Forest Songs

By Alex Kuiper

Sol's lot in life was bitter. He was the littlest wolf in a pack that only cared about the strong, the butt of every joke, the plaything of his cruel packmates. What if one day, they decided to kill him, just for the fun of it? Rather than wait around to find out, Sol ran. He was less than a winter old. He ran and ran and ran until he fainted, and while he slept, another pack happened across his scent and discovered him there.

They were not like his old pack. They welcomed him, although he was a stranger, they showed him hospitality, though he had nothing to offer them in return. Their leader, Hawthorn, treated Sol like one of their own. At first, Sol thought it must be some sort of trick, but it was true.

And so Sol forswore his old pack and their ways in his heart and swore loyalty instead to Hawthorn and to his pack. Together, they ventured forth on a quest to reclaim their ancestral home: Rosethorn Mountain. Easier said than done.

A terrible threat hounded Sol at every turn: Shaskar, leader of Sol's old pack. Strong as an ox, crafty as a snake, and as merciless as chance, he was Hawthorn's sworn friend...and sworn enemy. Shaskar intended to slaughter the Rosethorn pack in the name of his late father, though it grieved him to kill his old friend. Many ordeals lay in wait for Sol and his pack, lest they reach their beloved home...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781649526328

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

cover.jpg

Forest Songs

Alex Kuiper

Copyright © 2023 Alex Kuiper

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 978-1-64952-631-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64952-632-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

The howling of wolves filled Sol's mind as he dreamed. His world was black. He was blind. He was deaf. He couldn't feel. No, that wasn't true. He felt cold, cold and wet, and it seeped into his muscles, paralyzing him. Though he was only half aware of these things. Gradually, his wits returned, sharpening his pain and discomfort as they came. And there he lay, suspended between awakening and stupor. In time, awakening won out, dragging Sol against his will back to the land of the conscious and all the headaches that come with it. What was so important that Sol needed to wake up for it? Couldn't he just lie there forever? All he could hear was soft breezes and birdsong. Sol curled up into a ball and groaned, then, feebly opened his eyes.

There was a wolf standing over him, watching him. He smelled wet and earthy, like he had devoted his entire night to hunting. His fur was as gray as the overcast, and he looked large enough to kill him on a whim. Why was he just sitting there? If he was going to kill Sol, why wait? The wolf peered at him quizzically with piercing eyes.

At last! he said, tail thrashing back and forth. I've been trying to get you up all day, sleepyhead. The wolf was right. Sol had been running for four days straight; his paws were still throbbing. Timidly, Sol dragged his head up and looked the stranger in the eye. My name— he began, stepping forward, but as soon as he moved, Sol scrambled backward like a startled robin and tripped over his own paws. Are you all right? asked the wolf, drawing back. Eyes wide, Sol disentangled himself and tried too quickly to stand. With a grunt, Sol collapsed on his belly. I'm Finn, continued the stranger. And you're lucky I found you. Some packs I know would have ripped you apart in your sleep. Who are you? Sol kept his head low and his ears pinned back. When Sol didn't answer, Finn cocked his head at him. Are you all right? he asked again, lost for what else to say. Still no answer. Releasing a small breath, Finn made as though to step forward. Sol cringed, and Finn decided to stay put. Can you speak? Finally, Sol swallowed and nodded once. Finn's posture was excited and friendly, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth. Good! Tell me your name then, otherwise I'll have to make one up for you. Still Sol hesitated. If Finn, assuming that was his real name, had wanted to kill him, he could simply have done so while he was unconscious. How long had he been unconscious anyway? It was dawn, though a blanket of dusky clouds prevented any sliver of sunlight from reaching the treetops. The grass glistened with dew, and Sol was drenched with it. It let the cold in through his coat, making him shiver.

Sol, he mumbled at last, his eyes fixed on Finn.

Great! barked Finn, leaning forward to sniff Sol. Immediately, Sol leaped to his feet, retreating. Finn looked exasperated. Come here! Sol shook his head. Sighing, Finn sat down and maintained a respectful distance. What is your packname, Sol?

Sol had feared he would ask that. Now he had a dilemma. He could lie and brave the risk, or he could tell the truth. And brave the risk. I don't have one, muttered Sol, his voice hoarse with thirst.

Oh, said Finn, his excitement ebbing. I see.

Sol looked away and stared at his own paws. His legs still trembled from chill and exhaustion, but at least he could stand. His coat was dark gray on top and white underneath, as though nature had sculpted him with pure milk but changed her mind and scattered dust over her work. As for his scent, he was too used to it to distinguish, and his eyes were golden. Like Finn, he was young, less than a winter old.

With one final glance at Finn, Sol slogged away. His paws squished down into the muddy grass with each step. Hold on, said Finn. Don't leave. Come with me. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take you to meet Hawthorn. He'll decide if you're dangerous or not.

This wasn't good. Sol couldn't stay put, especially not after he'd slept for so long. Who knew how much time he had lost? Then again, Sol doubted he could fight Finn and win, so what choice did he have? Perhaps it was safer to avoid the chance of angering him. Meekly, he trailed Finn as he loped off into the trees. The woods were so thick Sol could hardly see ten steps in any direction, and Finn had to double back several times to avoid leaving Sol behind, for Sol would frequently stumble over the uneven ground or else trip over a fallen trunk or tree root.

Abruptly, Finn stopped. Here. Finn walked out onto a slab of rock that jutted out over a short drop. At Finn's beckoning, Sol crawled onto the stone after Finn. Immediately, he yelped like he'd been stung and scrambled back. Soon enough however, amazement enticed him to venture his head back out over the edge.

The short drop was not as short as it looked. The entire forest was stretched out before Sol's eyes. Beneath his paws was a sheer cliff face, and at its bottom, a labyrinth of trees that stretched to every horizon cut through its center by a vast winding river. Every tree was a blade of grass. A breeze drifted past him, and Sol cringed against the stone like a mouse, terrified to even approach the edge. The wind carried an army of new smells to him. Animals, trees, flowers… Sol closed his eyes and let the overpowering scent of the pines fill his nostrils. The aroma was intoxicating. Eventually, he stood up and even dared to lean out over the lip of the stone a little. His breath deserted him.

Finn pitched his head back, facing up to the murky clouds, and howled long and loud.

Sol's ears fell. When Finn was done, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and howled again. The sound was bewitching, or would have been, but Sol was too frightened to appreciate it just then. He should have asked Finn not to do something like that! Impulsively, Sol dashed off into the trees like lightning had struck his tail. He ran so hard he shredded the earth beneath his paws. He weaved between the trees, leaping over rocks and trunks as he went, his tongue dragging out of his mouth. But his body was in no condition to sprint, even after his recent respite, and soon his limbs were begging him to slow down. Even he could only take so much punishment. Suddenly, Sol stumbled over his own feet, and he had to rest. Head hung and out of breath, he hid in the shadow of an oak tree, panting so hard you'd think he'd spent the day underwater. Sol checked behind him, but his vision was swimming. Blinking rapidly, Sol shook his head and looked again. Already his tiredness was taking its toll, but he didn't see anyone following him. He did, however, detect an unfamiliar scent—

Something struck Sol from behind and slammed him into the ground. Someone yelled Trespasser! and drove Sol's face into the dirt, filling his nose with an earthy smell. Sol struggled like a trout snatched from its stream, but he was pinned. Who are you, stranger? Answer quickly before I rip your throat out!

S-Sol! sputtered Sol, blinking dead leaves out of his face.

Of what pack? Despite his helplessness, Sol hesitated. Answer me!

Willow, what are you doing? came Finn's voice, though Sol saw only dirt and twigs.

I accosted this stranger trespassing on our territory, replied Sol's attacker. He won't admit it, but he's a Blackwood.

Get off him, Willow, he's not a Blackwood.

No, I can smell it on him!

How can you tell?

I just can. And I'll rip him up piece by piece until he admits—

He's with me.

Oh, all right, said Willow, releasing Sol reluctantly. He got up and blinked the dirt out of his eyes. You're not a Blackwood, are you?

No, said Sol, shooting a leaf from his mouth. He was thankful she did not have the same talent as Shaskar had.

Putting on a show of repentance, Willow prostrated before Sol. Please forgive my dishonorable behavior.

Well… stammered Sol. Now, apologizing or demeaning himself in front of his packmates he was quite used to but never had one of them done the same for him. Nor had anyone for that matter. And certainly not like this. That's all right, he muttered again, flattered.

I cannot begin—

He's a loner, added Finn.

Oh. Forget all that then, said Willow, standing up. She retained no trace of her momentary penitence. Willow had a boring scent, and her fur was black and tawny, with scattered white. An eye was brown and the other bright green. She was the same age as Sol and Finn. You're a skinny little thing, aren't you? said Willow, stepping in and sniffing Sol up and down without permission.

Next time, Finn, don't let your prisoner escape.

He isn't my prisoner! Finn protested. And he didn't escape! We just caught him.

That's one way of putting it.

And who asked for your opinion, anyway? Finn demanded.

No need to snap, said Willow very smugly. Just don't let him vanish right under your— And turning she found that Sol was not there anymore. Well, I suppose I was asking for that, she sighed.

Towering fragrant trees raced by. This time, he barely made it out of eyeshot before his pace flagged. It seemed his paws, his eyes, and his stomach had all joined forces and revolted on him, refusing to carry him another step. Nevertheless, Sol persevered, if only at a walk. He was lucky to have awoken alive; to rest again now would be suicide. Forget Finn and Willow. But soon a walk became a stagger, and Sol halted by a pool. Gasping for breath, he guzzled down as much water as he could hold in his belly. That blunted his hunger, but the exhaustion remained, and if he couldn't make himself go faster… Briefly, Sol considered going back to Finn and asking his pack for refuge, but he quickly killed that idea. They would start asking questions, and Sol knew that he couldn't lie convincingly.

As Sol thought, water dribbling from his mouth, he happened to glance aside and see another wolf, sitting directly to his left, perfectly still and silent. She was older than him, with gloomy gray fur dappled with white. She wouldn't stop staring. Who are you? asked Sol, bristling slightly. The she-wolf didn't reply but cocked her head at him quizzically, as though she hadn't heard the question. Who are you? asked Sol again, but the she-wolf merely plodded over and sniffed Sol. He growled under his breath and backed away. Hopefully, his jutting ribs looked intimidating. Ribs or not, she seemed unaffected. Giving the she-wolf one last suspicious look, Sol stole off. She was an odd one.

After a few steps, the she-wolf reappeared in front of him again. Sol cried out and checked behind him. Who are you? he panted.

Is your name Nikkai? Her voice was soft and musical, like a nightingale's.

Watching the she-wolf suspiciously, Sol stole around her and tried to continue. She must be with the others. No, he said curtly.

Do you happen to know the name Shaskar?

I…what? demanded Sol, spinning around and staring at the she-wolf.

She blinked at the sky. It hasn't rained in a few days—

Look, who are you? barked Sol, rushing back in front of the she-wolf so quickly he skidded on some dry leaves. He did his best to keep his tone level. My name is Sol.

Slowly, she lowered her head and blinked at him owlishly. I don't like it. It's not what I would have called you.

Her scent was unfamiliar to him. Do I know you?

Of course not, murmured the she-wolf, standing up and gazing around at the majestic tall oaks and pines. But I know you.

What?

So as I was saying, it hasn't rained in a few days—

Wait! growled Sol, foregoing courtesy. How?

It's impolite to interrupt.

For a moment, Sol wanted to just bite her, but he controlled himself. One thing he was good at was apologizing. Pardon me, he said, arching his back in a quick bow. How do you know?

The she-wolf peered at him as though he had startled her. Know who?

Me.

Who are you?

Sol Blackwood! he snarled in frustration.

Nice to meet you, Sol. It hasn't rained much recently—

Losing patience entirely, Sol whirled around and stalked off. The she-wolf was clearly mad. He hoped he never saw her again. And this time, Sol was careful to make sure she didn't pop up in front of him again.

Why are you in such a hurry? she called without looking. Is someone following you?

No! snapped Sol a little too quickly. How had she…? No, she was mad. It had just been a lucky guess. Sol kept walking.

Good, because without rain to wash away your scent, it would be easy for another wolf to track you.

Before Sol could even think of a response, or whether he should respond at all, he encountered a new problem.

Stomping through the brush, he came face-to-face with another she-wolf. She was smaller than him, and he was scrawny for a male, and she had a sharp scent and a tufty coat of various colors. The moment she laid eyes on Sol, she gasped. Then, with a squeal of joy, she tackled Sol head-on, wrapping her paws around his neck and licking him repeatedly in the face. Oh, it's a stranger! I'm so pleased to meet you! she exclaimed without giving Sol a chance to respond. For such a tiny thing, she was difficult to repel. How are you? Who are you? Oh, I don't care, I'm just so pleased to meet you!

Mmph! replied Sol, blinded by her tongue, which lashed him mercilessly in the face.

This is so exciting! I've got to tell everyone! Are you pleased to meet me? I'm pleased to meet you, she barked with her eyes shut tight with glee, tail whipping back and forth. The she-wolf watched impassively but did not come to Sol's aid. This is the most exciting thing that's happened in ages! Hawthorn will be pleased to see you and Ragnar will be pleased to see you and Finn will be pleased to see you and I'll be pleased to see you—oh, sorry! The newcomer opened her eyes and realized what she was doing. She got off Sol, but her tail kept whipping back and forth. Sol blinked, the fur on his face sticking in every direction. I'm Brook. You must be why Finn summoned us, said Brook, circling Sol and smelling him carefully. I came as fast as I could. You smell wonderful!

I… Thank you, said Sol irritably. The she-wolf from before was still watching him like a hawk but without saying a word. Listen, you're very nice, but I can't stay. I'm only—wait!

Giddy as a bumblebee, Brook began pushing and dragging Sol forward, flitting this way and that so Sol couldn't keep his eyes on her. This way! I see you've already met Nym, now you must meet the rest of the pack. Oh, I'm so excited! Did I say that?

Sol wanted to leave, but Brook overpowered him. Finally, Sol gave in, resolving to slip away as soon as possible. The she-wolf Nym trailed behind while Brook danced circles around them. Sol knew hummingbirds calmer than her.

Brook led Sol and Nym down the side of the cliff, hugging the edge all the way, until they reached the base. They then took Sol along the bottom, though a sparsely treed neck of the forest. Here the ground was softer, easier on Sol's paws, and neither of his companions hurried, for which Sol was both angry and grateful. The sun was climbing steadily higher in the sky, and still Sol tarried when he should have been running for his life. Presently, the trees parted to reveal a splashing stream that ran out of the side of the rock face, running over the countless pebbles and stones. On the far side sat two wolves with their backs to them. As Sol approached, he heard them conversing in low tones.

Wait, Brook is back. The larger of the two, a mottled male with huge paws, turned and crossed the stream. His friend glanced over his shoulder, brightened, and followed. Well, what did Finn want? Who is this? said the larger one, narrowing his eyes at Sol.

Also, hello, added the other cheerfully, poking his head around the larger wolf's body.

Brook forced herself to sit still and bowed her head. Packleader, this is…um…

Sol.

Yes! He's a stranger here, but he's very kind and he smells wonderful. Sol, our leader is called Hawthorn.

The wolf before Sol dwarfed him in size, and he stood almost a head taller than him. Wanting to make a good impression, Sol edged forward and imitated Brook by lowering his head. Great H-Hawthorn, I find your pack and your territory very impressive, sir.

I'm not the leader, numbskull, replied the larger wolf roughly.

Play nice, Ragnar, laughed the other wolf, giving the larger one a playful shunt.

Oh…oh! exclaimed Sol, realizing his mistake. He glanced back and forth between the two, then hastily repeated the gesture to the real Hawthorn. Great Hawthorn, I find your pack—

Yes, yes, good to meet you. Nym, why don't you ever call me Great Hawthorn? I think I could like that name, he called over Sol's shoulder. Nym blinked and maintained her customary silence. You'll have to forgive my mate. I'm sure you know what I mean. Gulping, Sol nodded as Nym gave him a vacant stare. Hawthorn's scent was rich and full-bodied, and his fur was as gray as storm clouds, with white patches on his eyes, belly, and tail. Even I don't pretend to know what she's thinking all the time. Do you know, once about a winter ago, very soon after Nym and I'd become mates, we were all six of us—that is, us four and Finn and Willow, you don't know them—we were all hunting for some packmates of ours because we were separated… Brook and Ragnar sighed quietly and started looking around at the scenery. Hawthorn's story dragged on. After a while we came to this old forest, and I immediately knew this was the place, so I asked her, ‘Nym, isn't this place wonderful?' and she said—no wait, I said, ‘Nym, what do you think of this place?' Yes, that's it. She said the funniest thing! Well, actually, at first she didn't say anything. She's like that you know, I'm sure you've noticed. Anyway, then she said—oh, before you understand why this is so funny you need to know… Somehow, Hawthorn seemed to be able to keep talking without stopping to take a breath. Sol struggled to pay attention out of respect, but the longer Hawthorn went on, the harder it became to follow. Every few sentences, he went off on another rabbit trail, sometimes several in a row, then had to stop and remember why he had brought it up. Hawthorn himself seemed blissfully oblivious. Which is why we like to say that she lives in her own little forest. Ha! Where was I going with this? Oh yes, so I turned to my mate and I said, ‘Nym, what do you think of this place?' Oh, she said the most hysterical thing, er… Wait… I'll remember it, give me a moment. Sol gave Hawthorn a moment. Nope. I can't remember it. Ah well! Hold still, please.

As Brook and Ragnar snapped back to attention and pretended to have been listening the whole time, Hawthorn moved forward to take Sol's scent. Sol shied away. Blinking, Hawthorn tried again, but Sol moved back so quickly he bumped into Brook. Sorry, he muttered.

Relax, chuckled Hawthorn, because Sol was behaving like a skittish mouse. I'm not going to eat you. In order to avoid offending him, Sol attempted to comply, but he was too nervous to sit still. Slowly, Hawthorn tried to take Sol's scent again. This time, Sol flinched but held still. Well, well, he said slowly. What brings you to our forest, Sol?

Sol glanced aside and pawed at the ground, which Ragnar did not fail to notice. I'm just passing through. I'm not staying.

Sol's answer seemed to puzzle Hawthorn. And what pack do you call your own? The Riverclaw? The Nightwalker?

This was the question Sol had hoped he would forget to ask. At first, Sol tried to sidestep it. Well…my pack is—

You don't have one, do you? interrupted Ragnar. Sol wilted and shook his head. As I thought, snorted Ragnar.

Oh! said Brook, her cheer flickering. She lowered her voice and gave Sol an exasperated look. You failed to mention that. The talk didn't seem to interest Nym, who was staring off in the opposite direction.

Ragnar shoved his way, who crouched down beneath him. Very well, loner. We won't kill you if you get off our territory now and don't hunt anything.

Yes, sir, said Sol, keeping his head down.

This isn't our territory, said Hawthorn, unconcerned. Perhaps he wants to stay.

You can't be serious. sighed Ragnar, imploring his leader. He lied to us, sir! Or failed to tell the truth, which is no different. Why don't you ask him what he did to get thrown out? Of course, Shaskar hadn't thrown him out, but Sol kept his mouth shut and let them believe what they wanted.

I said the boy could stay, said Hawthorn, simply but firmly.

For a moment, Ragnar glared down at his superior, and Sol feared he might challenge him. But with a soft growl of frustration, Ragnar prowled away over the river, a dark look in his eye. Brook released a small breath. As he left, Sol noticed Hawthorn relax slightly in relief. Good, he said with a satisfied nod. Ragnar is warm and cuddly most of the time, I promise. We're the Rosethorns.

Thank you… muttered Sol, honored that Hawthorn would even bother.

I'm glad I didn't have to fight him. Hawthorn laughed. Sol wondered how he'd ever become packleader.

There you are! Finn and Willow scrambled over each other as they charged Sol down. Willow stepped on Finn's head, but he got up, rammed her, and got to Sol first. Don't try to escape again, you'll just make it worse for yourself.

Actually, I said he could stay.

Perhaps Finn did not hear or perhaps he did not listen. What will we do with him, sir? he demanded as though Hawthorn had not spoken.

Well, nothing, said Hawthorn, as he prevented Finn from tackling Sol.

With a final breath of exasperation, Willow gave up on all this.

Oh, said Finn, nonplussed. Well, you can count on me, sir.

Sol yawned involuntarily.

I don't really have any feelings about it, apologized Willow, wandering off.

Would you like to rest? guessed Hawthorn.

Extricating himself, Sol paced twice and lay down. The aches and throbs fled his body. Loathe as he was to stay still, Sol needed more rest. Although what he really needed was to eat, he must take what he could get. He could afford to rest first.

Time washed by. Distantly, Finn, Willow, and Brook stood in a circle and raised their voices to the sky. At first, Sol jumped up in shock, but he quickly decided to lie back down. Finn had howled earlier, and nothing had happened yet, besides, he was surrounded. Sol closed his eyes. The music brought some comfort. Of course, to other creatures, it probably sounded nothing like music, more like a drawn-out wail. But to a wolf, no two howls were alike. Sitting in a circle, the Rosethorns keened a song that was all at once gentle, powerful, soothing…

Sol sat upright. The Rosethorns were absorbed in their song, each harmonizing easily with the other, unrehearsed. That howl…there was something about it. It stirred something in Sol that he had never felt before, a longing he could not identify. Sol closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, but he couldn't say why. To tell the truth, his old pack hadn't been overly fond of howling. Do you like it? asked Finn, looking pleased. The others halted. It's a lullaby our pack used to howl through the harshest winters at Rosethorn Mountain.

This isn't Rosethorn Mountain? said Sol.

No, laughed Finn quietly, though he didn't say anything further. Nym was looking at Sol peculiarly, and he didn't like it. Obviously, it's autumn and none of us have any pups at the moment, but it's Brook's favorite. Would you like—

Howl something else, said Sol, lost in his thoughts. Why did that howl create such feelings within him? Please, he added, realizing how he sounded.

Though clearly confused, Finn nodded and took up another note. However much Sol fought to forget, that howl haunted him. Sol lay down and asked Finn to keep going when they had finished. There were no words, just long ghostly strains. That's enough for now, said Finn at last, who glanced at Sol every so often. Sol had not joined in.

Tell a story! exclaimed Brook, jumping up.

Really? I think we've all heard each other's stories, Willow pointed out. Hmm, but Sol hasn't, she said, completing her own thought. Very well, I'll go first. Taking a deep breath, Willow jumped up and stood in the middle. As she narrated, she looked each wolf in the eye in turn, getting more and more absorbed the further she went.

In the time before earth and sky, Day and Night ruled over all. They were powerful and wise. When the time of childbearing came upon Day, though spring was not yet born, she would bear a litter of a hundred at a time, each one stronger than any oak. But one day, Day became pregnant, and the pain of her bearing was greater than a hundred so that the effort of giving birth caused a time seven winters long with only Night. Her son was called Yanar, and when Day had given birth to Yanar, she bore no more, though before she had born a hundred at a time.

You're repeating yourself, said Finn.

Shut up, it helps her remember, said Brook.

Yanar was born, continued Willow loudly, with pure white wings and brilliant eyes like an eagle's, because he was Sky. When Yanar was a pup, Death stole upon him and tried to eat him, but Yanar fled on his white wings and flew among thick thorns, and when Death saw them, he turned aside. And Yanar laughed in the face of Death. Willow laughed for dramatic effect. From the look on Finn and Brook's faces, this next part was their favorite. Night had eyes that saw beyond, and he saw that Yanar would grow up to be more powerful than him. He devoured Yanar's wings, but Yanar escaped. And he was brought up by Wisdom. She taught Yanar to fight, to hunt, to smell out his enemies with his nose, to attack weak prey, and to avoid the prey that was too strong. When Yanar was grown, he returned and tore his wings from the stomach of Night. From out of Night's stomach he tore his wings. And when he had vanquished his father, he said to him, ‘Do not despair. I give you my sacred word. You will be god of all that you can see. I, Yanar, will make it so, if you will only give me what I ask of you.' And so Night agreed and gave his sacred word in turn. And Yanar said, ‘Give me your eyes.' So Yanar stole the Eyes of Night. Therefore is Night forever in darkness. Yanar gave his old eyes to Wisdom, who set them in the bottom of a deep pool and kept the eyes of Night for himself. And he became Yanar, god of the sky and father of giants—

I want to go next! said Brook, barely giving Willow time to sit back down next to Finn. Finn gave Willow an affectionate nudge. When Brook talked, she was so fast and excited that Sol had trouble following along. There were once three brothers who each had his own pack and territory teeming with prey! Yet despite this, none of them had yet found a mate for himself. One day, an old skinny she-wolf whose fur was gray and falling out hobbled into the third brother's territory, looking for food. ‘I have nothing to offer in return, but could you spare an old she-wolf some prey?' And unlike his brothers, the third brother gave the she-wolf all the prey he could spare and treated her with kindness. At once, she transformed into a beautiful, strong young she-wolf, much to the third brother's astonishment, and proclaimed, ‘Your heart is pure and kind! I have found a wolf worthy to be my mate.' Pausing, Brook glanced thoughtfully up at the sky for a moment. The old she-wolf then went into the first brother's territory and said, ‘I have nothing to offer in return, but could you spare an old she-wolf some prey?' And the first brother, seeing that she was old and ugly and could neither fight nor hunt for him, drove her from his territory. ‘Truly, you do not know what you have lost this day,' said the old she-wolf, but the first brother did not understand. Then—

I thought you said she transformed into a young she-wolf, interrupted Finn, looking sidelong at her.

And why did she go to the first brother's territory if the third brother already fed her? added Willow. Pausing, Brook blinked several times.

No, muttered Brook, thinking hard. All right, the she-wolf then went to the second brother—you know, next story! said Brook, returning to her seat. It seemed she had still not solved the mystery of what had happened.

Sol didn't quite know what to make of all this. Nym should go next, suggested Finn. For Nym had hung around the edge of the group all the time, rarely joining them.

There were two wolves, a male and a female, who loved each other very much, said Nym without turning to look at them. So they decided to become mates. It was very happy. The end.

Finn faltered. I've…never heard that one before. Nym didn't respond. I suppose it's my turn now, sighed Finn, rising and shaking his coat. Finn's story was rather long, and he went into great detail. It was another Yanar tale, this time tricking some evil wolf out of his land and pack. Sol found it saccharine and unrealistic. That leaves only Sol, said Finn at the conclusion.

What? demanded Sol.

You must tell a story as well.

Sol had no idea he'd been expected he participate. His old pack had never told him stories since they weren't his friends nor had he ever overheard them tell stories as they weren't exactly friends with each other either. Did he even know any stories? Yes, tell us one we've never heard before! begged Brook, who seemed to think every new thing she encountered was the greatest thing on the earth. One that your old pack used to tell you!

Hesitantly, Sol stood in the center of their small circle. Um… he said, glancing at each one in turn. Uh… It wasn't the strongest of openings to any tale. Hadn't he heard an outsider tell part of a story that one time? He struggled to remember it. There was once…a wolf. Sol couldn't even remember the hero's name.

This is the greatest story on the earth! cried Brook.

He, um, had no family or pack, nor was he a great warrior, continued Sol. From the look on her face, Sol could tell Brook already liked this nameless wolf. Well, no matter how badly he told the story, at least Brook would like it. The thought emboldened Sol. "One day, he wandered onto the territory of a strong and mighty wolf who led a great pack, and the first creature he met was a beautiful she-wolf. She was strong, swift, stealthy, and clever, and the wolf immediately fell in love with her. But the pack's strong and mighty leader desired this she-wolf for himself, and when he saw that this loner had fallen in love with her, he snarled at him and drove him away. The loner challenged the packleader to a death battle for the she-wolf, for he knew the packleader could not refuse and keep his honor. But the loner was no great warrior, and the packleader brutally defeated him, nearly killing him. And this is where the packleader was a fool, for he took pity on the loner and allowed him to depart alive. He and the she-wolf were mated. When winter ended, she gave him a litter of pups. The loner swore vengeance, and for the next winter, he wandered the earth in search of battle. Everywhere two packs fought over territory or prey or she-wolves, the loner went, choosing a side at random and fighting until there were no more battles to be fought, when he would leave in search of others. In time, battle strengthened his limbs and sharpened his claws, and he earned many scars as proof of his victories. And though he grew strong and mighty, he refused all the she-wolves who begged him to be her mate. When he had grown strong enough, the loner returned to the territory of the packleader who had defeated him and challenged him again to the death. The packleader trembled when he saw how strong the loner had grown and how many scars he had earned, but he knew he could not refuse and keep his honor. This time, the loner brutally defeated the packleader. When the packleader saw that he was defeated, he abandoned his honor and begged for his life. But the loner was no fool, and he tore out the packleader's throat. Then the loner