A Werewolf's Tale

Long shadows of twilight were falling across village Aelwynn, with the sun just starting to slip from behind mountain range jagged peaks. The air was cool and fresh; it seemed to suggest pine, it had the soft texture from its proximity to forests. Lyra was way out on the skirts of the village. She had her hands now braced against a weather-beaten and splintery wooden railing that divided the Cliffside walks, one of which wound gently uphill toward other parts of the village, from sheer rock wall, awaiting those who had accidentally veered off either side.

Below, the village spread out in tidy lines of cottages, their stone chimneys puffing thin wafts of smoke into the dimming sky. It was a peaceful sight - one she had witnessed dozens of times. But tonight, there was something ominous in the air.

Lyra turned from the mountains and her eyes skimmed over the darkening horizon, it came to the distant trees that stood as sentinels, warding the secrets of the world beyond.

There were whispers in the villagers about the woods, the menacing wolves that roamed its heart. She had never believed in things like that - not really. But still deep down, she was inexplicably drawn to the forest when she looked at it. A feeling that she belonged there more than in this village that had never really felt like home.

Sighing, she huddled her woolen shawl around her shoulders. The whispers of an impending winter lingered in the wind, but the cold wasn't what had her on edge tonight. No, it was something much more alarming: the village's annual Gathering of the Chosen.

Every year when the first full moon of winter came the villagers chose a bride for the alpha of the werewolf pack that prowled the woods around them. The ritual, they said, was needed to keep things peaceful with the wolves. It was a longstanding tradition, as deeply embedded in their history as the stone walls that enclosed the village.

It was the night of the Elder Council and when they would announce the bride they had chosen, and no matter how she did try to be unnoticed, Lyra had a gut feel that it would be her.

"Lyra," a voice called from behind her, and she spun to see aunt Eira coming up. Eira's long silver-gray hair shone in the waning light, and her sharp blue eyes, slightly softened with age, still possessed the fire of her youth.

"You've heard, haven't you?" Eira's voice was quiet, but there was no denying the gravity in her tone. "The Council has made their decision.'

Lyra swallowed hard, her guts twisting in knots. She nodded, unable to swallow, panic pooling in her chest.

"I won't, Aunt Eira," she said, though even to herself the words sounded unconfident. "I won't become their bride. I do not intend to be a pawn in some ancient, barbaric ritual."

Eira, her face soft with pity and sorrow, reached out to take Lyra's old hands. "You have no choice, child. You never did." With a sigh, she looked up to the horizon with its dark silhouette of the forest. "I realize this isn't what you want, however, the relationship between the village and the wolves is greater than any of us. And you must - for the sake of everyone you love."

Lyra's answer was to shake her head, and jerk her hands away from Eira's grip. "I don't love them, Aunt. I don't owe them anything."

Eira's eyes darkened, and for a moment she looked older than Lyra had ever seen her. "You might not think you have any obligations toward them, but the pack has safeguarded the village for ages. You owe them your life, whether you realize it or not."

A tingle traveled up Lyra's spine, but she didn't allow the fear to settle. "I don't care if they are safe. I care about my freedom. "I will not be a prisoner of this... this tradition." Her voice quivered with defiance.

Eira reached out, cradled Lyra's cheek in her hand, her touch warm but heavy with unvoiced regret. "I worry that you don't have the choice you think you have. The wolves are long memory creatures, Lyra, and they don't forget... not even... especially not the alpha.' She lowered her voice to a whisper. "The one who reigns over them is no mere man. He is a wolf, and like wolves, he commands them, ancient blood flows with the strength of blood."

Information that was burned-out, (a frown appeared on Lyra), it was clouding her mind. "What do you mean?"

Eira's eyes turned back to the forest, her face faraway. "You'll find out soon enough, little one. The night of the full moon nears. The ritual cannot be undone." She hesitated, inhaling deeply. "And you, are the one chosen."

Lyra's heart stopped. "No," she said, a breath of the word slipping from her lips. "It can't be me. I'm not like them. This... This is not for me."

Eira's gaze softened again, and she pressed her hand to Lyra's heart. "You might not know it now but you have ties to them that you can't yet grasp. The blood runs deep, Lyra. Deeper than you know." She drew back, her voice growing steadier with conviction. "Go. The Council is waiting for you."

Lyra looked at her aunt, fear and confusion fighting inside her. She didn't know which was worse, the thought of being bound to the alpha of the pack, or the terrifying realization that everything she thought she knew about herself, was a lie.

The journey to the castle was long and perilous, winding through thick woods and deep hills; a seemingly endless travel under the cloudy sky.

Lyra felt her heart drumming erratically in her chest as she held tightly to the reins of the horse she was riding. She attempted to keep her eyes ahead, but the thoughts about what lay in the village and what she was leaving behind kept pulling her back. Soon they came to the forest's edge as whispering leaves began to shake, you could tell it was coming by how twisted and seething the trees became. Her every breath spoke of mysteries and forgotten might. Lyra shivered, an unfamiliar feeling skittering up her spine. The forest was always a place of great danger according to the village, a place where wolves roamed free and where humans didn't walk. But there she was - marching right into the thick of it.