Cara Bennington stumbled through the snow, her cheeks pale and pinched with cold and her bare hands trembling to match her rapidly beating heart. Her cloak billowed around her as the wind picked up, and she pulled it tighter, the last remnant of her royalty.
The make of the cloth was no special thing - a course wool meant to shelter from the elements, unusual raiment for the daughter of a king. It was the color that made it special.
Red, the color of her family line. Bright, burning, like a smoke-covered sun. The too-bright color that the innocent and the naive believed blood to be. The color of temptation, of rouge flaming high across narrow, painted cheeks, of lips that whispered scarlet lies, of sacrilegious blood - of a different origin - staining the marriage bed.
They had condemned her family for the arrival of the white Winter Wolves. Faced with a growing populous and few resources with which to sustain them, the king had called for expansion. With Everet and Jinsun to the west, Bala and Malaea across the treacherous mountain passes to the east, and the Great Sea to the south, the king had not wanted to wage war against their allies. Instead he had turned to the forbidden north, barren and cruel. It was said only wandering tribes of barbarians and strange spirit-walkers lived there - queer people who followed the old ways, serving the devils, kings, and gods of ancient times.
Cara stumbled with exhaustion, unsure whether the numb glass of her feet still belonged to her. Her breath plumed out before her in a smoky cloud, the unforgiving air stealing her warmth with every exhalation.
It was ironic, really. Her father paid homage to the gods of old, retreating to the temple every moon to present offerings and pay respects. He was devout, and true, but as the voice of the people clamored over the wavering voice in the wind, he misheard the warnings, put his trust in machines as the new instruments of the gods. All the fires of industry were useless against the Winter Wolves. Even when in despair he turned them against his neighbors, as bound by the same growing ice they turned our people away, the wolves indiscriminately devoured. They snuffed the fires with their wind our else stoked them into blazes to consume the rotting dead.
Cara fell to the snow, which was strangely warm. Comfortable. She felt her consciousness drifting, floating away to the distant lullaby of sleep. The land stretched in her mind to where Nana's cottage waited with a welcoming fire and a bowl of porridge. The old queen had always held to a simple life, even upon the throne, though she would never deny reasonable luxuries to those who enjoyed them. The familiar smell of softly-crackling herbs was suddenly sharp and astringent in her nose.
She grumbled softly, her throat cracked and raw. There was a flash of red across her vision, staining the white haze that cradled her, and she jerked up with a start.
Red, the color of a forge, the color of a rosy cheek, the color of blood, splashed down onto her cloak. She raised her hand to the shallow wound on her cheek, looking up into stars - no, constellations above her. Then she realized it was actually snow dotting the coat of a massive black wolf. He was at least her standing height, his shoulders twice as broad as she. His eyes, though - they were captivating in their starless darkness, voids that should have seemed cold but were to her as warm as the center of the world.
"You travel south, young princess," he stated gravely, in a strange, archaic dialect.
"To the house of my grandmother," she responded in kind, moving her words slowly around a thick tongue and sluggish brain.
"Your grandmother betrays you," he growled, startling her into clarity with both his words and his aggression.
"I - I do not understand."
"The Winter Wolves - the scourge of your people and the curse of your line - do you not know their origin? Do you not know the significance of the cloak you bear?" He snarled, tossing his great shaggy head. "No matter, now. We must draw out the poison of the witch from the land and then run to the north, to banish the curse. There we will affix a seal, that with the help of your heart and house will keep them at bay for another age of men."
Cara's head was reeling, but the piercing obsidian of his eyes did not grant her time to gather herself. She stood, her whole body now reeling to match her head.
"Put your hand upon my shoulder," he instructed. "I may not give you warmth, but I can give you haste."
She did so, and felt a strange sensation - a lightness that made her lightheaded as she put a foot down in the thick snow and sprang forward rather than trudging slowly. In the few moments after the sensation set in, she felt his coat - not silky like the Wolves that plagued the land, but rough and coarse.
"We must go," he said, and took off. She ran, keeping pace with him though her lungs stung with daggers of ice and her legs burned in the way the only intense cold could.
At last they reached the small cottage. Cara turned to the wolf with sorrow in her eyes. "I still love her," she said. "I doubt I will ever stop loving her, even should I come to know the full extent of her betrayal. How can I raise my hand against my own blood?"
The wolf turned to her, eyes unfathomable. "That is not your trial to bear. She did not bring you to death, and so that is not the role you must play to her."
She blinked at him.
"I will not coddle you," he roared, "You know what you must do!"
She was about to argue, felt the words rising to her lips, building walls and armor and - and beneath her defenses, she felt the truth of his words ringing. She knew what she had to do.
"You cannot enter?" she asked, in confirmation.
"The place is warded against me. You must get her to grant me invitation."
Cara nodded. Taking her hand from his back, she felt feebleness sweep through her. As she turned to watch him go, she saw he had melted into the dusk.
She half-fell, half-crawled her way to the door, uncertain of how she could get the old queen to let him in. The queen was quick and clever, and a fearsome foe to match wits with.
It rather stumbled upon her as she thumped the door with little force behind it. She forced her faltering eyes wide, letting the snow make them bright and hazy. She pinched color into her frozen cheeks.
The door creaked open. "Oh, my love," her grandmother cried. "You must be half-dead with cold. Hurry inside, please!"
The warmth from inside hit her like a blast from a furnace, and she leaned towards it drunkenly before remembering her task.
"Wai'" she slurred, swaying back again. "I hav' to bring my friend."
Even through her blurred vision, she could see something sharp pass across her grandmother's eyes. Fear spiked through her heart - if she was even remotely suspicious, the task would be that much harder for Cara. She quelled her panic, hoping desperately that she hadn't shown any sign of unease. Everything was banking on how much her grandmother cared for her. Would love really blind?
"My friend," she wailed piteously, though the calling the pathetic sound she managed to make a wail was a stretch. "He's big, an' strong, an' he always protects me!"
Now her grandmother seemed confused. "Is your friend one of the guard? Come on inside, dear, it is simply too cold!" She reached out to touch Cara, but she jerked away, stumbling back into the deep snowdrifts that nearly buried her. Blackness began to close in around her vision, and she knew she had to convince her grandmother now.
She searched for a half-truth she could present, one where the truth half would fall to her grandmother and the lie to her. Somehow she knew that anything the old queen had created could not fall to a lie. She would see right through that.
"No," she protested. "My frien'! Rememb'r? You always said he was real!"
She hung her hope on the fragile wordplay that had sprung to her mind, though it was more true than even she knew. She had claimed a wolf accompanied her, and had created an uproar within her family. The scoldings she had received! And yet, at the edge of it all, her grandmother had smiled faintly and told her not to listen to them, to let the wolf come to her and listen to its words. How could a wolf speak? she had wondered.
Her grandmother's faint smile had returned. "Yes, he may come in," she said in a strange voice, still not stepping beyond the doorway. "But-" Her words were cut short by the splash of her blood on the snow. It was a visceral, ugly scene, and Cara turned away with a cry.
When she looked back, the cottage was dark and cold, and there was no trace of her grandmother.
"Now, you must run until your legs betray you, then I shall carry you until the winds cull your heat, then at last I will swallow you and keep you warm inside of me, for the winds will be cruel and will fight us every step of the way. They know our intent now, if they did not before."
All she could think to say was, "Please don't swallow me."
The wolf laughed, a strange, wild, unsettling sound.
"You will be glad of it in the end, princess, when darkness spreads across your skin and renders it dead, and the snow weighs your eyelids down and threatens to capture you forever."
Then he stepped towards her and spoke more gently. "You shall not face my teeth, Cara Bennington, nor my claws. You have much to do yet, and your tainted heart may yet be purified."
I HAVE BIG PLANS FOR THIS STORY @Sillywinter IT IS NOT FINISHED BY FAR
The make of the cloth was no special thing - a course wool meant to shelter from the elements, unusual raiment for the daughter of a king. It was the color that made it special.
Red, the color of her family line. Bright, burning, like a smoke-covered sun. The too-bright color that the innocent and the naive believed blood to be. The color of temptation, of rouge flaming high across narrow, painted cheeks, of lips that whispered scarlet lies, of sacrilegious blood - of a different origin - staining the marriage bed.
They had condemned her family for the arrival of the white Winter Wolves. Faced with a growing populous and few resources with which to sustain them, the king had called for expansion. With Everet and Jinsun to the west, Bala and Malaea across the treacherous mountain passes to the east, and the Great Sea to the south, the king had not wanted to wage war against their allies. Instead he had turned to the forbidden north, barren and cruel. It was said only wandering tribes of barbarians and strange spirit-walkers lived there - queer people who followed the old ways, serving the devils, kings, and gods of ancient times.
Cara stumbled with exhaustion, unsure whether the numb glass of her feet still belonged to her. Her breath plumed out before her in a smoky cloud, the unforgiving air stealing her warmth with every exhalation.
It was ironic, really. Her father paid homage to the gods of old, retreating to the temple every moon to present offerings and pay respects. He was devout, and true, but as the voice of the people clamored over the wavering voice in the wind, he misheard the warnings, put his trust in machines as the new instruments of the gods. All the fires of industry were useless against the Winter Wolves. Even when in despair he turned them against his neighbors, as bound by the same growing ice they turned our people away, the wolves indiscriminately devoured. They snuffed the fires with their wind our else stoked them into blazes to consume the rotting dead.
Cara fell to the snow, which was strangely warm. Comfortable. She felt her consciousness drifting, floating away to the distant lullaby of sleep. The land stretched in her mind to where Nana's cottage waited with a welcoming fire and a bowl of porridge. The old queen had always held to a simple life, even upon the throne, though she would never deny reasonable luxuries to those who enjoyed them. The familiar smell of softly-crackling herbs was suddenly sharp and astringent in her nose.
She grumbled softly, her throat cracked and raw. There was a flash of red across her vision, staining the white haze that cradled her, and she jerked up with a start.
Red, the color of a forge, the color of a rosy cheek, the color of blood, splashed down onto her cloak. She raised her hand to the shallow wound on her cheek, looking up into stars - no, constellations above her. Then she realized it was actually snow dotting the coat of a massive black wolf. He was at least her standing height, his shoulders twice as broad as she. His eyes, though - they were captivating in their starless darkness, voids that should have seemed cold but were to her as warm as the center of the world.
"You travel south, young princess," he stated gravely, in a strange, archaic dialect.
"To the house of my grandmother," she responded in kind, moving her words slowly around a thick tongue and sluggish brain.
"Your grandmother betrays you," he growled, startling her into clarity with both his words and his aggression.
"I - I do not understand."
"The Winter Wolves - the scourge of your people and the curse of your line - do you not know their origin? Do you not know the significance of the cloak you bear?" He snarled, tossing his great shaggy head. "No matter, now. We must draw out the poison of the witch from the land and then run to the north, to banish the curse. There we will affix a seal, that with the help of your heart and house will keep them at bay for another age of men."
Cara's head was reeling, but the piercing obsidian of his eyes did not grant her time to gather herself. She stood, her whole body now reeling to match her head.
"Put your hand upon my shoulder," he instructed. "I may not give you warmth, but I can give you haste."
She did so, and felt a strange sensation - a lightness that made her lightheaded as she put a foot down in the thick snow and sprang forward rather than trudging slowly. In the few moments after the sensation set in, she felt his coat - not silky like the Wolves that plagued the land, but rough and coarse.
"We must go," he said, and took off. She ran, keeping pace with him though her lungs stung with daggers of ice and her legs burned in the way the only intense cold could.
At last they reached the small cottage. Cara turned to the wolf with sorrow in her eyes. "I still love her," she said. "I doubt I will ever stop loving her, even should I come to know the full extent of her betrayal. How can I raise my hand against my own blood?"
The wolf turned to her, eyes unfathomable. "That is not your trial to bear. She did not bring you to death, and so that is not the role you must play to her."
She blinked at him.
"I will not coddle you," he roared, "You know what you must do!"
She was about to argue, felt the words rising to her lips, building walls and armor and - and beneath her defenses, she felt the truth of his words ringing. She knew what she had to do.
"You cannot enter?" she asked, in confirmation.
"The place is warded against me. You must get her to grant me invitation."
Cara nodded. Taking her hand from his back, she felt feebleness sweep through her. As she turned to watch him go, she saw he had melted into the dusk.
She half-fell, half-crawled her way to the door, uncertain of how she could get the old queen to let him in. The queen was quick and clever, and a fearsome foe to match wits with.
It rather stumbled upon her as she thumped the door with little force behind it. She forced her faltering eyes wide, letting the snow make them bright and hazy. She pinched color into her frozen cheeks.
The door creaked open. "Oh, my love," her grandmother cried. "You must be half-dead with cold. Hurry inside, please!"
The warmth from inside hit her like a blast from a furnace, and she leaned towards it drunkenly before remembering her task.
"Wai'" she slurred, swaying back again. "I hav' to bring my friend."
Even through her blurred vision, she could see something sharp pass across her grandmother's eyes. Fear spiked through her heart - if she was even remotely suspicious, the task would be that much harder for Cara. She quelled her panic, hoping desperately that she hadn't shown any sign of unease. Everything was banking on how much her grandmother cared for her. Would love really blind?
"My friend," she wailed piteously, though the calling the pathetic sound she managed to make a wail was a stretch. "He's big, an' strong, an' he always protects me!"
Now her grandmother seemed confused. "Is your friend one of the guard? Come on inside, dear, it is simply too cold!" She reached out to touch Cara, but she jerked away, stumbling back into the deep snowdrifts that nearly buried her. Blackness began to close in around her vision, and she knew she had to convince her grandmother now.
She searched for a half-truth she could present, one where the truth half would fall to her grandmother and the lie to her. Somehow she knew that anything the old queen had created could not fall to a lie. She would see right through that.
"No," she protested. "My frien'! Rememb'r? You always said he was real!"
She hung her hope on the fragile wordplay that had sprung to her mind, though it was more true than even she knew. She had claimed a wolf accompanied her, and had created an uproar within her family. The scoldings she had received! And yet, at the edge of it all, her grandmother had smiled faintly and told her not to listen to them, to let the wolf come to her and listen to its words. How could a wolf speak? she had wondered.
Her grandmother's faint smile had returned. "Yes, he may come in," she said in a strange voice, still not stepping beyond the doorway. "But-" Her words were cut short by the splash of her blood on the snow. It was a visceral, ugly scene, and Cara turned away with a cry.
When she looked back, the cottage was dark and cold, and there was no trace of her grandmother.
"Now, you must run until your legs betray you, then I shall carry you until the winds cull your heat, then at last I will swallow you and keep you warm inside of me, for the winds will be cruel and will fight us every step of the way. They know our intent now, if they did not before."
All she could think to say was, "Please don't swallow me."
The wolf laughed, a strange, wild, unsettling sound.
"You will be glad of it in the end, princess, when darkness spreads across your skin and renders it dead, and the snow weighs your eyelids down and threatens to capture you forever."
Then he stepped towards her and spoke more gently. "You shall not face my teeth, Cara Bennington, nor my claws. You have much to do yet, and your tainted heart may yet be purified."
I HAVE BIG PLANS FOR THIS STORY @Sillywinter IT IS NOT FINISHED BY FAR
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