The winter was merciless the year gluttony feasted. Hard pressed to make ends meet as their father travelled to the market some distance away, three daughters tried their best to stave off cold and hunger. The eldest was a buxom woman, wed and widowed many a time, and only made matters worse by bringing her brood to the homestead. Ever hungry, her children peeped and called as chicks, never satiated, driving the others to extreme annoyance. Lucky their mother was a huntress, and so she provided tirelessly from the wood; trapping her specialty. The second eldest girl was a bit daft. Airy and bright, nonetheless, she filled their quaint home with music and kept all tidy, thus earning her a secure and respected station amongst her sisters. Next came a cook, her food unrivalled and skill with an ax dually so. Tall and formidable, she like the sister before, also unwed ? for she kept her suitors at bay with iced stares and baleful regard. These three worked endlessly through the season, so much so that the youngest sister had very little to do and was oft chided for her slothfulness. Nevertheless, they loved her, for she could spin a tale at the drop of a pin and leave them all breathless in that drab, darkened cabin. When it suited her, she sewed, using the pelts the eldest sister brought home to provide garments for the rest.

They were well-balanced, and managing the harsh weather with hopes and dreams centred around their father's return in spring. Now, these four were not ignorant by any means, but they all had what their papa deemed 'tender hearts'. Much like their long-dead mother, they often cared for wounded animals, motherless creatures, to the dismay of aforementioned father. The eldest, buxom huntress that she was, was no less prone for all her prowess. She took only what was needed and did not relish the act of killing itself. So on the fateful night that brought an injured wolf to their home, they took pity. Big for one of his kind, the lupine was formidable in appearance, weakened in the way that only mortal wounds can render such a beast. Leaving a wide, bloody trail through the snow, he drug himself closer to the house, only to be stopped by an ax-wielding maid. Frosty eyes gazed upon his fallen form, and he panted, speaking with effort. "I am already near dead, fair human, can you not see? I mean no harm, I merely wish for a quiet place to die."

Cocking an eyebrow, she nudged him with the sharp edge of her ax, eliciting a piteous whimper from his chest. "I should finish the job.." she answered tartly, then narrowed her eyes. "Why should I let a wolf remain here to threaten the safety of my family? Surely the scent of your death draws more..." With this, she glanced at the wood, half expecting her eldest sister to come traipsing out from checking her traps. Interrupting with a faint whine, the wolf grovelled at her feet, pressing his snout into a furrow of snow. "I don't ask for anything other than shelter to die in peace, do I look as though I could harm you?" Inspecting him thoroughly in the fading light, the sister saw the truth in his words. A bloody gash, as long as her forearm and deep, ran the length of his right side. Another crested his furry crown, and even more welts and shallow lacerations adorned his lean legs. Glancing at the shed, she sighed, then nodded. "When you die we will use all that you have to offer, you know?" A keen gaze fell to the wounded predator, and she noted his wheezing breaths were labouring further. "Y..hee.. I care not.." he finally managed.

Pressing her lips firmly together, she went back to the house and explained the wolf's plight to her family. Wide-eyed, they went to the window, his silhouette a large, misshapen blackness against the purity of the snow surrounding. "Are you sure?" squeaked the youngest sister, gaze trained on the barely recognizable figure outside. Her sister nodded, "He is nearly dead as it is. I will merely put him in the shed and allow him respite while he dies. We can use his fur, think of the fine boots he'll make! I've never seen one like him." She sounded covetous.

Three sisters were deliberating when the fourth tromped in the back door, knocking snow off her boots and holding two hares aloft. "Dinner is served!" she triumphantly crooned, only to fall silent as she noted her sisters pressed to the front window with pale faces and wary eyes. "What?" she demanded as she crossed the threshold and moved toward the window herself. The others quickly explained and her expression grew darker, attention pinned on that unmoving wolf. Swiftly dispatching her game to whoever was nearest, she exited the front and rounded on the wolf, silently assessing. Pale eyes lifted and met hers meekly, and she released a loud, "Harumpf" as she nudged his prone form with the toe of her boot. "Wounded? Aye? Let me see..." With that she flipped him roughly over, rewarded with a pained yowl from the beasts mouth. Flinching, she evaluated his wounds, feeling a pang of regret at having roughly treated this proud creature so. With a sigh she beckoned her waiting sister, and without preamble, they hoisted his heavy body to the shed.

As they were arranging him on the floor, he snarled, then promptly apologized. "I...I'm sorry...it hurts there, oh!" Resolving to gentleness, they lowered his blood-crusted legs and patted his head. "I respect you, wolf" said the huntress, her expression grim. "The least I can do is give you a place to pass peacefully and a last meal." Both sisters vanish, the huntress returning with a fat hare. "Share our meat, know we wont let you go to waste." The wolf, all but invisible in the dark shed, whimpered his thanks and soon the sound of flesh rending from bone, the scent of blood, filled the air. Satisfied, the sister left, closing the door firmly behind. With a sigh she returned to her sisters, and over the preparation of their meager dinner they discussed the evening's findings. "A wolf!" the youngest breathed, eyes bright as they darted to the doorway. Three grubby children chirped "Wolf! Wolf!" in unison, their little voices rising to unbearable volume. "Hush!" their mother chided, and with chagrin faces they subsided. The eldest sisters deliberated: What if he wasn't dead in the morn? What if he had manipulated them? Who would get the boots from his hide? Conversation continued through dinner and preparations for bed, until at last, weary, they all fell asleep.

The wind whipped furiously that night, finding every loose board in the house and assaulting the shutters with equal vigour. Undetected in this cacophony, a lone figure emerged from the shed, his limping gait marking an uneven path in the rippling sea of snow. Greed spurred the pained beast onward, his wounds not nearly as fatal as he allowed them to appear. A house full of meat, lush and wrapped for the taking. Oh how the fates had blessed him tonight! Licking dry chops, he advances at a leisurely pace knowing they lay unaware, their tender hearts soon to be their end. With a heavy paw, he knocks. Once, twice, thrice. Patiently he waits upon haunches, ready to spring. Shuffling is heard within, and after a moment sleepy eyes squint out into the darkness. Scanning up and around, they then shift downward, widening in surprise to see the company calling. One scream, sharp and piercing, cuts the air, unheard as winter howls furiously around the tiny abode.

As the sun rises over a newly swept field beyond a well-kept farmstead, a satisfied howl chases the night. Growling his pleasure, the round-bellied wolf emerges from a shadowed doorway, a decidedly unwolfish smirk displaying canines of deep red.

Moral: A wolf is a wolf, wounded or no. You have only yourself to blame for answering when it comes knocking.











Penned by my hand on the 15th of Chronos, in the year 643 AF.