Chapter 12 #3
“I would like to think I still hold some sway.” The prince’s lipless mouth quirked up. “I think the best decision, if I may suggest, would be to take Boarden to the Wulver. Then, when he is older, we can organise the younglings to play.”
Trewoofe dipped his head in agreement. “Then, that is what we shall do. I believe in your ability to convince your Queen.” Just before he was about to turn away, he remembered to ask, “How is Hope?”
The unscarred male chipped in. “My sister adores her.” The Piskie placed his hand to his backward knee. “She is up to here already and is already toddling around.”
“So fast!” Trewoofe exclaimed.
“I was not exaggerating when I said that my Queen used vast amounts of her magic to save the girl, and the Underneath itself seems to be aiding her in the rapid growth,” the Prince Consort said.
The Knucker turned his attention back to him. “Did you or your Queen notice any sort of mark on Hope? Similar to the one on the boy?”
The Piskie tilted his head and tapped his shiny, pointed nail to his chin. “I think Mab may have mentioned something, a residual magic – not strong – but she did remove it. Yet another reason why this has weakened her so.”
“Tell your Queen I thank her for her efforts.”
“You saved our clan, Lord. I believe she would do anything within her power that you asked,” the Prince Consort said, lowering his head deferentially.
Boarden gurgled, drawing his attention. “I will take my leave and see if the Wulver will take care of the child.”
Trewoofe stood at the boundary of the Wulver territory.
Unlike Piskie-led, that plummeted further below, these Good Neighbours lived in a comfortable cavern at a higher elevation in the Underneath.
Wide and warm, with pelts and carvings adorning the walls, the Wulver had truly made this part of his Kingdom their own.
The pleasant smell of roasting chestnuts had him swallowing back his drool.
It reminded the Knucker he needed to hunt soon, even if the land above was still drowning in Winter.
The sounds of the small clan, their chuckles and the working of bone tools, made him crave the closeness of a family that was long gone.
Unlike the Piskies, the Wulver had no guards. Trewoofe wondered if that was because Wulver-led was close to his nest chamber. They knew the Knucker was near and, as in the past, he would fight with fang and talon to keep them safe.
“Queen Olwilla!” Trewoofe called into the homely area.
He was not waiting long before a tall, furry, two-legged figure moved from the cosy firelight of the settlement in his direction. Her long strides brought her before him and she bowed low, prostrating herself before him.
“You may look at me,” Trewoofe ordered, and the Wulver met his eye. “I have a lot to tell you, and I must do it quickly, as time is against us.”
After explaining the situation to Olwilla, she tilted her head and folded her ears back. “So, you want us to what, Lord?”
Trewoofe studied the Wulver Queen. Her wolf face was set with piercing golden eyes, and the tips of her brown pelt were silvered, betraying her advanced age.
“Look after the boy,” Trewoofe repeated.
The Knucker was friendly with the Wulver pack. He would often bring them parts of his hunts from above, and he would come for their company when his aching loneliness was at its worst.
“I… You mean it?” The Wulver’s ears pricked. “For many years, we have longed for pups. Whatever happened to us above has meant that none have come.”
Trewoofe remembered. The descendants of the same men that had taken his family had turned their brutality to Wulver-kind. They had been butchered. Now, there was only a dozen.
Thirteen. He looked down at tiny human cradled in his paw.
“Can your magic help him?” Trewoofe asked. “I have healed him as well as I can, but I cannot make him grow and I cannot change him.”
Olwilla pressed her furry hand to her chest, blunt claws gripping her tunic. “I believe so. Our magic is dwindling, but we may have enough for this if the pack do it together.” The Wulver reached out but stopped herself before she touched the baby. “There is another’s mark on him though.”
“Do you recognise the magic of who may have put it there?”
Olwilla squatted and sniffed at the swaddled baby. Her black wet nose twitched for several moments before she straightened. “I cannot put my paw on exactly who, but from someone far into the woods, deeper than even a Wulver would go.”
“Avice and the Piskies also mentioned a mark, but they did not know who either,” Trewoofe replied with a huff.
“Avice? The witch? Could she not make him well?” Olwilla teased. “Is that where the pup comes from? The village above?”
Ignoring the jab, Trewoofe replied, “His name is Boarden. He is from a farmer’s wife in Lamorna. My Avice’s medicines and abilities are remarkable. But she cannot make a child who is too small, doomed to die, live.”
The Wulver snorted. “Your Avice?”
Trewoofe suppressed a growl in his throat. “Will Wulver-led take him or not?”
Olwilla held up her hands in surrender. “Of course, we would be glad of a pup, more than anything.” Her tail wagged. “My mate has always longed to adopt; she will be so happy.”