugees, Naltherys would probably not interfere with Eldeitian agents pursuing illegal emigrants across the border. The crossing had to be inconspicuous; in fact, attempting to bring Nightwind across was likely a far-fetched dream, one he was prepared to abandon if the need arose.
Bringing the wolf along? There was no sense in it.
Selriph saw the beast at rest, paws tucked beneath it, its eyes fixed on the boy, its body motionless. Its figure was almost statue-like, content on its perch.
No indication it would soon move.
I suppose he has no reason to leave here; this is his home after all. In that case…
Selriph pressed his calves lightly into Nightwind’s sides, and with a subtle shift of his weight, prompted the horse into a short strut.
As the boy guided his mount by the reins to an easterly direction—towards their intended destination—he heard the faint rustling of movement behind him, a sound that, impossibly, seemed to resemble the soft padding of paws and the brushing of fur against wood.
Is that…?
Selriph quickly dismissed the notion, attributing the sound to the dire wolf shifting its weight, or maybe just a playful gust of wind in the foliage. He directed his attention to the task of navigating the dense woods, a task that occupied the mounted Selriph.
There was the nagging uncertainty regarding the finer details of his journey to contend with, one he hadn’t fully resolved in his musings from the previous evening.
Under the thick, amber-green trees, the rain lessened to a sporadic patter, and the Selriph thought he detected the sound of rustling leaves and branches from behind.
Selriph attempted to determine the source while keeping his gaze ahead. Perhaps it was some woodland creatures or a gust of wind?
A gust of wind…? But there isn’t…
Selriph raised his head, the air thick with petrichor and the deep, loamy scent of damp earth. A clean hint of damp moss mixed with a subtle, almost sweet mustiness of turning leaves into the air.
Above all, a soothing serenity hung in the air.
Stillness.
And yet, the subtle parting of branches and a soft scuffing sound still came from behind him.
Then after a second, it stopped.
The boy did not turn; instead, he prompted the horse forward.
Yet again, the whisper of something pushing through the undergrowth, followed by a soft crack, came from behind him.
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Selriph pushed his weight down into the stirrups, tightening his core. Nightwind slowed once again to a halt.
He swore he almost saw the horse glance back, a flicker of equine confusion in its eyes.
And once again, the latest bout of shuffling rang in his ears, no longer than a breath.
The sound stopped.
No, it can’t be…
Selriph slowly turned around, almost expecting some otherworldly creature to jump at him.
But the sight that greeted him was far more mundane, but no less surprising.
There in the dim light of the undergrowth it stood, head held level. It held its ears pricked, constantly sifting the forest sounds, and its tail hung in a relaxed curve; its grey-white fur was moist from the rain.
Emmett the Direwolf stood, staring back at the youth, its head tilted in curiosity at the boy who was all but flabbergasted.
Selriph scanned the dense canopy and the ancient trunks ahead. In the corner of his vision, the dire wolf now strutted casually, keeping pace parallel to him and Nightwind. His mount’s face was a stoic facade—if a horse was even capable of such an expression—clearly undisturbed by the wolf’s predatory disposition.
Selriph, however, did not share his mount’s composure.
I can’t bring the wolf along for this. The guards will surely stop us when we attempt to cross the mountain pass…
An image flashed in his mind:
The sheer rocky, snow-streaked walls around him, the cold mountain air breezing into his nostrils, perhaps tinged with the smell of stone and woodsmoke from the guard post before him.
Surrounding him would be the crunch of boots on gravel, the silvery glint of weapons and the rushing wind in his ears. In the centre of his vision, an opulent stone structure adorned with the symbols of the five on its guard towers.
He pictured the scepticism plastered on the guards’ faces, perhaps even fear at the presence of a fully grown dire wolf.
Most worrying of all, he saw the inevitable flash of recognition before chaos erupted, leaving Selriph, his mount, and his unintended tagalong in a desperate flight against the full complement of guards stationed at Greyspire Mountain Pass.
Even without the dire wolf, that scenario was a real possibility. But in the boy’s mind, the creature’s very presence made it an absolute certainty.
Selriph’s mind raced with all manner of solutions to his newly acquired conundrum, some grounded, others less so.
Circumnavigating the mountains was an obvious consideration, one that information from the locals could inform; perhaps they could point to a viable alternate route. However, in the worst case, it would only add weeks to his already lengthy journey to the eastern border, with no real guarantee of success.
More inventive possibilities surfaced, albeit fuelled by a mix of desperation and confusion, perhaps he could have Emmett play dead in a merchant cart—procured by means he did not seek to elucidate at this point—or maybe pass him off as a circus animal.
His gaze landed on the Dire Wolf, the image of the beast adorning a ruffled, colourful collar with an adorned capelet, which immediately yanked his mind back to rationality.
His thoughts then turned to more direct measures, though for all intents and purposes, it was all but impractical.
Climbing the very mountains themselves, the image of the sheer, rocky slopes, the obstacle that impeded his trek to freedom from the city, flashed in his mind. He entertained the idea for a brief moment before a fountain of practical consideration washed over him. Neither Nightwind nor the canine possessed the implements to scale a seventy-degree incline.
Selriph’s mind flashed to Hagan, wishing the woodsman were still alive. Not from any overt affection, but due to the trouble his bestial ward had now left him with.
I can’t bring him on my trek! Who could take care of this mutt…
As Selriph passed the ridge, an epiphany struck him. He looked towards the dire wolf, its eyes and ears piqued in curiosity.
Of course, maybe they could…!
“I cannot impose upon the wolf if he wishes to be by your side…”
The answer came in the lyrical, soothing quality of the elderly Shera lady. Gulica bent over and gently patted Emmett’s fur. A soft, green blanket of energy over her hand, tracing along Emmett’s figure.
The rustle of wind came through the druid circle, softly ruffling the dire wolf’s grey-black coat.
“With due respect, Madam... Elder Gulica…” Selriph paused, his voice trailing off on an awkward note.
“Just Gulica is fine, dear boy,” her voice intoned with an inviting inflexion, urging him to continue.
“Where I am trekking, the wolf will only draw unwanted attention. Besides, I would be going far from its home, so why would it not choose to stay here?”
The question hung in the air, a delicate thread of inquiry. With her eyes scanning the dire wolf’s form for unseen symbols, the elderly woman seemed to be reading something invisible.
“Nature’s call… is a fickle thing, young Selriph. It has compelled our friend here to intertwine its path with yours.”
Selriph almost thought he saw approval plastered on the dire wolf’s expression, but his confused mind might have been playing tricks on him.
Selriph’s gaze flickered to Nightwind. The horse’s indecipherable expression offered no solace for the incomprehensible question welling within the boy.
“But … why?” his voice came brief, intoned with confused query, his throat catching slightly.
Gulica’s soothing smile all but concealed any confusion that might have stemmed from the incomplete question.
The boy cleared his throat. “Apologies. What I mean is, why follow me? After all, I returned without its former master; would it not blame or hold a…” his voice trailed off as the image of Hagan‘s bloodied figure played in his mind.
Elder Gulica’s expression softened with understanding. “Ah, you have been through much, far beyond someone of your years”, her voice cut through the fog imposed by the image in Selriph‘s mind.
“Emmett here bears no ill will; he follows you of his own volition.” Her voice was clear.
The silence hung heavy between them, the dire wolf staring back at the boy. Selriph felt it—the quiet hum of nature’s energy around him, as if trying to convey a message far beyond his comprehension.
Or perhaps it was Selriph trying to impose meaning onto an utterly confounding situation.
Gulica’s words served to soothe the boy’s final concern, which was the only thing keeping him in doubt and indecision.
“Trust yourself, even if the fog of uncertainty looms. You will no doubt find a way to trek to your destination, with Emmett and your steed in tow,” a smile forming on the elder woman.
Selriph simply gave a silent nod as he paced back over to Nightwind.
As he lifted himself onto Nightwind, he turned back to see Emmett staring expectantly at the boy.
A sharp inhale of, scent of pine and herbs filled as the boy called out.
“Come on, Emmett, let’s make a move.” Dormant muscles flexed, forming a smile on his face for the first time in days.
The dire wolf, with its ever-cryptic gaze, moved to join the boy alongside his steed.
On their path to freedom, to the eastern borders of Eldeitia.
Bring doge good idea? 🐕
