THE SHE-WOLF AND THE RAVEN
Chapter 4: Freeze
"In the long time ago, K'wati lived here on earth. He was childless, for none of the fair virgins of the earth would marry him. He went back and forth over the earth, but he could not find a wife. So he returned home, disappointed.
"For a few days he remained at home after his return. Then he went to a neighbor's house where there were two young women. He told them that there was a large fish run in the river. So they got their fish clubs and waded out in the water to kill the fish. There were many fish there, hundreds of them. K'wati had caused the run on purpose.
"When the young women were in the water, he changed himself into a salmon, and came down the river with the other fish. Then, before the older girl knew it, he seized her and carried her to his home [and married her]."
oooooo
A salmon cared more for avoiding predators and staying alive than grappling with questions of heart and place and intrinsic identity. A salmon's motivations were simple, easy to understand, and even easier to endure. All a salmon required to live was ingrained in its DNA. They were born in fresh water and their instincts compelled them to seek out the oceans. Once they reached maturity, they were pulled again to return to the place of their natal genesis and begin the cycle over again. Along the way, they ate and hid, swam and avoided predators. While not without peril, their lives required little in the way of ontological self-awareness.
Loki could find a certain measure of retreat through embodying different forms. The uncomplicated instincts of some creatures gave him a reprieve, albeit temporary, from his Aesir woes. A salmon did not weep for lost mothers or long for the acceptance of fathers. If he stilled his internal thoughts enough and fully dwelt in the biological instincts of the fish he embodied, he could free himself to live solely for the compulsions of the salmon.
For the past months and months, he had flown over the crowded cities of Europe in the garb of a falcon. His keen eyes and strong wings allowed him to look upon the busy cities far below. Few noticed the predatory bird as he flew overhead, watching their inhabitants bustle about like ants in their colonies. He knew how easily their lives of frenzied monotony could end or unwravel - just as his had. Instead of enticing him to join them, observation of the great Midgardian cities reminded him of his own past and all he sought to escape from. He decided to leave the heavily peopled urban centers and countrysides to pursue the less populated regions of the realm.
Loki spread his falcon's wings and flew to the coasts of the northern seas. There, he landed on the shifting swells of the frigid waters and transformed into a humpback whale. He sank deeper and deeper into the quiet currents and began to swim.
Days and times lost meaning as he explored. The sapphire blue ripples of the open ocean, the rocky edges of the frozen coasts, and the ancient, palatial towers of ice floating across the sea were marvels to behold. However, natural beauty proved a temporary distraction and this form's instincts gave him little reprieve from the cares he sought to avoid.
Whales did not live alone. The intelligent, social animals longed for relationships with other creatures and knew well how to mourn their dead. As he swam, the sharp stings of grief and isolation plagued him and overflowed into his solitary whale songs.
When he approached another large, frozen expanse of land, he decided it was time for a change. He transformed into one of the strong, powerful polar bears he saw hunting for fish and seals on the coast. These were solitary predators and this form enabled him to travel inland undisturbed for some time.
Farther south, the climate warmed and forests replaced icy tundra. His heavy coat became suffocating and so he exchanged it in a river for the cool relief of scales and fins. In a shimmer of green, he became a large salmon and swam farther and farther west.
It is easier this way, he told himself for the weeks upon weeks as he lived as a fish.
The lingering warmth of the last days of autumn had dissipated into the biting chill of early winter. The current was now edged by rapidly thickening shelves of ice. Above him, the sun's rays filtered through the clear waters of the river, refracting and bending into ever-shifting patterns of drowned light. As he scanned the surface for possible insects to eat, his attention was arrested by a gargantuan shadow that moved over him like an eclipse of the sun. He carefully made himself invisible before he rose to the surface to investigate what kind of creature cast such a large shadow.
Leaning down to drink from the stream was a grey wolf. Loki was no stranger to wolves, on Midgard or Asgard, but this wolf was the size of a horse and that was something he had surely never seen before, on either realm. Intrigued, he wished to know more. Once the wolf finished sating her thirst, she peered closely around her into the dark forest pines, and trotted back the way she had come.
Loki could hardly follow the wolf as a salmon, but he wished to trail after her without rousing her suspicions. Ravens were well accustomed to cohabiting with wolves and so he quickly shifted again.
Loki flew after the wolf, though the wolf ran so swiftly, he was hard pressed to catch her at first. If not for her massive footprints marring the soggy, three-day old snow, he may not have found her at all.
She was running through the forest with such speed that at first he thought the wolf must be on the hunt. As he flew from tree to tree to watch her movements, it became clear that she had no visible goal or purpose in her exertions. She simply ran.
When she tired, she jumped off a rock and into a snowbank. There she rolled in the snow until she was coated with a fine covering of powder. Then she climbed the rock and jumped into the snow again with a delighted snort and huff.
The wolf was playing.
Loki cawed a raven's laugh and watched, entranced with the sight of her antics. He decided to follow the wolf for a little longer, half in hopes of gaining easy meals, and half out of his roused curiosity.
As he hoped, the wolf paid him little heed in the days and weeks that followed. Loki ate well from what he could glean of her kills and, when satiated, he observed her from afar. Gradually, he crept closer and closer to the wolf as she slept or searched the forest with her wary, dark eyes.
It was those eyes that especially intrigued him. They overflowed with the eloquence of a lifetime of words and emotions. With one glance, he knew that she was no ordinary wolf.
As if her size alone had not first betrayed her, when he neared her, he could barely contain his surprise when he discovered the wolf reeked of magic. It wafted from her large frame like mist rolling off of the sea. Why would such a creature be so imbued with intrinsic magic if she could not wield it?
He was fascinated.
Parts of Loki's personality (what his mother liked to call his "intrinsic soul") remained no matter which form he inhabited or how he sought to dispel them. One such characteristic that he never could fully escape from was his curiosity. Another was his love for mischief and play. Hidden in the form of a raven, the instincts of a bird only amplified all these traits already innate in the Asgardian exile and drew him to the mysterious wolf.
Ravens sometimes engaged their lupine companions in games and chases after their hunger was satisfied and Loki tired of merely watching the wolf from afar. He decided he would follow their example and began to taunt and tease the she-wolf to see if she would join him in play.
She did.
For weeks, he barely left sight of the she-wolf, but insisted on rousing her ire in whatever way he could concoct. His assumptions of the wolf were correct. She was intelligent and made a more than satisfactory companion to the raven.
Bound in the form of the social bird, Loki began to feel keenly his instinctive need for companionship. While dwelling as a salmon or a polar bear, his isolation hardly bothered him. Those were creatures with less thirst for relational connection and he could more easily bury his own innate loneliness beneath their in-built desires for solitary living. Now, as a raven, all his long-stifled desires for belonging were provoked with a vengeance. The play and presence of the she-wolf gave him a sense of companionship that helped ease the ache like a dip in cold water eases burned flesh and so he continued to follow her.
He began to plot over other forms he could take on. On impulse, and compelled by his burning curiosity, he wished to see how the she-wolf would react to him as a wolf.
If he were honest with himself, he woke in a foul disposition that day. He dreamt again- a human dream - and he needed to fight, to hide, to run, to escape. He needed something, anything, to keep him from facing what that dream awoke in him.
Sometimes, when his curiosity and propensity for mischief were allowed free rein, he did not fully stop to consider the consequences of his actions. He typically took more care both in analyzing the season and habits of the creatures he gave himself over to before shifting. Emerging from the forest as a horse-sized male wolf, unconnected to a pack of any kind, and introducing himself to the lone she-wolf was just such a moment of flawed judgement.
He did not anticipate what followed.
As he shifted forms and walked towards her, he gauged her reaction carefully, waiting to see if she would sense his otherness, challenge him for intruding on her territory, or welcome him as a companion. Since he woke so listless and in need of exertion, he hoped she would challenge him. It was long since he had a proper fight and she could be a fierce and formidable opponent.
The grey wolf did not charge him. Not even a growl or a show of raised hackles welcomed him. Instead, she did what none on Midgard had willingly done for him during his failed attempts at conquest.
She bowed.
She prostrated herself before him, lowered her proud head, and gave him her automatic and unquestioned reverence as alpha, as her superior wolf.
He almost would have enjoyed such a warm welcome and, for a moment, it captivated him and stole his breath away.
But then he felt it.
The magic she carried within her came alive with a vicious, silent roar. Instead of flowing off her in its usual gentle waves, it forcefully engulfed them both in a tidal wave of power that left him staggering. He could feel it barraging his will and seeking entry to subvert all within him to its hold. He feared it would drown him or enthrall him (or both).
His first instinct under threat in this form was to fight, so he lunged. If he were in his Aesir form, he would have reverted to his magic as his first defense - a more efficacious response to this situation. However, he only came to that conclusion when it was too late.
His physical attack with teeth and claws may have broken the spell of her complacency, but it did little to constrain her magic. It was a deep, ancient, instinctive magic, one full of its own creative, regenerative will. It did not taste of ill-will or malice or destructive intent. Instead it was nearly suffocating in its desire to protect and rejuvenate all it contained. No matter how he bit or scratched or fought, he could feel her magic soaking into him like water into sand and he sank powerlessly into it.
In a final effort to protect himself, he fled. He hoped distance could dissipate the potency of her magic and release him of the tenterhooks digging into his soul.
oooooooo
If he transformed into a salmon or a falcon, a beetle or a bear, an Aesir or a Midgardian, he could still feel it. Her magic followed him and changed with him in every form. It behaved like unwanted seeds carried on the wind and took root in the vulnerable soil within him. Distance and time failed to weaken the burrowing growth of its roots and it gained in strength the longer and farther he fled.
He failed entirely to sleep or find any semblance of refuge. He tried every spell he could think of, but to no avail. He could feel the other wolf now, in his very bones - as if he were now forged of two spirits instead of one, as if she were a physical extension of himself. He could sense her searching for him, feel her chasing him, and he could only gape at the internal chasm their separation caused in each soul. He knew she would not stop, could not stop, and the farther he ran, the closer she came to finding him.
He did not cease trying. Again and again, the more he did fought to free himself, the more he was ensnared. It was as if he were pulling on iron shackles that only grew tighter the more he struggled against their cruel bonds.
Perhaps it is temporary and time will lessen its strength, he thought to himself. Perhaps it is a spell meant to accomplish a particular purpose and then it will dissipate. Surely, it will not last longer than the lifespan of the she-wolf.
He rebuked himself soundly for his lapse in judgment. He knew better.
All creatures shared very similar biological drives. They required food and water, shelter and safety. In addition, all were endowed with a basic instinctive need to reproduce themselves and perpetuate their DNA to futute generations.
Here was an unmated she-wolf of a very unusual kind, isolated from all others like herself. It was little wonder she clung to a new wolf with her instinctive magic, whether she did so intentionally or unintentionally. He wished he had considered that before he shifted into a form which complemented her own. Once again, his curiosity had overtaken his foresight and precautionary judgment.
He mocked himself for being so charmed at her obsequious welcome. It disarmed him more than any assault of her strong teeth and left him vulnerable for her quiet attack from behind. This was an error he had long since mocked his brother for indulging. Loki, it appeared, was not immune to such a mistake. (Imagine how quickly Midgard could have defeated him in his attempted conquest if they but knelt before him and feigned allegiance! His own vanity and flattered ego proved his undoing more than any failure in defensive tactics.)
Here the she-wolf discovered his weakness and exploited it, without even knowing she was doing it. What else could such magic accomplish? He had little choice but to follow the chain of magic back to where the she-wolf lay and this time, it was he who surrendered.
Ooooooo
In the flowering fragrance of the late Canadian spring, the snows melted away into bursts of sunlight and earthen shrines of emerald and pine. Throughout the winter, Loki and the she-wolf shared hunts and play, days and nights, and kept watch for each other in case of possible harm. Now, as spring exploded in a barrage of colors around them, they continued their lives intertwined together. If he were to be exiled on Midgard for an indeterminate period of time, he could not say this was an unpleasant way to spend his days.
Late in the night, when the moon rose through the branches of the coniferous forest overhead, he felt the grey wolf's warm side curled against his own white-furred back. He opened his eyes to peek at the sleeping wolf beside him and he could just make out the way her chest rose and fell with each quiet breath. Then he closed his physical eyes and looked out with his innate sense of magic instead. He carefully observed the threads of magic emanating from within the she-wolf that enfolded them both. He could feel the magic hum between and through them and he basked in the beauty of the enthrallment. It was unlike any spell he had seen in his many millennia of life. It nearly intoxicated him with its potency, begging him to drink ever deeper and allow its roots to flourish within him. It asked him sink into it and let it carry him instead of fighting with all his strength to stay above the water to keep from drowning in it.
In these moments, he was hard-pressed to remember why he was still fighting (however weakly) against it. He still thought it would fade...eventually (or so he told himself when he paused long enough to think of it). He tried to ignore the niggling voice that whispered somewhere in the back of his canine head. That voice cried out against the shackles, the loss of autonomy, and the surrendering of his long-heralded isolation.
He should really fight harder against it, but as her warmth enveloped him, he felt little motivation to try. He knew it was not only her physical warmth that kept him so complacent.
He was the alpha male wolf and his pack mate doted upon him with near-reverent adoration. She could not bear to be parted from his side and spent the greater part of her day concerned with showering him with affection, attention, and ensuring his well-being. The wolf instincts wired into his physical form hummed with pride and the distinct feeling of fulfilling the pinnacle of life's achievements in his place in their small pack. There were no others to compete with or prove his worth to, and he had what he had always longed for: respect and a place to belong.
It was an apt analogy, in a way, to view his struggles on Asgard in terms of wolf hierarchy. There, his brother symbolically ruled their "pack" as alpha and none ate or joined the pack without his consent. Loki, long ago, had been confined to the role of omega. As the lowest ranking wolf, he was allocated to the role of pack scapegoat, jester, reconciler, and diffuser. His purpose was to take the ire of the rest, solve their problems, and ensure all maintained harmony. He bore the brunt of the alpha's tempers and, while a valued part of the pack and cared for as such, he was the one blamed for all ill-fortune that befell them.
When he left Asgard and his "place in the pack," he gained the freedom to start over and find his own place in another "pack" (in this case, quite literally). He felt no rush or compulsion to change his circumstances or pursue autonomous isolation again (niggling inner voices aside). He rolled over and joined the she-wolf in sleep for another night, deciding again to bury himself in the instincts of the wolf for another day.
Maybe tomorrow he would fight harder. Maybe tomorrow he would free himself from the deliciously enticing warmth of her spell.
Ooooo
Loki howled and howled in a wolf's mourning song late that summer evening. The sun remained fixed in the sky till late into the night as this side of Midgard tilted its head towards the far-reaching rays of its sun. These nights whispered to the Aesir part of him and dredged up echoes of his formative childhood memories. As he watched the colorless Midgardian stars follow after the late setting of the sun, he missed the vibrance of the Asgardian sky. He remembered watching the shifting of their seasons from the towers of the palace, enduring tedious astronomy lessons with his restless brother, and spending hours listening to the mythical tales their tutor told them about the constellations. Those were happy days. It was easier to remember the positive days of the past when he stared at this sky and thought of that season of his life. It stirred a longing for home that no layers of canine instincts could fully silence.
He fought back the wave of nostalgia that rose within him like a flash flood in the desert after the rains. He knew it was not solely due to the stars. He could feel it, as deep as his heart beat and the very thrumming of his thoughts. It was time to commemorate the death of his mother.
On Asgard, it was tradition to remember the dead one day each year. The community gathered to call out the names of those in Valhalla into the ears of the stars. Together, they honored their memories of the dead as if they continued as living members of their people (even if confined to memory). Separated from his kin and the waters which bore his beautiful mother to her honored grave, he felt her loss that much more keenly. A crushing weight of grief fell upon him as he thought of the woman who had raised him as her own. She had always showered him with so much devotion that he never doubted she bore him herself (until he unhappily discovered otherwise).
The grey wolf watched him and followed quietly after him as he made his way to a clearing in the forest. He could not shoot the commemorative flaming arrows into the heavens or risk an expansive show of magic by painting her name and face across the night sky for all to see, but he could give her the honor of a wolf's mourning song. From the halls of Valhalla, he knew Frigga would listen and understand, for she had always understood him better than any other.
The grey wolf quietly listened for some time as he howled his mourning song. Then she emerged from the trees, pressing her shoulder against his, and she lifted her own voice to howl with him. Her song was just as plaintive and forged of tears and grief as his. He had little doubt she carried her own deep sadness. He could feel it through the current of magic connecting them, though she could not speak the details to him. Through her songs, he knew she understood the reason for his and she wished him to know he was not alone in his loss.
They stayed as they were till dawn. When their voices gave out, they fell asleep in the grass, intertwined together.
ooooooo
The easy warmth of summer brought the migrating herds of caribou and the wolves wanted for nothing. The summer drifted into the golden autumn. For three quarters of the earth's journey around the sun, the pair of wolves existed in a harmonious companionship, connected by the strong familial affection of belonging to the same pack, even one so small as theirs. It was a peaceful, easy shared existence, kept unbreakable by the mystic bond tying them together.
The change came as suddenly as the snowstorm which brought the end to the illusions of an extended autumn. Winter came and with it, the relationship between the pair of wolves was upturned like snow in wind.
They both felt it when the weather shifted.
One day, as the snows fell and the woods were muffled in silence, the she-wolf's scent changed. Loki woke to every sense in his lupine form bursting with intoxication. The very air between them shifted and crackled like fireworks exposed to flame. Her manner shifted from that of subservient companion and sister of the pack to something forged of fire and heat. She still nestled against him and chased him through the forest, but it was no longer motivated by play but something so heady he chased after her without question. All he could think of, sense, or wish for was the grey wolf with her dark eyes and she welcomed him with equally vibrant fervor.
Even the she-wolf's magic changed. It roared to life with an electrical intensity so brilliant that it engulfed them both in its inescapable infernos and they tumbled head first into the season of courtship with the feverish intensity of a winter blizzard.
In the weeks that followed, it was solely the instincts of the wolf that reigned. The overwhelming drive of the mating season crashed over them like an avalanche and they emerged as no longer simply members of the same pack, but a mated pair. He was bound completely to the she-wolf before he could even consider what was happening or allow the non-wolf parts of himself to evaluate his decisions. If he had been able to hear anything beyond his inundated instincts, he would have heard that niggling voice calling to him again in a last cry of warning.
Wolves mate for life, it said. And there is no telling the lifespan of a magical Midgardian wolf. You are trapped.
oooooo
The she-wolf blew her hot breath from her nose and dislodged the accumulated snowflakes that clung there in a little flurry. She panted slightly and then dug at the ledge before her again. Her paws left tracks of dirt in the white powder and little mounds of snow built up on either side of where she dug.
Loki trailed after her, keeping a wary eye on the forest behind them. Beneath the deep snow, she unearthed an overhanging rock face as deep as her large head. However, she could dig no farther into the rock. She whined and tried to dig again and again but without success. She gave a huff of frustration and turned to abandon the ledge.
She wandered into the forest again until she led them to another rocky outcropping buried under the snow. Then the entire process began again. After four discarded attempts in one day, Loki could only flop himself on the ground and watch her fuss and fret.
For weeks, the grey wolf compulsively investigated cliffs, rocky hills, and forest caves. None were acceptable to her exacting standards (especially challenging for a wolf so large) and so the search continued. Loki's attempts to help were rebuffed with a fierce growl and a nip on the neck so he only followed and watched in silent support. She could barely think of anything else each day. She was so compelled to keep looking, keep searching, that she would have failed to eat or sleep if Loki had not pressed her and brought her food.
As the sun sank into the tall fir trees, the grey wolf collapsed onto the ground beside him in a huff of frustration. She panted and whined as she nestled into his side. The golden light glistened off the snowbanks around them and he could just make out the bare skin on the underside of her rounded abdomen. Despite the cold, she'd been biting the fur off for weeks now to prepare to suckle her coming pups.
It would not be long now and they both knew it.
The frenzied intoxication of the mating season fizzled and quieted from leaping flames to glowing embers. The same lupine instincts which governed their courtship now whispered their predetermined maternal and paternal roles into their iron-firm drive to care for the fruit of that bond. He could feel her inner compulsion to find a place that would be protected enough, secret enough, clean enough for the day that was quickly approaching and her growing fear that she would fail to find a den in time.
He licked the side of her face in an attempt to reassure her. Then he closed his eyes to feel her breathe in and out beside him. He could still feel her emotions as if they were his own. Her magic, while now of a different timbre than before, remained just as compelling and it lingered within them like the promise of the coming spring. She struggled to calm herself, even as the comforting threads of her magic covered them both with as much warmth as a woolen blanket.
Oooooo
The grey, bushy tail of the she-wolf vanished into the darkness of the rocky cavern three days later. Piles of displaced earth on each side of the snowbanks gave evidence to how meticulously she had prepared the den within. A large bush hid the entrance, which was so narrow she had to crawl to enter. However, the space within was enough for her to stand and turn twice and it satisfied all her requirements for safety and protection. With a jagged-toothed grin and an excited romp in the snow, she showed her satisfaction with her den and her relief in finding so adequate a shelter.
Two days later, the darkness of the entrance swallowed her and she emerged no more.
For over two months, the white wolf brought deer and rabbits, fish and moose, to the entrance of the den and left them for his mate. When he was not hunting, he stayed to keep guard with a feverish intensity. His instinct to protect his mate increased exponentially when the silent wood was gradually interrupted by the growing volume of tiny yips and whines and cries. The protective mother soundly rebuked all his attempts to enter the den. He was sent, again and again, back to his post to guard them until it came time for the pups to leave the den and join the pack.
When the day came for the grey wolf to emerge, her eyes sparkled with unconcealed pride. She grinned happily at her mate with all her teeth when she came to meet him after his long vigil. Two clumsy pups followed close at her heels, wide-eyes taking in the wonders of the wood around them for the first time. They did not know whether to bolt in fear at each new sound or investigate each tree and bush they met along the way.
The pair of pups froze when they first noticed the tall, white wolf waiting for them. They sank closer behind their mother and she pushed them each with her nose. She released a wolfy laugh and encouraged the pups to keep going. They forgot their hesitation and their small legs ran as fast as they could towards the new wolf. They tumbled face first into the powdery snow as they fought to reach their father first.
One pup, a cobalt grey a shade lighter than her mother, gave a cheerful yip as she jumped at his ankles and tried to bite him with her weak mouth. He nestled her head with his own just as the second pup reached them. The male pup was covered in ivory, cream, and dust colored fur. He jumped, missed, and fell into a soft heap on the snow between his paws. Loki gave his own humored grunt before helping right the little pup and licking his face.
They were his children.
He could feel within each pup their own little reservoir of magic, instinctive to each. While weak and juvenile, he knew they would follow after both their mother and father in whatever mystical arts inherent in their blood. The pups were also bonded to the pack, but it was with a different magic than that which bound Loki to the grey wolf. The pups' bond was that of the wolf - of blood and kin and instinct - and it lacked the regenerative awareness of the magic that tied him to their mother.
The she-wolf came and rubbed herself against him in greeting, meeting his eyes with her own with an expression of such undisguised delight and adoration that his own joy bubbled up within him like a spring from the earth. Her happiness overflowed through her magic, engulfing him in it and making her positively contagious. He grinned, licked her face with his tongue, and welcomed her back into their growing pack.
Oooooo
Author's notes:
Thanks all of you who have read, reviewed, favorited, and followed. It's fun having you along on the journey and I always appreciate your thoughts and responses!
First off, wolves are cool. I didn't know how cool till I was getting this chapter and the last together. Anyhow, most of the research I did on wolves came from the Dutcher's work with grey wolves in Idaho (their documentary and website are called Living With Wolves.)
Research on ravens (and other animals) came from Wikipedia (mostly).
K'wati, in Quileute mythology is the Creator/Transformer/Maker and Remaker of the Earth and its inhabitants. K'wati Marries by a Ruse story from Reagan, Albert B., and L. V. W. Walters. "Tales from the Hoh and Quileute." The Journal of American Folklore, vol. 46, no. 182, 1933, pp. 297–346. JSTOR.
I refer to Loki's "Aesir" form as the one he is most familiar with and the one he thinks of himself as (since he has very little experience in a Jotun form). Yeah, definitely going a bit OC from MCU and more Norse-mythology-ish in my interpretation of his shape-shifting abilities here. The MCU has him more having a gift for illusion, but I've enjoyed the mythology/fanfic interpretation of him as having shape-shifting abilities that go beyond those of illusion for this story. (Side note: I came across research on the role of shape-shifters and animal/people cross-culturally in mythology and it was fascinating-for any who are interested: Leder, Drew. "Embodying Otherness: Shape-Shifting and the Natural World." Environmental Philosophy, vol. 9, no. 2, 2012, pp. 123–142. JSTOR,)