Golden Irises

Chapter One

The miles passed beneath red paws, the forest silent in the wake of my wolf. I ran with a vengeance, never looking back. Red and black fur bristled in the wind, golden eyes searched the forest ahead, and a small canvas sack was tied around a massive neck. I continued to run, only stopping occasionally to sniff the air.

    It had been five days.

    Five days since I left Madera Rojo.

    Ten days since Naira's death.

    Ten days since Cordell's betrayals.

I was tired and alone, casting a howl up at the silver moon. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. I swore I could feel tears well in my eyes. I stopped in a thick copse of fir trees and closed my eyes, focusing on the very core of my being. I honed in on the human part of me and felt my bones shifting, snapping into place until I stood on two feet. But tonight, there was no joy in changing.

    There was little joy in anything recently.

I dressed in a black singlet and a black and pink, flowy skirt with zigzag patterns. I braided my hair and wrapped a pink scarf around my head. Sighing, I headed toward the tree line, slinging my bag over my shoulder. The Scripts had spoke of Hexham as a healing place for my kind, and if there was one thing I needed, it was healing. I couldn't bear to stay in Madera Rojo with all the pity my way. Wolves aren't the type for pity, but sometimes the human side takes over. I had to leave.

A deep breath propelled me to stand in the shadow of two trees. I fished a mobile phone from my bag and called a cab company. A taxicab was being dispatched. 

Good.

I needed to get to the airport and get to Hexham. 

I would miss Mexico, and I would miss the life I'd had two weeks ago, but I needed time. I needed the healing the Scripts had spoke of. I needed to see the Great Wolf. Too much had happened here recently. I couldn't continue to smile and say I was okay when I wasn't. I couldn't continue to walk around Madera Rojo pretending I didn't see the pity and the suspicous looks. I just couldn't do it.

It wasn't long before I saw the yellow taxicab slow on the street. I left the safety of the forest and climbed in the car, instructing the driver to take me to Mexico City International Airport. He tried to make conversation, but I only answered when I had to. Too much talking could cause problems.

When the driver stopped at the airport, I paid my fare and went to purchase a ticket.

Now for the fun part.

"I'd like a ticket to Hexham," I said at the counter, in my practiced Spanish. It was slightly embarassing that I wasn't sure what airports I would need, but I couldn't help that.

"Name?"

    "Xochiquetzal Willows."

    She raised a brow.

"It can't be that difficult!" I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Zo-chi-ket-sal," I pronounced slowly. "Do I need to spell it?" She nodded so I rattled off the spelling of my name.

"Okay, Señora Willows, it looks like we have a flight from here to Newcastle upon Tyne at ten-thirty. You'll have a layover in Paris and then a flight to Newcastle. It's with Aeromexico. Is that okay?"

"Sí."

She nodded and within twenty minutes, I had a ticket and was waiting in the terminal. I pulled an old book from my bag and ran my fingers along the cover. It was engraved with old symbols depicting the wolf tribes of North and South America. I could spot the Aztec Tribe in the upper right corner, depicted by a flowering tree and spear-holding man. A wolf was laying at the man's feet. I smiled at the images.

I opened the book to the first page and began reading the ancient letters. The parchment was yellowed with age, the Nahuatl words beginning to fade in places. The first page held the words Second Script in Nahuatl, the second page a table of contents. I ran my finger down the list until I found the words Great Wolf and then turned to that page.

The Great Wolf is always the pinnacle of our kind. His size is intimidating, his strength unparralled. His eyes are like the purest gold, his body the perfect specimen. He is both adored and feared, loved and hated.

His reign would be over the seas, in a place large...

"Flight 810 to Charles de Gaulle Airport, boarding now," a voice sounded over an intercom in Spanish, repeating itself in English.

I slipped the Script back into my bag and got into the line waiting to board the plane. It took around fifteen minutes to make it onto the plane and in my seat. I put on the seatbelt and stared out the window. After all the moving and working of the past five days, the exhaustion and depression was settling its lead weight on my chest. My mind wandered and tears welled in my eyes.

"Come on, Zo!" Naira cried, grabbing my hand and dragging me.

"Where are we going?"

"This clearing. It has all these beautiful red flowers!"

Her face was the picture of excitement, her golden eyes sparkling with it. We were so young then. She was eight and I was nine, both of us still innocent to the pain of the world. As we ran through the village, all the older people laughed at the two children running happily.

I later found out that the world outside our own was a dangerous place. At first I didn't believe it, because in our little Aztec village, we were safe.

I scoffed and shook my head, a tear spilling down my face. Not so safe after all, I thought miserably, beginning to weep.