Leora
Time passed by in a blur of waking up in spurts. Just long enough to hug Dorie, empty my bladder, and eat a bowl of stew. One seemed to magically appear on the nightstand whenever I'd returned from the cabin’s surprisingly large toilet and shower room.
I did this all while avoiding the eyes of the stranger. He never spoke during the short times I was awake. But his obvious endurance of our presence echoed louder than any other sound in the cabin.
Eat. Then go. That was my plan every time I sat down to scarf down another bowl of stew … only to wake up a few hours later from another deep and dreamless sleep.
But then, one day, I awoke from the long blur of sleep and stew, and everything felt different.
My head wasn’t stuffed with wool. My body didn’t ache at all.
My child didn’t storm the bed in a worried rush, saying, “Maem, Maem, you’re awake! Do you need help getting to the toilet?”
I was alone in the cabin, I realized with a few sniffs. And that was okay …
I sat up in bed all by myself. Easily. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. And I even managed to stand up without that unsteady sway. The one that always made Dorie put her much smaller body under my arm and hug me tight before walking me to the toilet.
I missed my daughter, of course. But I did appreciate being able to walk on my own two feet. Without having to endure the surly stare of the hulking wolf.
It felt so good to be back to myself. Then my eyes lit up when I saw the big duffel lying unzipped on the floor. And the outfit I could make from the clothing inside of it.
A moment of guilt. Hadn't I already taken enough from our reluctant host? But the opportunity to craft a much more modest outfit overrode the icky feeling in my stomach.
I grabbed my found treasure and headed for the bathroom to take a long overdue shower.
And, oh my goodness, unlike the showers in either of the houses I’d occupied in Canada, this one was heated. That explained the log fire contraption sitting in the bathroom’s corner. It must have been some kind of heater. I about died from pleasure as the warm water sluiced over me.
Then I saw the large bottles marked shampoo and conditioner and nearly died all over again.
I walked out of the bathroom, feeling restored and refreshed, with my clean, detangled hair twisted into a fresh set of crown braids. And my heart leaped for joy when I spotted my boots sitting underneath the cabin’s front window. Thank goodness Alban didn't burn those too.
Now I had everything I needed to make the trip to Faoiltiarn.
The thought of leaving should have brought another wave of relief with it. But now that I was back to the polite human I was raised to be, the thought of heading out without doing something to pay the stranger back for his kindness? Well, that didn't sit well with me.
Maybe I could make Alban a nice big breakfast of anything but stew to thank him for—
All my grateful thoughts disappeared when I saw the scene outside the front window.
Dorie and the red-haired giant were in front of the house. And he was attacking her with a sword!
“Stop! Stop!” I came out of the cabin screaming. “What are you …”
I ran toward the giant attacking my daughter, prepared to throw myself between them.
Then I saw that both swords were made of wood.
“… doing?” I finished, my voice becoming weak with embarrassment.
The giant lowered his weapon and looked me up and down with narrowed eyes.
“Maem! You’re up!” My daughter waved her wooden sword with a happy "Hurrah!"
“Where are your shoes?” The giant glowered at me. “You shouldn’t be out here in bare feet.”
I glanced down at my still bare feet, then back up at him. “Why are you out here fighting with my daughter?”
“We’re not fighting," Dorie answered before he could. "We’re playing Scots and Irish with these swords we made all by ourselves!”
“Scots and Irish?” I repeated, returning my confused gaze to my daughter.
“It’s a Faoiltiarn game,” she explained, her voice becoming impatient. “Alban's teaching me how to be a real Faoiltiarn kid. He says if I win at Scots and Irish, then the other boys will have to respect me. Do you know they only have boys at the kingdom school?”
No, I didn't know that. It hadn't been in Tara's letter.
“You shouldn’t be out here without any shoes,” Alban said before I could fully process that new information.
I shook my head at him. And before I could think better of it, I said, “You shouldn’t be out here teaching my pacifist daughter to fight.”
“But Maem!” Dorie started to say.
“Get in the house and gather your things,” I told her before she could finish her protest.
“No! I'm not done learning how to win at Scots and Irish!”
“Dorcas.” I flared my eyes at her and switched to Wolfennite German. “You will not be attending school with only boys. We will stay with my sister. But if that is the case, you will continue your studies at home with me.”
“No! I don’t want to stay with you like an outcast,” Dorie protested, stubbornly sticking to English. “I want to go to school with other wolves and play Scots and Irish!”
I shook my head at her. Where was this coming from? Yes, she reminded me of my sister Tara. But even my outrageous sibling knew better than to challenge our parents on a direct command.
“Dorie, get in the house.” An unexpected voice joined the conversation, taking my side. "You heard your mother."
Dorie gaped at Alban as if he’d actually stabbed her with his wooden sword. “But you said—”
“I ken what I said. But Faoiltiarn pups dinnae talk back to their mothers. Now take yourself back in the house, lass, as she said. Game’s over.”
Dorie looked between the two of us for an angry moment, defiant tears springing to her eyes.
But it was two adults against one child. In the end, she stomped back into the house. Without releasing the sword, though, I noted.
That might turn into another quarrel when I told her she’d need to leave it here when we set out to Faoiltiarn. I let out a weary sigh when she slammed the door behind her. Then turned to thank the giant for backing me up with Dorie.
Also, I should apologize, I realized with some hindsight. He was an outsider who didn’t know our ways. It wasn’t his fault or even surprising that Dorie hadn’t clued him in before asking him to teach her his strange Scots and Irish game.
“I’m sorry …” I began to say, only to trail off when I realized I was talking to empty air.
While Dorie had stomped into the house, Alban had taken off in the other direction. Toward one of two small reinforced out-structures sitting beside the cabin.
After a moment of indecision, I followed him. “Alban! Wait, please.”
If he heard me, it didn’t show. He disappeared into the larger outbuilding without breaking his stride. A chicken coop, I guessed from the smell of it when he opened the door—which he then promptly slammed behind him.
But like the bathroom and cabin doors, this one didn’t lock either.
I pulled on the handle to let myself inside. Then stopped when I saw the sleeping bag and oil lamp sitting inside the door.
Well, that answered the question of where he’d been sleeping while I was in his bed.
More guilt assailed me as the coop’s door closed behind me, making the space dark again. It was freezing in here. Even by wolf standards. I couldn’t believe I’d displaced him like this.
"What are you doing in here? Why did you follow me?" The questions came out of the shadows, growled accusations.
I squinted into the darkness and found Alban near the main chicken cages. A hulking shadow with two moons where his eyes should be. I couldn't see the details of his face. But I could hear him breathing, his nostrils flaring in and out, like some beast. Enraged.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” the beast growled in the dark.
My skin prickled with fear.
Standing inside the small coop with him felt like the equivalent of locking myself inside a pen with our community bull.
But I couldn’t go. Not yet.
I swallowed down my fear to tell him, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The beast breathed once. Twice. Then hurled two words back to me in the dark.
“Get out.”