The walk home is going to be long and dull. I’m not looking forward to it, especially since the forest feels darker today—gloomier, somehow. Maybe it’s the overcast sky. Something twitches in my mind, like misty fingers are plucking at a string in my brain, thrumming a repetitive note. I hum, then sing aloud, trying to shake off the feeling, but it persists.
I’m nearing the Barrow when the distant trees to my right begin to thrash and the ground shudders with thunderous steps.
Something is coming. The demon-wolf? Whatever it is, it’s approaching at a pace that means either flight or fury.
The wolf hasn’t behaved threateningly toward me, but it would be foolish not to take precautions with such a creature. I duck behind the bare trunk of a large spruce. The rough scales of the bark are oddly comforting, solid and familiar beneath my palm.
With a low bellow, the creature gallops nearer and bursts into the open. Each of its heavy, panting breaths is tinged with a growling rasp from gigantic lungs. I tilt my head enough to see around the trunk with one eye.
As I suspected, it’s the monstrous wolf. It stands on the path, its legs bent and its head lowered, sniffing intently.
Its twin muzzles swing toward my hiding place.
I recoil and turn away, pressing my back against the tree and breathing as silently as possible.
Thump. Thump. Crunch.The monster’s footsteps advance slowly, each one louder, each one vibrating the earth. I stay put as it stalks past my tree, and then I scooch around the trunk, keeping it between the wolf and me.
A low sound ripples through the creature’s throat, and its steps recede farther away.
I should keep going. I should run along the path as fast as I can, to put distance between me and the creature.
Cautiously I move away from the tree and take a careful step toward the path.
The wolf-demon charges into my view, confronting me on bent legs, its neck and shoulders stooped to bring its split face closer to mine.
A scream crawls up my throat, but I don’t let it out.
The wolf sniffs me, first with one giant nose, then the other. Its eyes glow yellowish-white from corner to corner, not a sign of pupils or irises.
Faced with a wolf whose heads are the size of a house and whose legs are as big as trees, there’s not much use running. The hideous majesty of the monster strikes a chord deep in my heart,awes me on some primal level beyond the fear of being devoured.
For a moment, I feel almost worshipful.
A tongue slips from the wolf’s left muzzle, and it voices a guttural, choked whine, echoed as a whimpering snuffle from the second head.
“What are you?” I whisper.
The wolf gives another gargling whine, drool sliding from its massive jaws. I swallow and back away, realization sharpening in my stunned mind. This thing could snap me up in a half-second, swallow me down and barely realize what it ate. I’m so tiny in comparison, I’d barely be a snack for the creature.
If this is the overgrown result of something I summoned, maybe I have some power over it. I can try, at least.
I clear my throat and speak, trying to sound firm and confident. “Go away.”
The creature snorts, shakes its malformed head, and backs up a step.
Emboldened, I advance. “Stop scaring me. Run off and do… whatever it is that you do.”
The wolf’s three eyes burn into mine. Then, with a shuddering howl, it bounds away, disappearing into the forest again.
My knees go weak, and I cling to the nearest tree for a few minutes, willing my racing heart to slow down. Eventually I continue walking, but I’m more anxious than usual, jumping at every shadow, afraid that the wolf will return. Even though my petticoat isn’t dry yet and the air is still warm, I pull on my dress and layer the cloak over it. All I want is to get home, take a hot bath, crawl into bed with a mug of tea, and not see or speak to anyone until I’ve managed to regain some semblance of sanity.
When I reach the Barrow, I travel around it, not over it. Something in my soul shrinks from the hill and sends chills racing over my skin. I have the most illogical notion thattouching the Barrow would be a very bad thing. Which makes no sense at all.
As I round the curve of the path, I see someone up ahead—a stocky figure with a red scarf, standing in the center of the path with his back to me. His hair sticks up in one spot on the crown of his head, like he slept on it funny and didn’t bother to fix it.
I know that hair. I used to stare at the back of that head in school.
Something about the way he’s standing is… odd.
