The Wolves Of Moderlös Woods (2nd Draft)

Long ago, in the depths of the North there was a tiny village nestled in the arms of a dark forest. This village was known as Moderlös and consisted of a circle of deer-skin tents around a big wood fire where the villagers would gather and tell stories in the moonlight. For years the village and its people had lived in perfect harmony with the surrounding wilderness, but of late the wild did not want to keep its peace. Winds howled through the tents, the trees screamed, and night after night after night a ring of hungry yellow wolf-eyes surrounded the village.

It was on a night like this that Yulda lay awake, surrounded by the peaceful snores of the other children, wondering what had happened to make the wolves so angry. She had more reason than most to despise the wolves, as it was they who had killed her mother a week after she was born, leaving her orphaned in the care of her grandfather, Elder Rásmos. And yet, as Yulda lay listening to their mournful cries, she found herself unable to summon any hatred for these creatures. She merely felt curious: why had they taken her mother all those years ago and yet not cause any trouble since? Why, now, did they surround the village every night? And why did they never set foot beyond the tree-line, only watching, always watching. If Yulda had been able to admit it to herself, she may even have found she felt a little kinship towards the wolves- like her, they were misunderstood, their powerful grace bleached out by the villagers' blind fear. Yulda herself had always been different, left out; among the rest of the children- who all looked much the same with their near-white ringlets, blue eyes and red cheeks- Yulda looked like an imposter. Her skin was pale and freckled, her eyes a brilliant green, and through her dark, messy hair protruded two large, pointed ears that all the other children liked to laugh at. This did not go unnoticed by Elder Rásmos, who loved her dearly, but lately he seemed too distracted by the encroaching threat of the woods and the wolves to scald the children for their meanness.

Yulda was wrenched from her contemplation as a tall, bearded silhouette flitted over the wall of the tent. She recognised the wide nose and broad build of her grandfather, but what could he be doing out at this time of night? Yulda pulled her patchwork blanket around her shoulders like a cape, retrieved her little wooden sword from under the bed, and crept outside. Ducking behind darkened tents, Yulda tiptoed through the village after the shadowy figure of Rásmos, who was quickly disappearing into the tress. Reaching the edge of the village, Yulda took a deep breath, stole a last glance around her, and ventured a shaky step into the thick, shady pines of Moderlös Woods. With her sword in hand and a fierce scowl on her face that she hoped made her look brave and not very edible, she battled her way through brambles, bracken and overgrown bushes, until she reached the edge of a dark clearing. In the centre stood Rásmos, looking as if he'd been attacked by a tree, his robes tattered and torn with twigs and leaves poking out of his white hair and beard. The wind whipped around him and dark clouds boiled above the clearing. Rásmos threw his head back and shouted into the wind: 'I'M SORRY! PUNISH ME FOR MY SELFISHNESS BUT LEAVE MY VILLAGE IN PEACE!' Yulda frowned; was Rásmos the reason the woods were so angry? What could he possibly have done?

Yulda gasped as a pair of yellow eyes surfaced through the darkness, then another, and another, until the clearing was surrounded. She took a step back, trying to calm her frantic breathing, until she felt the unmistakeable scratch of wild fur against her legs. She whipped around to see a dark brown wolf gazing up at her with it's wise, wild eyes that, if she had thought about it, she may have found strangely familiar. It threw its head forwards into Yulda's belly, knocking her to the floor with a yelp. Just as Yulda raised her tiny sword to defend herself she was dragged onto her feet by two strong, familiar arms.

'Don't hurt her,' Rásmos whispered in her ear, 'She's just being friendly.'

Yulda turned to her grandfather with a look of indignation, and spat,

'These monsters killed my mother!'

A look of guilt flitted across Rásmos' face,

'Yulda,' he crouched down in order to look his granddaughter in the eye, and rested one hand on the head of the brown wolf, 'This /is/ your mother.'

Yulda backed away, with a deep frown etched between her brows.

'I don't understand,' she stammered, running situations in her head and still finding no answer other than that this was a joke, it had to be.

The wolf crept closer and Yulda stiffened, quivering as it nuzzled into her side.

Ràsmos gave a smile of guilt and pity and secrets kept too long, 'Your mother was not killed by the wolves, Yulda... She became one, as did your grandmother and your great grandmother and your great great grandmother. Long ago this forest was bigger, but our ancestors tore the trees apart to build our village and this angered the woodland. Since then one woman of elder blood in each generation has become one with the wilderness to keep the balance between man and wild. When you grow up, Yulda, you too must make this sacrifice-' tears sprung in Rásmos' eyes, 'I have already lost my wife and my daughter, I couldn't bear to lose you too. I thought if I didn't tell you of your destiny you wouldn't leave, but I only made the woods angry,' he was no longer talking to Yulda, but to the wolf pack and the trees and the stars that surrounded them, 'I was foolish to put my own wishes before the safety of the village, and for that I am deeply sorry.'

A heavy hush fell over the gathering; the wild winds had given way to a gentle breeze and the only sound was the soft rustling of leaves and the panting of tired wolves.

Yulda's hand had found its way into the fur of the brown wolf- her mother- and she wound her fingers in deeper, closing her eyes as tight as she could and trying to fit everything into place in her head.

The cogs in Yulda's brain slowed their whirring and clicked into place. She had been left out all of her life and had no friends to leave behind. The only person she would miss if she left the village would be her grandfather, and she still had years and years to grow up under his care.

She ran up to the old man and wrapped her arms around his knees. 'Grandpa,' she whispered in a very small voice, 'you will come and visit me in the woods, won't you?'

The old man stooped down and buried his head in Yulda's tiny shoulder.

'Don't go, little one,' he whispered, but Yulda simply shook her head.

'I want to go, grandpa,' she whispered back, 'I can have a family here. I can have my mama back!'

Rásmos said nothing, but stood up slowly, ruffled Yulda's hair and smiled in a way that showed a deeper understanding and sadness than words could convey.

As they stood there in the moonlit woods, the wolves slowly retreating back into the shadows, a peaceful silence swept in on the soft breeze; the children slept soundly, the wolves stayed hidden and the villagers were no longer afraid of their surroundings. The balance between man and wild was once more restored. Every night, Yulda and her grandfather would visit their family in the woods, bringing scraps of meat and bones to chew, until Yulda would fall asleep on the pillow of her mother's fur, and Rásmos would carry her home to bed, where she would sleep the deep, satisfied slumber of questions answered and lost ones found.