Prologue

It was exactly noon when she decided to run away.

The house had become unbearable. Everyone was speaking in hushed whispers, eyes heavy with solemn gravity, lips drawn taut in things unsaid. They were all dressed in a dour black. And she knew why, but she didn't see the point.

There was a light which was missing from those old familiar rooms. Seven-year-old Bella knew what it was. It was that shining voice which made everyone smile, a tinkling laughter which bore away every problem, and a joy to life which matched no other. It had disappeared completely, like a light switch that had been abruptly flicked off, and she wanted it back.

And so, with a backpack filled with a water bottle, a box of Oreos, a green apple, and a hefty well-worn Norton anthology of poetry, she left to go and find it.

The woods behind her house was familiar enough. She had gone on hikes nearly every weekend with her parents, before The Incident, exploring odd mosses and bugs, climbing spindly trees, and following deer tracks until they faded among stony outcrops. "Living poetry," her mother had called it, "where fairies and sprites come to life, and the breath of nature restores."

And so that was where she started. As she ran (stumbled) down a hill and ended up (landed) in a small clearing covered in a canopy of leaves, she felt the tension from the house start to drain from her body, as though the earth was pulling it from her like a magnet. The green light which surrounded her was a balm, cool and soothing. Violet flowers patched throughout the sunny spots, connected by trails of moss and rotting logs. "This is the forest primeval," she whispered, a smile glimmering at the corners of her lips. But this was not her final destination.

Ahead were a few trails to choose from. To the left was a well-worn trail which edged along the Calawah River. A long way down, it led to La Push, but her tiny legs had never made it as far as that. It was the one which the Swans hiked along most frequently, often encountering other hikers. Even though her father was typically a quiet man, preferring to communicate mostly in grunts and wiggles of his bushy eyebrows, Bella could tell he felt a certain amount of pride in being able to direct lost visitors and give out advise and warnings. He would stand a bit taller, and his chest would puff out, and her mother would give her a secret, knowing smile behind his back.

She missed that smile.

To the right was a path which led closer along the edge of the woods, and came out to the parking lot behind a towing yard. It was where teens would hang and be loud and awful, and leaves all kinds of bottles and rubbish. Bella had sworn she would never be like that. Her mother had smiled, and said, "We'll see about that." Bella had found that a bit annoying, but a bit worrisome too. Would she change that much when she got older?

But the middle one was the one she chose to trundle down. It couldn't be seen easily from the clearing; it was tucked behind a mulberry bush, and it was only wide enough to walk single file. It was where her mother took her on sunny summer afternoons after preschool, when her father had to work evenings. It had been their secret path.

It had overgrown a bit from lack of use; only a thin line of dirt could be seen from deer following the path. She smiled to herself – she was glad she was not a big, lumbering adult.

Further down the trail, she found some wild raspberry bushes that were heavy with bright red fruit. She knew these berries were safe – they had stopped here before to pick them – but she knew she should never try any other tempting fruit found in the forest. Her father had told her about all of the people who had eaten such things and found themselves losing arms, or only being able to speak like a caveman, or forgetting their own name.

With her stomach full of the lovely fruit, and her mouth stained red, she plunged deeper into the woods. A few minutes later, she finally reached it.

Her mother had never let her enter the cabin. "It's probably filled with all kinds of nasty bugs and snakes. And evil ghosts too!" Bella shuddered at that. It was black with rotting wood, and the windows had disappeared long ago. Occasionally, she would hear wings fluttering around inside, and the odd bird would come crashing out. But despite this, it was a comforting sight to her. "It was probably built by one of the early settlers," her mother had explained, "over a two hundred years ago, before Forks ever existed."

Bella pressed her hand on the side of the building, and closed her eyes. She had seen pictures of the early settlers at the library, had seen people dressed as them during re-enactments at the museum. She could picture them, toiling away in a small field to feed themselves, a family bundled away deep in the unexplored forests of the west.

It was a much happier place than her house felt, despite the eerie darkness behind the windows. She took off her bag and sat down on a mossy log, and stared at the cabin. Even though her mother would not have been happy with it, she knew that this cabin was going to have to be her new home. She couldn't think of any other options. It was going to have to do.

She wasn't a stupid girl, either. She knew the Oreos wouldn't last her long enough, so she would have to sneak back home to stock up every so often. She knew where the secret key was (underneath the garden figurine holding a sign saying "Gnome Sweet Gnome"). Her father probably wouldn't notice. He seemed to miss most things since The Incident began. And her grandmother who had only just moved into their house wouldn't notice, either. She only seemed to care what her rival, old Mrs. Everly down the street, had gotten up to lately.

A loud rustle in the woods behind the cabin startled Bella out of her thoughts. She stared at the brush, pulling her bag to her chest, bracing herself to face whatever it was. She noticed its nose first, black and shiny and leathery as it poked through the branches. As her eyes adjusted, she saw two glittering black eyes further back in the shadows. She held her breath. They had never encountered any wolves in their hikes, but she had heard their howls in the depths of night before. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she felt frozen to her log.

Finally, the creature blinked, and stepped forward.

It did not look like any of the wolves she had seen in her books. It was about the size of a German shepherd, which was smaller than she thought they were supposed to be (although she wasn't too sure that she knew exactly what size they really ought to be, if she thought about it), but it seemed to have more of an appearance of a large puppy. Its ears were too big for its head, and its paws seemed a bit too big to make sense to walk with. And its eyes held a spark of mischief to them, and a curious gleam as it examined her. And it wasn't grey either, but more of the colour of a warm hot chocolate at a Christmas market. She felt herself relax, and let out a slow breath. The creature's tail was wagging. She knew it was not going to hurt her.

"Hello," she said quietly. It gave a small "woof" that seemed to be more of a sneeze, and Bella could not help but giggle. It tilted its head and gave a cheery yip in response. Bella held out her hand, palm upwards, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid startling it. It trotted forward, and bumped its nose on her fingers, before setting its chin down on top of them. She smiled, and started scratching its chin. It closed its eyes appreciatively.

After a few moments of scratching, her fingers got tired, and she stopped. It opened its eyes, staring at her, before flopping suddenly onto the floor at her feet with a soft whomp, and rolling onto its back, with its tongue lolling to one side. Bella could not help but laugh outright then at this silly animal.

"What is your name?" she asked, as she rubbed its stomach. "Are you a girl?" she asked, and the pup narrowed its eyes, making a "harrumph" in response. "So, you're a boy?" A cheery yip confirmed this. Bella pulled out her big anthology of poems, and laid on the ground next to it on her stomach to flip through it, and the pup flipped over to imitate her, watching her with curiosity. A warmth radiated from him that was comfortable, despite the heat of the late summer sun.

"I don't think you should have a name from the more modern poems, you seem like you come from something more ancient than that." She received a slobbery lick across her cheek for that, and glared at the pup for that. He looked back at her with innocent eyes as if to say "Is something wrong? I don't see any problems here." She stuck out her tongue and looked back at the book, only to receive another lick, this one getting into her hair.

She closed the book and sat upright. "Fine, I won't give you an awesome cool ancient name. Are you happy?" It gave her a small whine, and lowered its head deferentially as an apology. Bella felt guilty then, and ran her hand across its head a few times. "Its okay, I guess you didn't know. You're just a dog after all."

It growled in response, and she started. "You're not a dog?" she asked, and it glared at her. "So you are a wolf then." It nodded, almost imperceivably, in response. "Okay," she said, "but I didn't think wolves could understand people. Are you a magic wolf, like the ones in the fairy tales?" The corners of his mouth seemed to curl up a bit, and it panted happily. "You seem much nicer than them," she asserted, and it yipped twice.

She reopened the book, but it was not long before another distraction arose. The wolf was sniffing her bag. When he started pushing it persistently, and pulling at it with a determined paw, she yanked it away from him. "That's my food," she insisted. But the pup whined in plea, and she felt a guilty tug in her stomach again. "Fine," she acquiesced, "you can have a cookie."

She opened the package and pulled out a cookie before a piece of trivia floated up to the surface of her memory. "But dogs can't have chocolate," she argued. The pup barked, and grabbed the cookie out of her hand trotting out of arm's reach before she could grab it back.

"Your funeral," she muttered as the pup munched away happily, before turning back to her book. A passage translated from Norse caught her eye.

Much I have journeyed,

Much experienced,

Mighty ones many proved.

Whence will come the sun

In that fair heaven,

When Fenrir has this devoured?*

A passage above explained that Fenrir was a wolf from Norse mythology who was foretold to devour the king of the gods, Odin. As her new friend returned to her, clearly wanting another cookie (which she had expected to last her a few days at least), she could believe he would have the appetite to eat a god.

"I'm going to call you Fen," she said decisively. When the wolf twisted his head, she explained, "Fenrir was a great wolf that the Vikings told stories about, and could eat whole worlds if he wanted to."

The wolf yipped happily at this, and then stared pointedly at the box of Oreos. She sighed, and passed one to him. "You're going to eat me out of house and home, Fen," she murmured, echoing her grandmother's sentiments about all of guests who were in and out of the house since her mother had passed.

The thought sent a pang of longing through her chest, and she suddenly felt sad. Fen seemed to notice, and set his snout on her lap, huffing in solidarity. She ran her fingers through his fur until the feeling began to ebb.

They spent the afternoon together, as Bella read Fen pieces from her book, and played fetch with branches and pinecones.

As dusk fell, and the girl grew sleepy, she curled up amidst the bushes and brush, next to her new friend who had helped her forget about the dark clouds hanging over her former home. It wouldn't be so bad to live her after all, she thought as her mind wandered off to dreams and peace. She was cozy and warm, content and happy.

But, in the middle of the night, when the search crew and dogs, crashing through the woods with flashlights and heavy boots, found the little girl who had wandered off, there was no magic wolf to be found.

*Passage excerpted from The Poetic Edda, translated by Benjamin Thorpe, which is available in its entirety online should you choose to seek it out.

A/N: (Not mandatory reading, but an amusing look into my puddle of a brain.) My name is Basil42, and it has been 10 years since I last called myself a Twihard. But, with recently finding out that I've been laid off, and the general chaotic nature of the world, I have fallen back into old comforts. Thus, this story.

I have converted from Team Edward to Team Jacob, so the bias may come up from time to time, but I promise to be amicable to all parties involved.

I welcome any and all comments, constructive critiques, concerns, conclusions, collusion, and caricatures of cats. Is anyone still out there, or has the apocalypse truly taken hold?