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Wolfstone
The rain was falling heavily in the bleak night of the new season. Lightening struck and thunder boomed as a pack of grey wolves took shelter in their den, high up on a cliff side, overlooking the vast and a perilous woods below.
“Gather round younglings, for it is time to tell you of our heritage.” The Den Mother with eyes piercing blue, gemstones that caught even the slightest light, nudged the young cubs into a circle around her. “Do any of you know the tale of Wolfstone?”
“No, Mother,” came a cub, white as snow, eyes as her mother’s.
The Den Mother smiled, it was fate, she thought, that this pup would be the one to answer. “Then listen close, little one, for you have been marked and will one day have the honor of telling the story I am about to tell you.” And so she began…
Many years ago, when man did not live in his hulking cities of stone, choosing instead to dwell in harmony with the creatures of the forest, the Dire Wolf was king. They roamed an immense territory, ruling over a land that was both civil and fair. That is until mankind began to build their villages. They were small at first, housing several clans at a time, waiting for the growing season to pass, and then moving on. But, as the years spanned, the villages grew larger, with more clans seeking shelter inside structures of broken trees and twine. Even so, the Dire Wolf did nothing.
Suddenly barriers of stone and wood sprang up around these villages, separating the humans from their natural environment. Hunting parties became larger and larger, taking more than was needed or deserved, and all manner of creature great and small was caught in man’s web of violence and hunger. The creatures of the forest begged the Dire Wolves for aid, but having grown complacent with age and comfort, they refused, and for the second time did nothing.
It was not until the first Dire Wolf was captured and enslaved that alarm began to grow in their hearts. Little by little wolves were taken, broken, and made to serve mankind’s every whim. Human raiding parties increased as they now used the skill of once loyal wolves to seek out and destroy their own kind.
A great council of wolves convened at the Great Den Mother’s request and it was decided that this outrage could no longer continue. Overnight war was declared and the Dire Wolves began the hunt. But to their surprise they discovered man was no longer the soft, slow creature that had been such easy prey in the years prior. Now he wielded bows of yew that could kill from any distance, sticks of glittering bronze that could pierce any hide, and he hid behind great walled cities that no creature could penetrate.
In their first assault upon such a fortress many Dire Wolves died, some by metal, some by fire, and many by treason, for the humans had trained their pets to kill, and that is what they did, in great numbers. In time, the reign of the Dire Wolf was broken and their remnants scattered into the forest, living as lowly beasts fighting for survival.
That may have been the end of the killing had not Scartooth Ironbark escaped from captivity and gathered the remaining tribes into one great clan.
“Let man have their cities and farms, but let the Dire Wolf have the forest and the lands beyond,” said Scartooth. “Surely there would be an end to mankind’s ambition. Surely he could not reign over all. In time his world will fade, and when that happens, the Dire Wolf will again take her rightful place as ruler of all.”
Many rejoiced at Scartooth’s leadership, but not all. Fourpaws Wolfstone, named so because her eyes were of such immeasurable beauty and so blue that they resembled stones of aquamarine, had studied the human’s ways, watched them build their great cities, and destroy their enemies. Mankind, she believed, knew no limits, nothing was beyond their grasp, and nothing would ever escape their lustful eye.
It came to pass that man claimed ownership over all the Perilous Woods. His hunting parties again began to penetrate the forests great boundary, and trees were felled to make way for new farmland, and new structures that dwarfed the mountains and the hills. Scartooth and the Dire Wolves watched and waited.
Then one day the Prince of a great and forgotten Kingdom led a hunting party across the boundary of the forest; and still Scartooth watched and waited. Deeper they delved, into the dark underbrush, the stamping hooves of their horses crushing flowers and weeds alike. Finally Scartooth struck. In a great leap she snatched the Prince from his horse and broke his neck with a mighty bite. Dire Wolves poured out of the brush, quickly overpowering the small force of unprepared hunters, killing them all.
Even then the humans may have let the matter lie; deluding themselves that the King’s son had simply gotten lost and disappeared into the deepest and most savage part of the Perilous Woods, but Scartooth had grown bold and her victory only enhanced her pride. Taking a complement of warriors she strode to the gates of the city carrying the head of the King’s son in her jaw. Leaving the severed head as a warning, Scartooth returned to the forest, satisfied that the power of man was nothing to that of the Dire Wolf.
But that was untrue. Man’s power had grown great beyond measure and his anger was born in fire. As a moonless night drew across the land, the Dire Wolves awoke to find their forest burning down around them. Legion upon legion of armor-clad humans marched through the Perilous Woods, swords drawn, cutting down anything that stood in their way. The great names of legend perished in that fight; Stonejaw Razorback who could crush a tree trunk in his mouth, Glitterfang Riverward, whose bright teeth could light a forest, and Bonehammer Hotblood, who was quick to anger, and deadly to fight, all fell to the might of man’s hot steel.
Scartooth fell last, riddled with arrows, howling at the sky, after having lost her teeth when her bite at the King’s head was turned by an ebony helm of iron. Witnessing the death of the last Den Mother, Fourpaws, rallied the few remaining Dire Wolves and retreated into the ancient ring of stone we now call Starfall.
There they hid, spending day and night tending their wounded and contemplating the end. As the King’s men approached and no hope came, Fourpaws Wolfstone began to sing. She sang into the night so that all the creatures of the forest could hear. Others joined her until there was such a chorus of voices that the black sky lit up in colors of green and red, purple and yellow, shimmering at the song’s ebb and flow, until a single drop of rain from the cloudless sky fell to the earth. It tumbled over and over, catching the colors as it went, finally reaching Starfall with a splash of vivid light that momentarily blinded the oncoming humans.
When the men finally entered Starfall they discovered the Dire Wolves, their huge lifeless husks strewn about the stone; only one creature remained, a grey wolf nearly the size of a pup but fully grown, with eyes of piercing, radiant blue. A soldier drew his bow and took aim but the King bade him lower his arm.
“The Dire Wolf is no more.” With that he gathered his troop and returned to his city to rule all the land.
The wolf cubs were silent as the Den Mother finished her story. “And that is how the Dire Wolf disappeared from the world and the grey wolf took her place.”
“Who was she?” The cub with blue eyes asked. “I mean the first of our kind. How did she get there?”
The Den Mother smiled, this was exactly the question she had hoped her daughter would ask. “None know. Perhaps it was Fourpaws, shrunken in defeat by the great gods for the arrogance of the Dire Wolf. But I don’t believe so.”
“What do you believe, Mother?”
“I believe that Fourpaws and the last of the Dire Wolves sacrificed themselves in order to keep alive their memory so that none would ever forget their fate. As to whom the wolf with piercing blue eyes was? That I do not know. But I would guess that she carried with her the collected memories of the Dire Wolf. To this day, when a cub is born with blue eyes we call them Wolfstone. And one day it will be their job to carry our history and lead our race so that none may forget. Someday, little one, you will take my place and that responsibly will be yours.”
The Den Mother smiled and ushered the pups to a cozy corner of the cave as the rain pattered on the stone outside. “Now, off to bed with you all, and sleep as deeply as the Dire Wolf.”
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