by Will Humphrey

I prowl through Elgar forest, my kingdom, and my home. This is my regime on brisk winter evenings to prevent intruders such as foxes or badgers invading my kingdom. Before the patrol I must eat, but during winter my staple diet of rabbit is scarce. An elderly woman living on the western edge of the forest will have to suffice in lieu. I enter her cottage; confusion reigns; I charge towards her, have her in my grasp; a small yelp escapes before I devour her. Her petite physique doesn’t provide much flesh but a meal is a meal. On leaving the cottage I choose my path wisely, as the terrain is slippery and greasy from a solid day’s downpour; the foliage is crooked and disassembled due to the constant torment from ferocious winds.

My kingdom is gradually becoming overgrown as Man appears less frequently, to cut the grass, trim the hedges or clean up the golden blanket of autumn leaves that coat the soil floor. Now I hear mellow whispers coming from the Thereon path at the edge of the forest, gossip about random disappearances; I can hear them as they walk down the hard beaten, deeply eroded path navigated tonight by the light of their torches.

The villagers say, ‘A wolf is the only possible answer to these disappearances, but some say it’s just an old folk tale, and they do not truly exist.’

I wait until the villagers have passed my position and creep along to try to pick up the mutterings. How I could leap out of my fortress and prove to those villagers that I, the wolf, am not some old folk tale? I exist larger than life in what they think is an uninhabited forest, full of nothing but foliage and scavengers such as the fox. The truth is, my only takings from their world are a few women, but I plan in due course to discover who is. I finish my patrol for the evening and begin the journey back to my lair in the depths of the forest.

Presently an unfamiliar, pungent smell from the West assails my senses, but it is one that at the same time is instantly recognisable. It is taking me too long to unveil the full countenance of this curious aroma; but it will remain a mystery for the time being as my mind is now assaulted in tandem by high pitched squeals. In a spilt second, my demeanour flits from predator and assertive to prey and petrified. My entire body is experiencing the flight or fight instinct as adrenaline courses me; fear infects my mind and attack by an unseen enemy seems almost certain. I choose flight; I attempt to flee, except I cannot move. I peer back at the road to see what immovable force is keeping me here. Momentarily I cannot find the source. The smell is still prominent. The unforgiving squeals ring loudly in my ears. The winter weather is still adamantly testing my kingdom’s defences, heightening my feelings of foreboding. I remain unmoving, seemingly petrified as if rooted to the spot for what seems like a lifetime but finally surface from my reverie. I am delirious with fatigue but all my conscious attention lies on the road rather than at what hour I shall return to my lair. My eyelids close involuntarily for what I am sure is not the first time. At the moment it seems they must close for good a despondent red glimmer enters my view.

My eyelids are immediately wide open again but the despondent red is no longer in view. I take a moment, inhale deeply in an attempt to throw off tiredness and the fear of my unknown intruder, driving me to what feels like inner hysteria. I stumble behind a shattered oak tree, a victim of the sometimes brutal force of Mother Nature; I scan the ground up towards Althorn Road for signs of my intruder. The thunder and its partner in crime, lightning give the morbid, and black sky a sense of life. As I bow my head towards the earth’s floor I become aware of the same dreary red glimmer in my peripheral vision, approaching with such slow deliberation that I briefly believe it is my mind playing demonising tricks upon me. However I come to realise that the scent, the high pitched squeals and the now brighter red subject are louder, more prominent and closer than on previous occasions.

Everything is beginning to make sense; the high pitched squeals and the tertiary colours lead to a prime suspect. Only the fox would mate in another animal’s habitat, although it was not mating season; it is winter not spring; it is November not January. I know the smell of the fox; I would know that scent instantly but this scent escapes me. My brain’s subconscious stroll is now a run; my mind is going from reassurance to distress as I rush towards the road hoping to discover what I believe to be a fox. As I approach the edge of my forest fortress I come face to face with the disturbing subject that seems intent upon invading my very home.

It raises its head and glares deeply into my eyes. I return the glare with equal hatred. The subject is not anything I could anticipate; the subject is not a fox, nor a badger. None of the usual culprits. My midnight trespasser is a small young human; I believe the human is a girl due to the long hair. It does not look scared although all of the face bar the eyes is cast into shadow by a blood red hood. It continues to stand motionless, staring at me. I charge at it without regard, now considering the creature to be a worthy reward for my returning hunger. I knock the girl to the ground. No sound is heard after it hits the ground apart from the rain continuing to bounce off the foliage. To my consternation the girl quickly rolls over and gasps,

‘’Wolf, I don’t wish to be eaten. I’m hoping to visit a relative but have lost my direction and am seeking shelter from this horrid weather.’’

‘’Why should I trust a human? Your race has hunted me and my kind for years?’’ I blurt back.

The girl swallows and says softly ‘‘because I have neither the strength nor the intelligence to harm you.’’

I ponder this and agree to provide shelter. I lead it back through my defences, past the fallen oak and towards my lair.

When we arrive I waste no time in pulling out dry wood from my store and make a small but warm fire for us both. The young girl lies under my shelter of intertwined sticks while I choose to sleep next to the fire since the rain has now stopped. After what feels like mere seconds I open my eyelids only to be met by the sight of another flame, but on the edge of the lair; the young girl moving towards it.  I am so exhausted after the travails of the evening that I do not possess the strength to keep my eyes open a moment longer.

I am awoken again by a smell I knew but not one I am expecting. It is the smell of burning, but not that of my small fire. I try to get to my feet in order to extinguish it but realise they are tied tightly. I convulse with fear as to what is happening. I manage to direct my face towards the other side of the lair, only to be met with my greatest fear, Man. Rows of men now stand within my inner sanctum; they have armed themselves with pitchforks, swords and branding irons, and huddle round a single figure. It is the young girl. I gaze at her with desperate, questioning eyes and as I do so she slowly turns to face me.

The men begin to scar my skin with branding irons, bruise my bones with pitchforks and laugh at my distress. I search the mob frantically for the hooded girl; spotting her again amidst the throng.

I mouth to her ‘’Why are you doing this? I did not kill you, why kill me?’’

It seems the more pain I am subjected to, the more the foreign presence in my kingdom confuses me. She has come from the West with her foreign scent and her squeals, but the town is in the East. She does not look old enough to wander alone. I run the facts over in my head before the men torment me more. I gaze at the girl; tears fall from her eyes as she mouths back,

‘’You killed my grandmother.’’

I have been tricked, first following my instinct to be wary of Man, and then caught off-guard by the small, young, but confident example in the forest which it seems can only lead to my inevitable demise.

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