The King's Wood

My mother always told me that the forest was evil, and that my father was the perfect paragon of the forest. I didn’t know much back then, no six year old that I know of does, and I believed her. She was, after all, my mother. But I was curious, and one day, the pull of the woods became too much for me to resist.
I was thirteen then, a headstrong peasant lad. My mother, after warning me for about the fiftieth time not to enter the King’s Wood, sent me into our meager orchard to fetch the cows.
“The moon’ll be showin’ the whole of her face tonight.” she had said to me, her straight auburn hair threatening to get caught in her knitting as she made a blanket to cover her during the winter months, “Be sure to no stray too far from the orchard, and especially stay away from the King’s Wood. There are wolves there”
So I set off for the orchard, a sturdy staff clutched tightly in my fist. I soon came upon cow spoor, and I followed the tracks to the stream at the edge of the orchard. There, I hesitated. The King’s Wood lurked on the opposite bank. I could clearly see the tracks leading into the forest.
I was faced with a difficult decision. Should I head into the gloomy wood after our wayward cattle? Or should I go home and explain to my mother that the cows were last to us, and that we would have to fend for ourselves, without any milk or meat to sell at the market? Could I face her then? Could I break her heart now as my father had done so long ago by leaving her with me?
I made up my mind right then and there that I could not act like my father, the monstrous beast of my mother’s nightmares, he who made her cry out in fear whenever she heard the wolves howling beyond the orchard. No, I would not, could not, break her heart. So, wading into the gentle stream, I set off for the forest beyond.
When I reached the shore, the sun had begun to descend beneath the distant hills, and the look of the evening was upon the forest. Still, since I had come all this way, it would be a shame to return home. And I still had a few hours before night fell fully. So on I went, using the staff as a ward against the bogs that are said to be the bane of the explorer, to find our precious cows.
The tracks lead me on and on, further into the forest, deeper into the place that my mother had so fearfully warned me about. I began to feel bold and courageous in spite of my fear. Was this what my mother was so afraid of? Sure, It was a bit gloomy, but the birds sang, and butterflies flew here just as they did in our orchard. I began to think that perhaps my mother had been rash in condemning this place.
But I did not hear the silent tread of a man’s feet behind me, nor was I ready for the deep voice of a man calling out to me.
“Now Lad, what would one such as yourself be doin’ roamin’ about in the King’s Wood?” it asked, and I whirled to race its owner, my staff at the ready.
“Who are you?” I shot right back at him, “And why should my purpose be known to you?”
The man laughed, the sound strangely comforting to my ears, “I am called Ulfric by those who serve me.” he said, “But there are those who call me Eric Wilder. I saw you walkin’ in the forest, and I wondered if the cows I saw could be the source of your burden.”
At this I smiled at him and heaved a sigh of relief. “I’d be much obliged to you if you would show me to these cows.” I said, “My mother would be so pleased. I’m not even supposed to be in the King’s Wood.”
Eric peered at me closely, “Really now,” he asked, “and I suppose your mother’ll be the woman they call Rose Weaver. That’ll make you Jared Weaver then.”
I nodded, and he chuckled and looked me over. His amber eyes seemed to take the measure of my soul before they left my face, and I felt uneasy in his presence.
“Tell your mother I’ll be payin’ her a visit tonight.” he said, and he gave a sharp whistle to the evening air. I heard an answering moo in the distance, and the cows I had been so diligently seeking appeared behind a tree. I turned to thank Eric, but he was gone. So, shrugging my shoulders, I began to lead the herd back home.
My mother was waiting for me when I left the orchard. Her hands were on her hips, and I feared to look at the fierce expression on her face.
“And where have you been, Jared?” she asked me, her eyes boring through my skull, “Can you no imagine the worry you’ve caused me? I’ve been out of my mind with searchin’ for you.”
I took her by the hand and brought her into the house. There was no fire in the hearth, so I started one from the dormant coals. When my mother had calmed down a little, I told her about going into the King’s Wood, and of Eric and his message to her. I left out nothing. I had no reason to. The look on her face made me wish I had kept some details to myself.
“This Eric Wilder,” she said, her voice no louder than a gnat’s sob, “what did he look like?”
“His muscles were like the branches of oak trees, and his calves were strong and wrought with iron. His hair was like mine, though not as curly.” I answered, wondering why my mother would react so strongly to a stranger I had not known before yesterday.
“Jared, that was your father.” she said shortly as she pulled our only table across the door.
My jaw dropped. My father? That kind stranger who had helped me find our cows was my evil, blackhearted father? And he was coming here?
“But that’s wonderful, Mother,” I began as she extinguished the fire and left us only with candlelight, “he can come here, and we’ll finally be a family again.”
“No.” she whispered in the halflight, “I cannot forgive a beast like your father.”
I looked at her face then, saw her anguish, her sorrow. I once again made a decision.
“Okay then,” I said, balancing my staff in my hand, “I’ll protect you from him. Whatever happens.”
It was then that the howling began. My mother stiffened, uttering a little cry as it drew closer to our little cottage. I followed the howling with my ears until it sounded like the wolves were at our very door! I ran to help brace the table, but I had only taken two steps toward it when it was flung out of the way by an unseen force, the door gone.
A wolf stepped through the entrance. It was beautiful. Its silver fur shone in the moonlight, and you could tell that those were muscles rippling under it. Before I could rush it with my staff as I had planned, its outlines sort of wavered, and Eric stood where it once stood.
“Come Rose,” he said to my mother, “it’s time to go home. Our son is ready. You have fought this battle too long.”
My mother stared at him in grim defiance, her face set in hard, determined lines, “And would you have Jared be one of your ilk? A monster? Like you?”
My father sighed, “That’s not fair, Rose.” he complained, longing showing in his eyes, “I’ve never hurt any of the other townsfolk. Neither have you. Our pack and I are loyal to His Majesty; you know that.”
My mother echoed his sigh and suddenly sagged, “I should have known that I could not escape the call of my beast... or yours.” and with that, she accepted her defeat and laid her head on my father’s shoulder.
Eric touched her tenderly, stroking her face with his hand. He stopped suddenly, concentrating hard on her frame. With a sigh, my mother’s features became more bestial, more canine. Fur sprouted, and her dress was ripped to shreds by her new muscles. In a few minutes, she was a solid black wolf, her head bowed in submission to her alpha.
I trembled as Eric turned his yellow eyed gaze on me. He stretched out his hand, and a wave of power rose within me. I cried out as I felt my face stretching, bones popping into new arrangements. Yet I felt no pain. My knees switched direction, and I fell to the floor, no longer to stand upright. Hair grew on my body, and my clothes fell, forgotten and unneeded. My tail went between my legs in submission, and I touched noses with my mother. When Eric shifted a little later, we touched noses with him. Then our Ulfric threw his head back and howled to the night. A chorus of howls and yips answered him from outside the cottage. He looked at us, and as one, we loped out of the human dwelling and into the night, heading for the King’s Wood. I ran by my father’s side, as was right. Never again would I be willingly separated from him. As long as he lived, we would be together.