Evi Wald and the Black Forest

By M. Kate Allen

When Evi Wald was a young girl, she learned the art of shepherding from her mother by day and listened to her mother's fairy tales at night. Now she shepherds her own flock with the help of her dogs, Bric and Brac. But strange sights and sounds are coming from the Black Forest near her hut, and she's begi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thea Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956604061

M. Kate Allen

After a childhood spent with her nose in a book, M. Kate Allen now spends her grownup life weaving magical tales of her own. M. Kate Allen lives in Tempe, Arizona, with her daughters, both of whom are voracious readers, and her husband, who is a hoot.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Evi Wald looked out toward the forest from the north window of her hut and frowned. Wolves had been prowling the border of the woods, howling in the night. Her flock of sheep, seventy-seven with another three on the way, would make a delicious feast for those wolves if Evi didn’t stop them.

She loved her sheep, but sometimes she wished they would take care of themselves.

Sheep were not very smart animals, she knew. She and her sheep had a symbiotic relationship, however. She cared for them, and they provided her livelihood.

Her first sheep, a gift from her mother, had grown old and died in Evi’s arms. For years, she had watched her mother skin sheep and butcher them after they’d died, just as she had watched her mother assisting sheep in birthing their new lambs. The night that Fluffy died, Evi felt frozen, incapable of moving or even thinking. Her mother gave her an impenetrable look, and Evi realized with horror what her mother expected. Fluffy was Evi’s sheep, her dead sheep. And her sheep was her responsibility, right to the very last.

Her mother, ever the practical woman, had taught her the arts of animal husbandry, from lambing to slaughter. We do not exist in isolation, Evi. We rely on our sheep as much as they rely on us. Our survival ensures theirs, and theirs ensures ours. Death is part of life. There is no getting around that.

So when Fluffy died, her mother stood by with her arms folded, silver hair pulled back in a long plait, as Evi wielded a butcher’s saw. Soon her beloved sheep was an array of meaty limbs and woolskin. Her arms and legs and torso ached—her heart, most of all.

The only dishonor would be if we simply buried her without allowing her body to nourish ours, now that she is dead, her mother murmured, as Evi stared at the mint-garnished roasted lamb that steamed fragrantly before her. A salty tear dropped from her chin, landing on her dinner.

A chill shot through her at the memory of Fluffy, and she pulled the strings of her sheepskin shawl closer. Fluffy’s sheepskin, which she had claimed for herself that night long ago, nestled around her tan face and her long, black, curly hair, warming her against the chilly autumn wind. She had handled that, too, the cleaning and tanning of the sheepskin. She’d worn it on cold days ever since.

Sunlight crept through the morning clouds, brightening the rust and gold leaves and pine needles of the Black Forest. Evi’s deep brown eyes sparkled as she beheld it all.

Just a couple of miles to the east lay a little town called Wolfach where she sold wool at shearing time. Otherwise she lived off the land, growing onions, potatoes, turnips, carrots, and herbs, much of which she stored for the winter. She harvested pine from the forest for furniture and firewood as well as the occasional fence repair. Her sheepdogs, Bric and Brac, did their shepherding duties with enthusiasm during the day and curled up on a thick sheepskin rug at the foot of her bed at night.

Her sister, Marta, was tall like Evi. She had pale skin and long, auburn, curly hair, but she was round where Evi was angular. She shared