RAFES: Her Fated Wolf: 50 Loving States, Maryland

By Theodora Taylor

I'm the most powerful wolf in North America, but SHE will be my undoing."

Protect my country. Marry the most elegant and sophisticated she-wolf my team could find. Control my beast, so that no one ever finds out what's underneath my cold exterior. Remain the most powerful wolf in North America. I had it all planned out.

Then SHE happened

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theodra Taylor
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781942167211

Book preview

Part One

Big mistake...Possibly the biggest one she’d ever made

One

Wilma

The late 80s, Detroit

There was nothing…read her lips... nothing in the world Wilma Greenwolf regretted more than her decision to eat a huge lunch before coming here to try out for All-American Wrestling.

Yeah, it had made sense at the time. It was a full moon night, and she’d had no idea how long the tryouts line for All-American wrestling would be. Possibly a little long, but also maybe really short. Professional wrestling used to be huge in Detroit back in the 50s and the 60s, but times had changed for real. Now, the city had gone from mostly white folks driving Cadillacs to mostly black folks driving whatever they could afford. And most of Detroit’s other pro wrestling promotions, like Big Time and All-Star Championship Wrestling, had shut down.

So when Wilma decided on that big ass lunch, for all she had known, she’d be the only female in all of Detroit who’d be trying out for one of Detroit’s few remaining wrestling promotions today. Truth be told, she could still barely believe she’d decided to try out after seeing that neon yellow flyer stapled to a power pole the last time she was in Detroit proper getting her perm touched up.

But she was determined to do this. Ever since she’d turned twenty a few months ago, she’d been getting hit with the same thought—life as she knew it was about to be over now that she’d reached heat age. And if she wanted to take any chances, make any of her own choices, she had to do it now, because once her father found a legitimate prince to take his otherwise useless daughter off his hands, there wouldn’t be a later when it came to deciding what was next for her own life.

However, the tryouts were taking place at a community rec center in Lincoln Heights, some random part of south Detroit that Wilma had never been to before. And no matter how fired up she was to live her life while the living was good, she couldn’t just ignore the fact that the one chance to make her secret dream come true was scheduled on the same day as this month’s full moon. After a whole lot of squinting at a map she’d bought at Triple A, and a few weird phone calls to Michigan’s Park and Recs Services, she’d managed to identify a recently closed summer camp in Dearborn just a few miles away from the rec center. She’d be able to shift there if she didn’t have time to drive all the way back to her pack’s kingdom house in Hidden Hills before moonrise.

But shifting was no joke. Wilma often woke up starving the morning after even when she'd eaten a huge dinner. She didn’t want to be stuck in Dearborn on a totally empty stomach. So on the drive south, she’d decided to make an hour detour into downtown Detroit to scarf down five chili dogs—from Lafayette Coney Island of course. American Coney could suck a dick. Wilma was a Lafayette gangsta FO LIFE!

Big mistake, though. Possibly the biggest one she’d ever made.

Wilma had been feeling like she might barf ever since pulling up to the Lincoln Heights Community Center. And seeing that the line for tryouts already wrapped all the way around the sprawling beige brick building didn't help her nerves either. Shit, shit, shit, she’d cursed. Because apparently, she wasn’t the only 70s kid whose eyes had lit up when All-American announced they wanted girl wrestlers.

It had taken nearly four hours to reach the front of the line, which might not have felt so bad if she was like any of the other girls in line: nimble gymnasts, tall blonde and light-skinned models, or hulking dark ethnic girls waiting for their chance to try out.

Her being here felt all kinds of stupid now.

Standing five foot nine in wrestling boots with ebony skin, she wasn’t tall, skinny or light-skinned enough to model anything in a Spiegel catalog. But she also wasn’t short enough to compete in any gymnastics competitions, or huge enough to convincingly play a villain, like Matilda the Hun from the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling--the new show that just started airing on Channel 50.

If she was real with herself, she only had two true strengths when it came to pro wrestling. The first thing was her over-the-top passion for the sport. She and her older brothers, Wilford and Wilton, had continued watching the Big Time Wrestling matches on Channel 7, no matter how far they pushed airings into the wee hours of the morning, all the way up until the promotion shut down. And even after Wilton and Wilford had started spending their weekend nights with the other males in their pack, Wilma had continued memorizing wrestler stats and fervently following every feud.

When her father had gotten them all their own TVs and VCRs two years ago, she’d used hers to tape the local All-American and the national WWF fights. She’d even started writing down all the moves from her favorite matches. Up until Wilt recently announced his engagement to Janelle, the daughter of another black wolf motorcycle gang, at least once a month she and her brothers would choreograph complete replications of the matches for her father’s crew during his weekend-long parties.

Of course, since Wilma was being saved for marriage to a proper prince from a legitimate state pack, she’d never been allowed to participate in those fights. She’d been more of a secretary/coach, breaking all the moves down and teaching them to her brothers for the big show.

But still, Wilma doubted any other girl in this line loved and lived wrestling nearly as hard as she did. That was her first biggest strength.

And her second biggest strength was…well, strength. No other girl in this line loved wrestling as much as she did and no other girl in this line was nearly as strong as she was. However, this was also her weakness. She was the strongest girl here because she happened to be the only unheated female werewolf in the entire Metro Detroit stupid enough to try out for a pro wrestling promotion on a full moon night.

She could feel her wolf, lurking right below her skin’s surface, which made her even more nervous than the line full of human girls who looked nothing like her. And now she stood just three girls away from the door of the auditorium where the auditions were taking place. With both her wolf and her nerves working her, she wouldn’t be surprised if that big lunch came rushing right on out of her stomach any minute now.

A heavily accented, NEXT! thundered out of the auditorium for the umpteenth time that day. The energy and hopes of Wilma and the rest of the girls waiting were flagging, but apparently not for the hollering voice of whoever was calling for each next tryout.

As a statuesque light-skinned black girl who looked like she could be Vanessa William's cousin sashayed into the auditorium, Wilma checked her Casio G-Shock. Technically it wasn’t hers. But she doubted Wilt would miss it since their father upgraded him to a Rolex Oyster Perpetual Day-Date after he made his big engagement announcement to the girl his father had specifically picked out for him.

4:30.

Way too close for comfort this late into fall. The community center’s brick and plaster hallway didn’t let in much light, but Wilma could feel the sun setting. Her wolf vibrated inside of her in anticipation of being let out with the rise of the full moon. She should go. Now. Get to that abandoned campsite in Dearborn. But she was only two girls away from her one shot at doing something exciting with her life before her father married her off.

At the thought of her incoming imprisonment by marriage, her stomach churned for reasons that had nothing to do with the chili dog. But she pushed her father out of her mind. Leroy Greenwolf always got his way in the end or ended whoever was getting in his way. There was nothing she could do about that. Just focus on today, she reminded herself, as her wolf tingled along her spine.

I heard this was all just a big publicity stunt because the new owner’s trying to drum up local interest in wrestling again, a nimble blonde gymnast standing in line in front of Wilma, said authoritatively to her equally nimble brunette friend. "I mean look how many freaks are crawling out the woodworks."

On the word freaks, the blonde threw a pointed look over her shoulder at Wilma. As nervous as she was, the insult felt like a sucker punch, straight to the gut. Hot outrage flared through her, and Wilma's wolf cranked its neck at the blonde. She was a Greenwolf after all. The Princess of the baddest damn pack in all of North America. And the pack’s alpha hadn’t raised his three children to abide disrespect. Wilma could just hear Leroy Greenwolf’s voice inside her head, commanding her to put a silver bullet in this little bitch for daring to insult her.

She curled her fists at her sides….

But no, getting in a fight right before her tryout wouldn’t make a good impression. Plus, she’d ordered a suspender leotard and wrestling boots special from the Sears' catalog for this tryout. Not to mention the hours she’d spent in the hair shop, getting her hair cut into an asymmetrical style, just like the one Pepa wore in the video for Push It.

She uncurled her fists and forced herself to stay in line and not punch the petite blonde in her over made up face.

NEXT!

The heavily accented command blasted through the air, distracting the catty blonde out of her stare off with the black wolf girl who could have quite easily ripped her to pieces.

With the flip of a switch, the blonde plastered on a shiny smile and placed a hand on her hip as she, like the girl before her, sashayed into the auditorium.

Wilma was close enough now to peek around the auditorium’s open-door jamb without losing her place in line. That turned out to be her second biggest mistake of the day. Her stomach went even more apeshit when she saw who all those loud NEXTs belonged to.

Holy shit, it was Bohdan the Terrible!

A flock of birds seemed to take flight in her belly, and her heart raced. She’d read a news item in the paper about a wrestler buying the All-American wrestling promotion from the former owner’s wife shortly after his passing. But it had been one sentence in an article mostly focused on the death of Detroit-area wrestling, even as national promotions like the WWF gave rise. The reporter hadn’t named names, so she’d assumed the purchaser was an older wrestler…and you know, actually American.

But there behind a table set up inside the rink, sat one of the youngest villains in the All-American line up. He was wrestling royalty. His father, Vlad the Terrible had debuted in the early seventies, and then his hulking teenage son had joined him as a tag team villain duo in the early eighties.

She remembered how hard she and her brothers had yelled and hissed at the TV as the father/son Russian team had dispassionately taken out two of their favorite heroes. The son had quickly surpassed his father. Somehow always finding a way to sneak his infamous steel chain into the fight, he’d soon gathered a reputation as a hardcore wrestler who’d do anything to quell fan favorites and win belts. So far, his deviousness had earned him two North American Heavyweight Championship belts, and Wilma wouldn’t be surprised if he added the World Championship at the end of the season. But he couldn’t be more than twenty-five. And the heavily muscled man dressed in sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt didn’t look like Vince McMahon or any of the other suited guys who owned wrestling promotions.

And apparently, Wilma wasn’t the only one who was surprised. The nimble blonde faltered a little before climbing into the ring and announcing with a strained smile in her voice, Hi, my name is Barbie. I’m so very, very excited to be here.

Even though they were in the middle of the auditorium, thanks to her heightened wolf senses, Wilma heard every word, down to the breathy tone she'd adopted while addressing Bohdan.

Barbie? Like the doll? You are serious about this name?

The question came not from Bohdan, but from a similarly accented woman standing outside of the ropes on the side of the ring furthest away from the door.

Like, the nimble blonde, the woman with the accent also had bright yellow hair, but that was the one and only thing the two females had in common. The accented blonde had to be at least six feet tall in nothing but her bare feet. She wore a simple black leotard in stark contrast to the petite blonde’s pale pink one. And she had one of those stony faces that never softened, even when she smiled—which Wilma really couldn’t imagine this woman ever did.

Strangely, Wilma liked the woman at first sight—and not just because she was making fun of Barbie’s name. The much taller wrestler reminded her of the older she-wolves from her kingdom pack. Females with hard faces and even harder attitudes. The kind of bad-ass bitches who could ride comfortably on the back of a bike, holding on to their male’s leather jackets with just their hands, no death grip hugs required. Or even better, ride their own damn bike and beat all the other guys to their destination.

However, the petite blonde didn’t look as impressed with the massive woman as Wilma. Nor did she look nearly as confident as she had when she first strutted in.

Well, it’s short for Barbara… she answered, looking uneasily from Bohdan to the woman wrestler.

Any wrestling experience, Barbara? the woman asked.

Maybe a sister or a wife, Wilma thought. She looked to be in her thirties, but she had the same thick accent as Bohdan.

No, but I made it into the top three of the Miss Detroit pageant with my gymnastics routine.

Bohdan and the large woman exchanged a glance so cynical and disparaging that Wilma sensed exactly what they thought of Barbie’s top three Miss Detroit finish.

You have gymnastics, Bohdan said, finally addressing Barbie. This means after you show me one punch and one submission hold on my sister, Ursula, you can end with a moonsault.

The petite blonde goggled at his mountainous sister then stared back at him apparently baffled. A moon what? she asked.

Bohdan stared at her. Blinked. Then yelled, NEXT!

There was one more girl in front of Wilma. The brunette, who’d snickered at her friend’s catty joke. But when Miss Detroit Top Three ran past them crying into her hands, her friend ran after her, calling out, Barbie? Barbie? Are you okay?

NEXT! Bohdan roared again, his voice taking on the distinctive tone of an impatient man who’d been kept waiting too long.

Putting all her focus on not throwing up, Wilma walked into the auditorium and climbed into the ring. Yes, Bohdan was super intimidating, and this Ursula chick was a bad-ass. But hey, she was the Princess of Detroit. The daughter of a man who had declared himself the biggest, baddest muthafucka on the planet so often, it felt like a smite against her last name to feel even slightly intimidated by a couple of humans—but oh God, Bohdan was even more intimidating close up.

He had to be six five easily. Maybe even six seven. And his face...forget Vlad. Apparently, Dolph Lundgren and, like, a granite statue of Ivan the Terrible had produced this stony-faced man. With a body like that and such sharp features, she might have thought him handsome. But sunk deep into his face were two dark, emotionless pits. Wilma guessed you could call those pits eyes, but they made her think of the sharks in the PBS nature specials her father liked to watch. It was like staring into a void. And Wilma had to look away or risk fear vomiting.

Another mistake.

The lights in the auditorium had been dimmed, so Wilma hadn’t noticed it before. But, looking away from Bohdan she stared directly at them, she had an audience. A sea of mostly white and a couple of brown faces. All huge. The All-American wrestlers. Oh God…

The All-American wrestlers were here! And they’d be watching her tryout!

Don’t throw up! Don’t cry like a little bitch! Don’t wolf out! she whispered fiercely to herself.

She couldn’t quite meet Bohdan’s eyes, but she lifted her chin, set her hands on her hips like Lynda Carter, and somehow managed to make her face and voice strong before announcing, Name’s Wilma Gangster. And that name ain’t a made up.

The sister, Ursula snorted, and there were a few deep chuckles from the shadowy stands, but Bohdan’s expression remained fixed in place. Like that emotionless yet clearly aggrieved look was all his face knew how to do.

Meanwhile, the wolf tingled up her spine. The moon was getting closer. No time left for small talk. If she was going to do this thing, take this chance, it had to be now. So…

Without a word of warning, Wilma ran over to Ursula and heart-punched her with a sharp, vicious swing, not pulling back until the last possible moment.

Wilma had never seen this woman on television, but Ursula proved herself a true blue professional when she staggered and going along with Wilma’s unexpected move fell backward off the side of the ring…before jumping right back up and saying, All right, you want fight, black girl. I will give you fight.

And just like that, their audience of wrestlers in the stands erupted with cheering and whistling as Ursula dramatically climbed into the ring.

Nothing could have prepared Wilma for the moment of standing across from her first real opponent in the ring. Not all that practice with Wilt and Ford. Not all those nights she’d spent in front of the TV, dreaming about exactly what she would do if she could wrestle like a boy.

Her heart thrilled, and suddenly this was all that mattered. The fight. The performance. The motherfucking leap she took across the ring to put Ursula in an old school headlock.

How did you do that so fast? Ursula demanded while pretending to painfully choke inside Wilma’s arm.

Wilma just spun her away from Bohdan, so that she could fake gouge the woman’s eyes without the ref catching sight of it.

The wrestlers in the stands burst out laughing at the old 50s move. Did you see what she just did? That’s illegal! Bohdan do something! They gamely screamed and booed.

In response to their cries for justice, Wilma face punched Ursula, causing her to fake cry out and eliciting even more boos and shouts of foul action.

You are doing great, black girl! Ursula whispered even as she pretended to be in unfathomable pain. Keep it going!

How about a body slam? Wilma whispered back.

Are you kidding? Ursula demanded. There’s no way you could lift me!

But Ursula must have been curious about Wilma’s proposal. She back elbowed Wilma in the gut, providing the perfect cue for Wilma to release the larger woman from the headlock. Clutching her mid-section, Wilma made a dramatic show of staggering away from her opponent.

The All-American wrestlers were on their feet now, stomping and hollering for the villain who had suddenly been converted to a hero for this tryout. And Willa saw that more than a few of the girls from the tryout line had gathered in the open door to see what was going on. They cheered, too, momentarily forgetting the competition in favor of a good old-fashioned fight.

And as for Ursula…she turned back to Wilma her eyes gleaming with challenge.

Wilma didn’t hesitate. She charged forward, meeting Ursula in the middle of the ring for a classic hand to neck grappling hold, disguised as a double choke. After a few turnarounds to get the audience really riled up, Wilma knocked back Ursula’s elbow and went for a duck under.

"She’s not going to…"

"No way!"

"How would that even be possible?"

"I’m covering my eyes, I can’t watch this girl break her back! Tell me when it’s over!"

With her enhanced wolf senses, Wilma heard everything the audience muttered in hush fascination. But it didn’t matter, because for the first time in her life, she truly understood the expression, In the zone.

Like a math test long studied for, Wilma ran through all the steps…first the crotch lift…then she growled angrily to mask the fact that she was securing Ursula by the shoulder to make sure she didn’t truly get hurt when she executed her final move.

Next came the controlled throw…and then the sound of Ursula’s heavy body hitting the mat echoed across the auditorium.

For a moment there wasn’t a sound to be heard. It was as if the entire audience had caught its collective breath. Then everybody went wild. Cheering and screaming, the villain and hero roles totally forgotten.

Wilma could hardly believe she pulled that body slam off without either her or Ursula getting hurt. There was no time to soak in the cheers. Ursula writhed around on the floor, doing a great job of pretending like she was in pain, but Wilma knew she only had a few more seconds to pull off her last move if she wanted it to look convincing.

Without wasting another moment, she climbed the ring’s ropes, then threw her body into a backward somersault, before stretching out to land right on top of Ursula, for a perfect pin.

And nobody had asked, but Wilma was pretty sure she just proved that when it comes to moonsaults, she-wolves do it better.

10…9…8… the crowd started counting down, their voices a mix of shock and glee.

Wilma could honestly call these the most exhilarating nine seconds of her entire life. And then came….

ONE!!! the crowd called out while a few of the tryout girls sing-songed, "DING-DING-DING!"

The next thing Wilma knew, Ursula and she were up on their feet, standing side by side as Ursula lifted Wilma’s hand in the air. As it turned out, Wilma had been wrong about this woman never smiling. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, her face happy and red with exertion, even though she’d technically lost.

Hell of a show, black girl, Ursula said, before turning Wilma around to face Bohdan.

Bohdan, for his part, didn’t cheer along with the crowd. But his dark, sunken shark eyes flashed with a new interest as he gave Wilma a long up and down look. I will need your real name, he said eventually. For the paychecks when you join our team.

His voice was so gravelly and severe, it took Wilma a moment to understand his meaning. Holy shit, he was offering her a job. Like, a real job.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. To her. The black pack princess of Detroit, who’d never quite fit in anywhere.

But it was happening. Actually happening. And Wilma's heart revved like a motorcycle engine as she said, Thank you, Mr. Bohdan, sir! This is a dream come—

An arrow of pain shot up her spine, so sharp, it nearly doubled her over.

Actually, it should have doubled her over. Was meant to, biologically speaking, since the unbearable urge to get down on all fours was the first phase of a full moon shift. But Wilma fought it. Breathing hard as her skin broke out into an instant sweat as the magnitude of what was happening to her body sank in.

Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! She was about to shift…right here in front of all these humans!

Two

Myrna

Viking Age Norway

B y the Fenrir Wolf, do you never tire of defying me? Why are you here, Sister?

Myrna surged awake to the feel of her younger brother, Olafr’s wet nose on her forehead and the sound of her older brother, Fenrisson—or FJ as he was called by his family—scolding her.

In a whisper of course. As furious as FJ was, he’d never want the other wolves to know his stubborn sister had defied her brother. For the countless time.

Myrna sighed, giving herself a few seconds behind purposefully closed eyes. She’d known this would be her older brother’s response when she snuck back down the mountain and slipped in beneath the furs of her bedding bench late last night. Upon the arrival of Freya’s colorful lights, FJ had sent Myrna away with strict orders to stay hidden on the mountain with the rest of the women, children, and a handful of men either too feeble or essential to their kingdom village’s trade to be considered fighters.

However, as the day passed, she had become too curious about why FJ had bid the rest of the kingdom warriors to stay behind in their village as opposed to taking the fight directly to their enemy as their father, the current Fenris and all of the Fenrises before him had done. Myrna could also no longer abide living in the same space as her fellow female villagers.

Not because she was the Daughter of Fenris and therefore thought herself too good for them. But because she had no idea what to do with herself in the cave hideouts. She had no mate and no children, and at three and thirty winters, she was no longer considered of marriageable age. The males who had quickly put themselves in charge refused to allow her to help with the daily hunts. Our Fenrir next would be unhappy with us if any harm were to come to you, they had explained as if talking to a child and not a woman grown.

Unfortunately, the she-wolves in charge of the cooking fires would also not abide her help. It had become well established over the years that while Myrna could fell a cow with one stroke of her hatchet, she had not inherited her mother’s talent for the cooking arts.

So then she'd tried to join a night fire conversation with the other unheated she-wolves. But that had been a miserable exercise for them all. For with so much free time to gossip, the only theme the much younger she-wolves wished to talk upon was FJ’s possible wedding.

Who could blame them really? Claiming to have had a night vision of a bride to the south, FJ had sent their parents to arrange for a bride the very next morning after the lights had appeared in their night sky. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to finally marry off their most eligible but also most reluctant progeny, her parents had set off with almost laughable great speed to fulfill the request of the next fenrir of the North Wolves. And now all any of the unheated she-wolves could talk about was the wedding, which might very well bring an influx of eligible male wolves into the village.

A few of their grandmothers had been first heated at the weeks' long wedding fest of Myrna’s own mother, so they had reason to be excited, even if the wedding was still many seasons away. However, there would be no match for Myrna Ever the Maid at her brother’s wedding festivities. Both Myrna and the rest of the unheated she-wolves, many less than half her age, knew that.

Myrna had heard a few village women gossiping about how Myrna had been most likely cursed by Odin for her hubris after her rejection of the Jelling Prince seventeen winters ago. And she knew quite a few of these girls’ mothers were still bitter about having to settle for local wolves from their own and nearby villages as opposed to wolves from the more fertile lands of the South Wolves.

Perhaps they still were. Not soon after Myrna had sat down amongst their gossiping daughters, the mothers, most of whom were the same age or even younger than Myrna, had found excuses to draw them away. As if Myrna’s ever-maidenhood were some manner of sickness that could be caught by a young unheated she-wolf, just by sitting near to her.

Which left Myrna with little more to do than, as her time journeyed mother would say, than twiddle her thumbs. But also as her mother would say, forget that noise.

Instead of staying put as she’d been told, she’d trekked back down the mountain to see if she might not be put to better use among FJ’s fighting force.

However, FJ didn’t seem at all happy about her voluntary self-recruitment to his cause…whatever that cause might be. In truth, she was not certain still why she and the rest of the women had been sent away. The village had seemed peaceful enough when she returned to it under the cloak of dark last night.

But now FJ railed on and on at her for returning until she gave up on the pretense of sleep and threw back her furs.

Where are you going? FJ demanded when she rose from her longtime bed bench, gave her younger brother, Olafr, a pat of greeting on his shaggy head, and started walking toward the longhouse door without a further word.

To the toilet, she replied, not bothering with a respectful tone everyone else in the village employed when speaking with their future fenrir. If you wish to keep shouting at me, you may follow me outside.

It was a dark and grey morning, yet beautiful because Freya’s lights, what her mother oft referred to as the Aurora Borealis, could still be seen in colorful bloom in the sky. Most of the village slept, and for the first time in day tides, Myrna felt utterly at peace, as the cold wind rustled her thick red hair. She was glad to be back in her village, even if she had received little welcome from her older brother.

But of course, her brother took her up on that invitation. She received a small respite while she crouched over the dug pit. But as soon as she emerged from the pile of stones arranged in a half wall around a hole a few favners away from their longhouse, FJ started up again as if he had been holding his breath the entire time she’d been releasing her waters.

One reason. Give to me one reason I should not mate you off to the first widowed alpha who will have you before Papa returns, he asked.

Myrna froze, a shiver going down her back at the thought of being given away to one of the seemingly unending string of widowed alphas, who had started inquiring about her hand in allied marriage soon after she became too old to be considered a good prospect for heating.

All of them had mates recently lost to childbirth, and they needed a new she-wolf to mind the pups left behind. But there was just something so disgusting about a male who still carried the mating scent of another. And though she still held hope to have children of her own someday—a very secret hope as she had no wish to become the butt of ever more villager jokes—she did not relish the thought of being acquired as little more than a pup-sitter for some poor she-wolf who had died in childbirth.

Upon hearing her brother’s threat, she decided to as her mother would say, fix her face and get rid of all the attitude, before addressing him again.

Let me explain, FJ, she said, reaching down to pet Olafr who’d come to stand between them as he always did whenever they got into a fight. Which was often. While they both loved their younger brother, Olafr, the brother whose human no one had seen in several generations of winters, FJ and Myrna found little else they could agree upon. They had always rubbed each other the wrong way. And she could just bet he would be more than happy to finally solve the problem of his stubborn little sister while their parents were away finding him a suitable bride.

There is naught to explain, FJ answered, his handsome sand-colored face setting like stone, as the cold wind whipped through his braided beard and long red hair, which unlike hers, was silky, the same as their father’s. Why are you no longer on the mountain with the other she-wolves and children? Why did you disobey me?

Because I understand not why you have asked me to go with the others! she answered truthfully, trying but failing to keep the indignation out of her voice.

Myrna, my word is law… he started to say with a frown.

Myrna made the same disgusted scoffing sound her mother did whenever her father tried to make her leave the meal preparation she loved so much to their servants. Only because our father is not here is your word law! she pointed out to her overbearing brother.

That matters not now. Our father is away, and our enemy could come at any time, FJ insisted, pointing to the mountain looming high behind their small village. "You will obey me and return to the mountain with the other women and children. Now."

So Fenris did fear an attack from an unnamed enemy. Myrna’s heart quickened with the knowledge. Situated as their kingdom village was, between a mountain and the sea, not even their oldest night fire stories carried a tale of it coming under attack. But if that was indeed the case….

Our father has taught me to fight well, she told FJ. If he were here, he would let me face whatever enemy you claim is coming.

Okay, that declaration was what her mother might call a stretch. Even at her very advanced age, Myrna doubted her father would invite her to battle beside him. But that mattered not, in Myrna’s mind. The point was that if FJ truly believed their village faced an imminent threat, he should let her stay and fight beside him.

However, FJ met her declaration with a fierce glare. This enemy is not imaginary, Sister. And Father taught you to fight, yes, but only so you might defend yourself in the absence of your male folk. If you return to the mountain now, there will be no need of such defense.

Not caring that she was only a couple of inches taller than her small mother, Myrna drew herself up to her full height, jutting her chin, because there was no way she was going to let FJ order her back to the mountain. But why did you send all the women and children away? she demanded, switching to their mother’s tongue, just as Chloe did when someone (usually her husband and children) pushed her too far. Why are you making ready for battle in Mother and Father’s absence? Father did not give word about any of this before he left.

No, he did not, FJ answered, also in their mother’s language. Then he looked away guiltily as he added, Because he did not know we would need to defend ourselves.

Myrna’s eyes widened at the thought of FJ not only keeping news of a forthcoming enemy from their father, the Fenris, but then going so far as to send their parents away.

It was the only way to make sure he and mother survived, FJ said defensively as if reading her thoughts.

Survive what? Myrna asked, with a shake of her head. What do you think we need to defend ourselves from?

"We need to defend ourselves, he said, pointing to his chest and then to Olafr. You need to hide."

Why does he get to stay? Myrna demanded, crossing her arms over her wool tunic. He is ever the wolf and cannot so much as raise a sword!

FJ exchanged a long look with their brother. One very familiar to Myrna. The brothers shared a special bond and often exchanged looks so knowing, that even though Olafr could not speak as a normal North Wolf could, Myrna very often felt as if they were talking behind her back.

Usually, she let it go. But this morn she all but screeched, Cease doing that! You have oft behaved as if you share a secret. Tell me, what is going on? And why do you permit Olafr to fight and not me?!

FJ sighed. Myrna, I will not argue these petty points with you—

They are not petty—!

I must prepare the village to fight—

Fight who? Myrna demanded, refusing to let her brother off the hook. Who could possibly pass through the inlet or come over the mountains without us knowing? Who would dare? You know what? You don’t even have to answer that, as our mother would say. In truth, if you are certain there is an enemy coming, I believe you. But I insist on fighting, too!

To that FJ gave her yet another decisive shake of his head. I cannot. I would not lose you…

You will not lose me, she said, her voice gentling with sisterly sentiment, even though FJ threatened to send her away mere moments before this heartfelt declaration.

FJ hesitated and once again, looked to Olafr. While Myrna stood waiting to hear the future fenrir’s final verdict.

However, three short horn blasts suddenly rolled down the mountain, ripping through the cold morning and cutting short their conversation.

For with those horn blasts, did all argument cease. And hearts beating with fear, all three siblings looked toward the mountain watchtower overlooking their village…then at each other.

One short horn blast meant travelers approached the village by sea via the inlet.

One long blast and two short ones meant a new wolf had come upon them via the time gates atop the mountain.

But three short blasts meant the worst thing.

Enemies approached. Oh dear Fenrir Wolf, FJ was right!

Male wolves spilled out of their huts and longhouses with their weapons and shields in hand.

Their village was coming under attack. But from where? Myrna looked all around. The inlet had frozen over just a few weeks after her parents left on their voyage, following FJ’s claimed vision of a bride. But if attackers marched on them via the mountains, they would have had days of warning, since there was only a single pass connecting their village to the mainlands to the South.

She looked to FJ for an answer, but he also seemed to be looking around in great confusion...until suddenly, a sharp and acrid scent filled the air. As if the forest that stood between their village and the mountain were on fire. But no, this was not the case. She looked toward the forest and found it standing perfectly intact, the top of its evergreen leaves covered in fresh snow. From where then did the burning smell emanate?

As if in answer, a shadow fell over the entire village, casting the dark grey morning into almost pitch black. Myrna looked up.

Her heart completely stopped inside her chest. Dread danced over her skin as the chill of the morning air crept into her lungs and stilled her breath. And she tipped her head back to stare up at the answer to her question. Make that answers. The enormous and fearsome answers to her question about their unknown enemy.

Serpents. At least twenty winged serpents now flew in a formation above their village.

And then truly did she speak her mother’s tongue as she said, Oh…my…God!

---

It all happened so very fast. One moment Myrna was imploring her brother to let her fight, and in the next moment, she had no choice but to do so.

She emerged from the house with her shield and hatchet just as the first serpent set down in the meadow between the lake and the forest. It shook the ground with its landing, and the sight of it widened her eyes with shock.

The monstrous