These are the tales of the Windwalkers - the Winged Elf folk. And so follows the story of how they came into being. Please note, ElfQuest is (c) Pinis, but, the Windwalkers are mine, all mine, and thus (c) to me! I appreciate all comments and otherwise. Lyrics "soul Courageous" (c) Paradise Lost.
Soul Courageous
"Victory's in vain unless one knows the score
inner peace reclines, in place the bitter scorn
spirit maketh man, always at hand
but spirit fails to save the ones worth waiting for"
- Paradise Lost
With a delighted yip, the small, thistle-down wolf pup hit the herb patch. His huge paws suffocating the life of the delicate purple flowers.
"Puckernuts," his elf-friend muttered as she pushed the pup off the flowers she had been preparing to pick. Thinking it a game, the young wolf leapt on her excitedly, covering her tunic in dirt. "Bad Bumble," she scolded. Recognising the anger in her voice, Bumble crouched, head low and ears back. His golden eyes, still touched by the faintest blue, looked at her pleadingly.
Mouse sighed. She was one of the quieter of the Wolfriders, going about herb collection for the petals from which she made lotions to keep away insects and make the body smell nice. Bumble was little more than a baby, still with the indomitable spirit of the very young. He was bright for a wolf cub, but this just made him more of a handful. Like the pups from previous years, Mouse suspected his sire was in fact Windwalker, the long legged, intelligent wolf that had befriended the healer. No-Name, although getting old, was getting no less vicious but his madness made him easy to trick. Technically he was pack leader, just as technically, Two-Spear his elf-friend was the elf pack leader. Both were quick to anger and Mouse was terrified of both of them. She salvaged what she could of the flowers Bumble had decimated and made to return to the holt. It was a long walk and it was getting late in the day, with any luck she would arrive back in time for supper, the hunters were due to return any day now.
*
Head down, the great grey wolf bore his burden towards the holt. Beside him loped Wildwolf, the green-eyed elf hunter. Across the lupine's back lay most of the corpse of a white-tailed deer. The elf's thoughts were farther away however. He did not look forward to his return to the holt. When Two-Spear had realised that the shaggy haired elf was not really his son, he had suffered partial alienation. It seemed the elder elf had decided that if the child were not his, he was in fact a traitor and had refused to talk to him. It was worse for mother of course, because she had known all along, had suffered the chief's mood swings, his violent temper. He entered the glade that surrounded the holt. There were a few elves collected already, the youngsters, Weaver, his mother Willowgreen and the full-blooded elves that always made him a little nervous.
"I bring food," he announced, with little pride. It had been a good season, the deer were plentiful. "The others will arrive soon." Quickly the deer was removed from his wolf, a quick-tempered beast christened Scar after an unfortunate incident with a boar, and butchered. The full-bloods took some to cook over their fires, reducing the rich, bloody meat to tastelessness. Lacrimosa, the only young true elf, bounded over to greet him. She was as beautiful as a sapling in new growth, with her long, ebony hair and sky-blue eyes. Although with no wolfblood in her, she tried to be as if she were a Wolfrider. Perhaps because he was the most wolf-like of the young Wolfriders, she had chosen him as the main target of her interest.
"Wildwolf," she called, as she ran grinning to him. "How was the hunt?"
Wildwolf merely shrugged, he was not one for many words.
Whatever was going to follow, was ruined by the return of Two-Spear. The leader had been off on a different hunt, with some of his favourite hunters, Quicklance, Crystal and Graywolf, Wildwolf's true father.
They entered the clearing triumphantly, with a hand of deer and nearly two-hands of gamebirds. Wildwolf could not fail to notice the scowl the chief gave him. It sent a chill of fear marching down his spine. The shaggy youngster turned away before his leader might interpret it as a challenge. He was always careful around the elf who had believed he was his father. However, this submissive behaviour seemed to annoy Two-Spear more than if he were to challenge him. The chief glared at him once more, than dismissed him with barely a shrug. Seemingly detecting his unease, Lacrimosa smiled at him, and squeezed one of his hands. Even this did little more than bring a flicker of a smile to his lips.
"Tonight shall be a feast," Two-Spear declared, waving his spear in the air as if a salute.
Perhaps seeking something other than scorn for her idol, Lacrimosa smiled at the chief. "And we shall all enjoy of Wildwolf's white-tail."
It did not get the reaction she hoped for.
"Yes," Two-Spear muttered, his voice thick with contempt. "We shall all enjoy the white-tail killed by his hunting party. And the succulant meat of my party's suntails."
*
The full elf lay beside her shaggy companion, her stomach bloated by the bounty of meat she had consumed. Lacrimosa, unlike the other true elves, was prepared to eat her meat raw, choking back the bloody taste as if she actually enjoyed it. Anything to impress Wildwolf. The hunter had dozed off, his head cushioned by her arm. The thick brown hair that adorned his scalp and most of his body, tickled against her cheek. Suddenly a shape towered over them. The chief's wild eyes glared down on the shaggy elf.
"What do you want?" Lacrimosa queried, speaking softly so as not to disturb her companion. It was a fruitless gesture, for Wildwolf was already awake.
"Is a chief not allowed to look at his people?" Two-Spear asked. There was malice in his voice, but what he said next suprised the both of them. "You have done well on the hunt, youngling, but perhaps it is time for you to face more of a challenge. Treehorns have been sighted in the meadows, and it would be my honour if you were to join me and my hunters."
The sudden fear that Wildwolf felt seemed unfounded. It was unusual, to say the least, for the pack leader to be kind to him and the wolf-boy was unsure of his motives. Something had to be wrong. There was no refusing that look though. "I would be honoured," he replied, trying to calm the shiver in his voice.
*
The sun's smiling face was hiding behind the clouds on the morning of the hunt. There was a heaviness in the air, almost as though rain were heavy on the horizon. Scar was restless. The great tawny beast had no real love for the alpha male and was forever being cuffed into submission by No-Name. The hunters were gathered. Graywolf smiled warmly at his son, although once the chieftain's best friend, the relationship between the two had been strained when the pack second had Recognised the chief's lifemate, a secret that had not been kept as long as they would have liked. Crystal already sat astride the grey-white she-wolf Mystery and Quicklance was still attending to preparations. Another young elf, and one of Wildwolf's good friends, Rillshadow, was to accompany them on the hunt as was young Moonmirror, who despite the fact she was barely past cubhood was displaying strong promise, especially with bow and arrow. Wildwolf was relieved to see them, for it appeared Two-Spear had not singled him out alone. Some of the cubs, Squirrel, Goldmane and Burr rushed around them, teasing the wolves and asking questions. Lacrimosa and Willowgreen, one so tall and dark, the other short and pale, stood side by side. They looked concerned, it was, after all, his first hunt for the considerably dangerous treehorns.
**Tek, son,** Willowgreen sent to him. **Keep well, remember Two-Spear can be as dangerous and unpredictable as the treehorns. Be well my son.**
**I shall be fine, mother,** he replied, feeling not quite as comfortable as he pretended to be. **Look after yourself.**
Windwalker, his one ear twitched forward inquisitively, came over to sniff Scar. The one eyed wolf licked him submissively. Scar may be aggressive to the pack leader, but he showed a certain deference to the long-legged wolf. Suddenly the relative tranquility was disturbed by the entrance of a wolf pup, bounding excitingly into the collection and pouncing on Windwalker's wagging tail. A moment later his elf-friend followed, young Mouse, little more than a girl-child, her grey eyes and brown hair marking her as drab and her quiet nature earning her her name. She smiled shyly at the hunters, and Bumble darted forward to greet her. He was the most hyperactive pup the elves had seen in many seasons. Wildwolf thought little of her, especially the faded and drying wildflowers that were plaited into her hair, she just seemed kind of washy, more elf than Wolfrider. Lacrimosa behaved more like a Wolfrider than her, although the full elf would never bond with a wolf.
"Ayoooo," howled Two-Spear as he leapt astride the huge, shaggy No-Name. "We ride!" And the hunt began.
**Be careful Tek,** came Willowgreen's last, worried sending.
*
The massive stag rose his head, his piercing black eyes regarded the wolf for a moment then, obviously regarding it as no threat, he returned to his grazing. Aside from the does calling their fawns to them, the herd were little affected by the presence of the wolves and elves. Each towered over the diminutive Wolfriders, the huge rack of antlers on the male really did resemble a small tree. Their hunched backs were covered in a shaggy mane of dark fur, particularly evident on the male. Each hoof looked large enough to grind the elves into dust.
"We're really going to hunt them?" Moonmirror sounded awed.
"Indeed," Two-Spear replied gruffly. "But only one, that one." He pointed to an elderly female, huge and impressive in size, but unlike the other does, she had no fawn. "She is too old to breed, but not old enough to be stringy." He grinned, the white of his canines glistening.
**The old doe, with no fawn,** he sent to the pack. **Remember, treehorns are highly dangerous, be careful.**
And with that, the assembled hunters began moving towards the female. Due to their huge size, treehorns took a while to startle, thus, if you could keep your wolf calm enough, it was quite possible to get very close before the attack. Beneath him, Scar became fairly restless, and it was all Wildwolf could do to stop him charging.
**Be calm,** he sent to his wolf-friend.
**Hunt, attack, kill!** was the only reply he got. Scar would not be calmed.
The doe was becoming restless. She had been standing on the outskirts of the herd, which made her a prime target, but now she inched towards them. Crystal and Rillshadow circled around to block her off.
This made her more nervous, and suddenly she made a run for it, directly towards Wildwolf. Scar barely sprang away in time as a volley of arrows and throwing spears hurtled towards the doe. Moonmirror's arrow buried itself deep in the doe's shoulder, causing her to stagger heavily. Trying desperately to keep grip on Scar's thick pelt, Wildwolf attempted not to end up directly in the path of her mighty hooves. The wolf had other ideas however. As soon as the doe had passed them safely by, Scar sprang at her, trying to get a grip with his strong jaws. Unable to balance properly on the leaping canine, Wildwolf tumbled back into the dirt. He was pleased to notice that, in their excitement, No-Name and Dustbiter, Moonmirror's wolf, had managed to shake off their riders and were also latched on to the doe. Injured by the initial flurry of aerial weapons and the wolves's jaws, she had stumbled to a stop, and looked ready to collapse at any moment. Readying his spear, that he had somehow managed to hang onto during the dismounting, Wildwolf sprang forward, and plunged it into her throat. In her death throes, the great deer was kicking, striking about with her head and struggling viciously. As the blood poured from her throat wound she reared up in a final agonising effort, bellowing with pain. And then she fell. Quickly, Wildwolf rolled out of the way of the falling body, but Quicklance, who had come forward to spear her also, was not so lucky. The falling treehorn landed on his leg, pinning him to the ground.
Suddenly, a terrified scream broke the air, a scream that was not emitted by the fallen hunter, but by Crystal. All eyes turned, to behold a horrifying sight - the huge stag bearing down on them. The Wolfriders, and their wolves, scattered in the path of the massive beast, except for two. Only Wildwolf had witnessed the hunter's fall, for only Wildwolf had not been watching the charging stag. And only Wildwolf was near enough to save him.
Leaping over the fallen doe, the shaggy young elf stood beside Quicklance. The elder elf was nearly unconscious from pain. As the stag bore down on the two of them, its beedy eyes seeming to peer straight into his soul, the brave elf tried to both lift the doe and pull the semi-conscious elf out from under it. The doe was heavy however, weighing many, many times his weight. Realising what was happening, some of the other hunters flung weapons at the charging stag, but that did little to distract him.
**My son,** Graywolf sent, **get away from it, you cannot save him!**
He replied back a black sending, he would not abandon the hunter.
Suddenly, something grabbed at the back of his tunic, half lifting, half dragging him away from the corpse, away from poor Quicklance. A heartbeat later, the stag reached the corpse. Wildwolf closed his eyes, hoping he would not have to see what was about to happen. But it helped little, for he could hear it. The bellow as the enraged stag scraped the fallen hunter up on his immense horns, and the sickening thud as he threw him to the ground, and proceeded to trample him. Wildwolf's saviour, drooling down the back of his neck, dragged him into the shelter of the woods, where the other elves had fled. The young elf pushed Scar away as soon as the wolf released his tunic. Perhaps he could have saved his friend.
**You did well, son,** his father sent to him. **You displayed much courage, but there was nothing you could do, nothing any of us could do.**
Wildwolf ignored him. He had been the one who had downed the doe. He was the one responsible for Quicklance's death - the death of one of the finest of the pack's hunters.
Eventually the stag tired of stamping what was left of Quicklance and returned to his harem, leaving the doe corpse free for them to cut up. But it was a grim victory.
*
The shaggy elf sat astride the rock. It was called the howling rock, for it overlooked the plains and when up there, the whole world would hear you. His blond hair was unkempt, his eyes ringed in black and reddened from tears, tears he refused to let the pack see.
**Tek?** The sending was calm, quiet.
**Yes mother?** He did not turn to see her, but he knew she was coming up the narrow path.
**I bring you food.**
He replied with silence. He did not want food. He did not want company. He just wanted to be left alone.
**You must eat,** she replied, sounding concerned. **You were missed at the feast, especially by that young elf friend of yours.**
**No.** He replied, although what he was replying to, even he was not sure.
He could hear her sigh, and the sound of her placing a bowl on the ground. Then he heard her leave. It was hard for even an elf to walk silently on the shingle path that lead to his perch. The horizon was staining red, red as blood, as red as the blood of Quicklance.
He had dwelt in silence for hours, deep in thought about how he could have saved Quicklance, about how unhappy he was here. It was hard to have gone from being the beloved chief's son to the hated child of hidden Recognition. When he was young, before Two-Spear had realised that it was not in fact his biological child, Wildwolf had been pampered, given all the priveleges and spoilt outright. However, you cannot keep such things secret forever - and eventually the secret Recognition had come out. It did not matter that Wildwolf was still as loved by the pack as any cub, and it did not matter that he was in fact the product of Recognition. What did matter however was that his genetic parents loved each other. That was what had hurt the chief the most. Instead of venting his anger on his long-time friend, Graywolf or his lovemate, Willowgreen, he had vented it all on the innocent child. Perhaps because Wildwolf was a symbol of this forbidden love. Perhaps becasue of this alienation, Wildwolf had always been considered some kind of semi-outcast. His age-mates seemed to admire him, yet the elder hunters were disdainful of him. And of all the elves, Wolfrider and true blood alike, the only one that was not direct family that showed him anything bordering on affection, was Lacrimosa. And she had no wolf-blood!
He was disturbed from his recollections by someone ascending the path. An elf from the sound of it, for it had not quite the stealth of the Wolfriders. It was Lacrimosa of course, none of the other elves would have anything to do with him, since he, like his father, appeared more wolf than elf.
"My wild one?" She queried, as she moved fluidly to sit beside him.
He smiled at her, weakly.
"I came to talk with you, all the pack howls of your courage."
He shrugged nonchantly. "I failed."
"But you did not, my dear." She smiled at him, warmly, her sky-blue eyes shining with affection.
"He died did he not. Two-Spear hates me, the rest of the tribe scorn me. What am I to do?"
Lacrimosa seemed confused. "I scorn you not."
"But the rest, elf and Wolfrider alike do," he muttered, allowing one hand to caress the elf's black locks. "What life is there for me here?"
She shrugged in reply. She understood how he felt - she too was alienated from the tribe. The other true-bloods spurned her because she emulated the Wolfriders, trying to hunt and bond with the wolves. And the Wolfriders thought she was just another soft true elf trying to be something she was not.
They sat in silence for a while, and then Lacrimosa met his eyes again - sky blue met feral yellow.
"Come," she said, "let us return to the howl. Wallow in your victory for once!"
"What victory," he muttered, but he followed her down the narrow path. It was getting darker, the sky was the deep blue-black of twilight. Lacrimosa pretended she could traverse the narrow, winding path easily, but Wildwolf knew better. She had not the nocturnal vision of the wolf.
*
Two-Spear looked up from the howl to see the child of ill-faith had returned. Returned with that try-hard elf that seemed so fond of him. He was lost in the wolfsong, had forgotten some of the occurances of the earlier hunt. He only remembered one thing - that Quicklance had died, and none but Wildwolf had been close enough to save him. And the youngster had failed. In truth, the chief was caught up in grief at the loss of his favourite hunter, after Graywolf of course. The somewhat unstable chief often confused facts in the wolfsong, losing the important details.
"I see the young hunter has decided to grace us with his presence." The bitterness was strong in his voice, and the shudder it invoked in the golden-maned wolfboy was delicious.
Around him the pack fell into silence, they were shocked at the anger in his voice, but none of them wished to challenge him, they were all a little afraid of the sharp-eyed leader.
"Today, one of our best hunters died," the chief continued.
**Take care Tek,** Graywolf, who hated sending and sat beside his chief, sent to his son. **Two-Spear is not happy about the outcome of his hunt. He will aim to blame you.** There was no word in the elven language to mean "scapegoat", but Wildwolf knew what his father implied.
Without meeting the eyes of his chief, attempting to make it look as little like a challenge as possible, the youngster slid down to take a seat between young Mouse. Lacrimosa squeezed down beside him, taking his hand in hers.
"One of our best hunters died," Two-Spears eyes bored down on Wildwolf. "Because of the behaviour of one of our younger hunters. One of our inexperienced hunters."
The young elf could feel Lacrimosa shudder with anger beside him. **Before you were here, before he was here, they spoke of your bravery,** she sent to him and he squeezed her hand in reply. He did not doubt that, Two-Spear was known for his schizophrenic mood swings, yet, despite it all, he managed to lead his pack with little discourse.
"This foolhardy youngster took it upon himself to strike the killing blow, the killing blow that Quicklance himself should have struck. The blow that Quicklance was supposed to strike. This youngster underestimated the treehorn."
Despite his better intents, Wildwolf could feel tears welling in his eyes. It was as he had feared - he had been responsible for the hunter's death.
Suddenly, bold, firey Lacrimosa clambered to her feet, despite her lovemate's attempts to drag her down.
"Wildwolf was courageous!" She stated boldly, glaring directly at the chief. The true elves had never really understood the challenge. "He tried to save Quicklance until the end - you did not, you just stood there and watched him try to drag him free. If you had helped he could have been saved. He could have been here tonight!"
She would have said more, except that Two-Spear stepped forwards and slapped her. The tribe let out a startled commune gasp. Yes, she was out of line, but did the chief not realise that she had no wolfblood and could not understand her behaviour for what it was, a challenge? The dark haired elf reeled back, more in shock than pain, she stumbled over a log and fell on her back.
The chief was on her in a second. "You dare challenge me?" He snarled. "An elf to challenge a Wolfrider!"
Lacrimosa's fear was almost tangiable. As much as she pretended to be a Wolfrider, she could not hide her emotions. And she could not help but fear the chief. "No," she muttered thickly. But she did not break his gaze, some insolence remained for she would not look away.
"Submit," he snarled, shaking her shoulders. "Do not stare at me. Submit!"
It was too much for Wildwolf. Rage and grief welled within him, emotions churning and long buried. He dragged Two-Spear away from the now sobbing elf. Two-Spear whirled on him.
"You useless, useless scrap of moss," the chief snapped. "You dare interfere in the challenge. You dare challenge me too?" It was any elf's choice to challenge the leader, but few did, especially not when the chief was not doing anything blatantly unhealthy. Two-Spear and his sister Skyfire had challenged, when his obsession with the humans had led the tribe into danger, and she had been the victor. Now, here near the ancient sculpture of some long dead high ones, his pack dwelt, a place where humans were not an imminent threat.
Their eyes met, in a desperate staring competition. Wildwolf knew he could not win, knew the mad chief would force him into submission as easily as the alpha male dominated his subordinates. But he had to try, if only for Lacrimosa's sake. Most of the tribe were surprised at how long the young hunter managed to hold the gaze.
His golden eyes broke away, and he stared into the earth. Two-Spear grinned ferally. He stood tall and proud before his pack, and glared down at Wildwolf.
"I hereby exile you!" He announced, to the shock of the entire pack. "You have killed one of my best hunters and failed in the challenge. You will from now on not exist to us, we shall not hear you, we shall not see you or scent you. You will be as a whisper on the wind. You are nothing"
Murmurs of discourse sounded from all around the assemble pack. They all knew their chief had never liked the golden-haired Wolfrider, but he had not committed anything serious enough to result in his exile - he had just stood up for his foolish beloved.
"My chief," Graywolf stated, strooling boldly forward to stand before his best friend. "I will ask you to reconsider. My son has not committed any crime beyond a lack of experience." Only the shaggy half-breed dared stand up to the chief in this mood. "Please do not exile him yet. Give him a chance to proof himself."
Two-Spear's glare would have shattered crystal. "Perhaps you wish to join him?" He snarled. "Or perhaps you too wish to face me. Fancy yourself leader now then?"
Graywolf looked away. As much as he loved his son, and as much as he loved the chief, even he knew when to cease pushing the limits. With time he might convince Two-Spear to change his mind. Later on maybe, when the whole pack was not watching, when the chief had taken time to calm down. He shared a reassurring smile with Willowgreen, who was as restless as he was, trying to resist the desire to spring on her lovemate and make him see sense. She was as wise as Graywolf, her soulmate, she knew when not to push the chief.
*
Wildwolf departed that very night. With the great Scar by his side and his few possessions in a small carrying bag, he looked over the tribe's homeplace for the last time. The raised hill, the strange building that the true elves called home, yet the Wolfrider's felt claustrophobic and trapped in. The tall rock where he and his various lovemates had stood to watch the sunset or howl at the stars. His home, but his home no more. Some of the elves listened to the chief's curse and stared through Graywolf's shaggy son, but many had ignored the ramblings. Willowgreen had given him a selection of herbs, plus instructions on what to use them for, most of which he had committed to memory. A hunter he may be, but his mother was a healer and he retained some of that knowledge.
**Good luck, my son,** Graywolf had sent to him with unusual affection. **Be well, and if we persuade him otherwise, I shall find you, as sure as night becomes day.**
Tall Windwalker placed his large paws on Wildwolf's hairy shoulders and licked his face. The youngster hugged the wolf, he would never see another one quite like the one eared, intelligent companion of his mother.
**Miss you,** the wolf sent, Windwalker was the only wolf Wildwolf knew could communicate easily with elf's he was not bonded to. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact he had lived with a human healer for so long. Willowgreen had shared the story with him, a story even Graywolf was not familiar with.
With tears in his eyes, Wildwolf left his pack, with only the great shaggy wolf for companionship.
*
After walking solidly for an eight-of-days, the plains with their small woodland patches gave way to thick, lush forest. Following some sort of lead that he could not determine, Wildwolf entered the cool shade of the trees. They towered above him, accepting him into their embrace. For days he had wandered, unable to hold back his anguish anymore. He had cried, screamed, howled and Scar had been there through all. Knowing Lacrimosa would have wanted to accompany him, and not wishing solitude upon her, he had stolen away without her knowledge. He was all alone in the forest.
That night the air was filled with strange noises, beasts that he had never behold before in his life. Scar curled up close to him, keeping him warm and offering him security and comfort. When he hunted he found himself tracking strange beasts - delicate deer with elongated canine teeth that resembled fangs, small creatures with masked faces, opposable thumbs and long striped tails that watched him curiously and intelligently, bush pigs with strange, almost trunk-like snouts. Great eagles, seemingly too large to fly through the forest swept through the trees, and large spotted cats clambered through the trees. The jungle was not a typical home for a wolf, and Scar would never have ventured there if it weren't for the shared bond.
It had been two eight-of days and a half-eight when he came upon the glade. There was something strange in the air here, a feeling of serenity and familiarity. Scar, who had been restless for most of the journey, pacing continuosly, snapping at shadows and snarling at the wind, walked straight into the centre of the glade and collapsed onto the soft ground. Puzzled at the wolf's seeming comfort in an environment that had put him on edge for days, Wildwolf followed him into the glade. It was relatively large, the trees surrounding it appeared ancient. The merry tinkle of a small stream flavoured the air, somewhere near the limits of the clearing but not quite through it. A ringtail watched him with its intelligent golden eyes, as it groomed its long tail. Whereas the rest of the jungle had appeared frightening, alien, this place was serene. The sun lapped through the open treetops, her light dappling the lush grass and moss that carpetted the forest floor. But probably the most impressive feature of the area was an enormous tree. Its huge trunk would take at least two hands of elves to surround, and its boroughs appeared thick enough to build castles on. It was obviously ancient - its chestnut brown bark contrasting sharply with the less rich brown of the neighbouring trees with their narrow girths. Its leaves were a bright, vibrant green. It seemed to call to him, and although he had never slept in a tree before, he found himself clambering the trunk to curl up in a convenient fork and sink into a surprisingly restful sleep.
*
The sound of wolves at play disrupted him from his sleep. Wildwolf leaned over the branch to stare down at what was happening below. The normally sullen and short-tempered Scar was wrestling with a fluffy wolf pup. Another familiar looking wolf was stretched out in the clearing and a large dark coloured wolf that he recognised as Rillshadow's wolf friend Fang.
He sensed the air with his mind - there were elves here!
"Rillshadow, Moonmirror," he called, almost springing from his perch in the rush to get to the ground as soon as possible.
And suddenly Lacrimosa was there, throwing herself into his arms, kissing him passionately. Around him stood dark, solemn Rillshadow; bright golden-eyed Moonmirror; small dark Mouse.
"You followed me!" He almost shouted in joy.
"Oh beloved," Lacrimosa replied, "how could we not! After what Two-Spear did to you. These are your friends, they could not abandon you."
"I hated how Two-Spear treated you," Rillshadow grinned, "you've always been like an idol to me - especially after you risked your life to attempt to save poor Quicklance. I could no more stay with a tribe lead by a monster like that then I could fly like a bird. Tis a good thing Lacrimosa came to me though - very few elves could have tracked you all the way here. Especially as fast as you walk!"
Wildwolf was dumbstruck, they cared enough to follow him here, abandoning the sanctuary of the oldholt.
*
The early days were hard. Fang and Scar immediately assumed the alpha positions in the four wolf pack. Wildwolf was chief, of course. They chose to stay in the glade, using the forks of the mighty tree to keep their meagre belongings. Hunting was good, although the prey was small, it was plenty to feed nine mouths. With such few of them, they frequently got on each other's nerves and would disappear individually into the forest for some days. The elf that particularly annoyed Wildwolf the most frequently was Mouse. As quiet and diminutive as she was, her meekness bothered him. She would disappear for hours into the forest, with only Bumble for company, bringing back an array of useless flowers and herbs. The other elves were all hard at work - Lacrimosa weaved baskets and mended clothing, Moonmirror carved wooden bowls from deadfall and Rillshadow fished the river with cords he made from sinew. Wildwolf hunted with the pack.
It was late in the evening when Mouse returned after her latest excursion. Bumble alerted them first to her return by leaping gleefully into the glade, nipping Fang's tail. She turned on him, snarling, disrupted from her rest.
"We were starting to get worried," Wildwolf, sitting awake on a lower branch scolded her. His yellow eyes glowed in the light of the moons.
"Sorry," she replied, as meekly as normal, as meekly as her namesake. "I ventured further than I had thought. But I found these." She opened her small closed basket to show him some faded purple flowers.
"Flowers," he scoffed, "what use do we have for flowers? We need food, equipment and you go picking flowers!"
"Sorry my chief," she muttered. "But I saw the toothed deer nibbling on these, and thought they might be of some value."
Wildwolf nodded, already ashamed for his outburst. He had learnt enough from his mother to know the value of flora in their diet. And then something strange happened. Strange stirrings began to rise in him, and a name skipped to the forefront of his mind. "Fler," he whispered.
Mouse looked similarly taken aback, as she tried to control these new emotions stirring in her. **Tek,** she sent to him, all but throwing herself into his arms. Recognition, that which could not be denied. He had been half expecting it, but had thought it would occur between Lacrimosa and he - since she was full elf and he was more wolf than elf. But with Mouse! The most meek and mild of all the Wolfriders. He did not think all that much of her, although she certainly had some courage - wandering off on her own and following him all this way.
"I have loved you for moons," she whispered, her mouth close to his ear.
"You have!" His tone was incredulous. He had never noticed, never paid her much heed.
She nodded, kissing him on the ear. He dared not deny her, he dared no deny Recognition.
*
The scream of the female elf could be heard throughout the glade. She seemed in incredible agony, a pain not normally faced by elves who dropped their pups as easily as the wolves they bonded with. Wildwolf held tightly to the newly named Wildflower. She had renamed herself soon after she and Wildwolf had satisfied the demands of recognition. Bumble, now a large, powerful hunter, sat beside her, licking the sweat from her face. All of the tiny pack were gathered about them, Moonmirror's belly swollen with the pup that she too bore.
**Push, Fler,** the chief urged her mentally as she writhed and clenched her delicate jaw in pain.
**Can't you see I'm trying!** Her sending was almost strong enough to wound his mind. He smiled cheerlessly. It was going to be a long hard night.
It was dawn before the child finally made her
appearance to the world. Her thin wail lit up the air in the glade. As Lacrimosa lifted the infant, they all noticed there was something very wrong with the child. Her arms, there was something wrong with her arms! They were a strange shape and appeared to be covered in sodden feathers. Her hair was a golden hue, her eyes the vibrant blue of the newborn.
"How is she?" Wildflower asked, finally finding her voice.
Wildwolf walked over to look, taking the birth stained infant from the elf and cleaning it on a scrap of hide. He placed her in Wildflower's arms. "Beautiful," he said.
*
"At least it affects them little," Moonmirror said to Rillshadow as the two watched the five turn old cubs dash about the glade. They both had wings, although their hands were fully operational and their manual dexterity was only mildly affected. Whether they would ever be able to use them, their Wolfrider parents could only guess. None of them knew why their children were being born with wings, although the ambience of the glade was the suspected cause. Shimmer and Greywing were their names, two girls, and Shimmer was definately the beauty of the two. Around them darted two wolf pups, leggy youngsters on their way to adulthood.
Suddenly Shimmer began clambering up the great tree. One of the pups, named Furrball in true original fashion (Rillshadow dreaded the thought of a huge, shaggy wolf with eyes of fire named "Furrball", but the children were allowed to name their own wolf friends after all), snapped at her heels. She chuckled. Leaping over the pup, the more atheltic Greywing began clambering up the tree after her.
"Gonna catch ya," she giggled.
"No you're not," Shimmer shouted down at her. And at that moment her foot slipped on a loose branch. She let out a startled squeal as she began the fall.
With scarcely a glance at her lovemate, Moonmirror sprang to her feet and leapt forward to catch the chief's cub. She was going to be too slow though.
Shimmer was quite high up, she was an agile climber, and the fall, if not necessarily fatal, could be exceptionally painful, and they had no real healer, only Wildflower and her herbs. She had only fallen a foot or so before she stretched out her arms. The wind caught beneath the larger surface, the wing surface, and her headlong plummet slowed. Carried by the air currents and gravity, she soared several elf lengths from the tree, before she was caught by Rillshadow, who had also jumped up when she fell.
Their was a near audible sigh of relief as he placed her back on terra firma. She was grinning from air to air.
"I flied," she said, "just like the birdies. I knew I could!"
He looked at her, his expression of fear replaced by one of minor elation, elation at the cubs own joy. "Yes, you did," he told her, "just, please, tell us before you do it again!"
*
Shimmer was the first, but there were many more to follow.