Wolves At The Door

"What do you hunt?" I asked him, curious about the man who called himself a hunter.

He tapped the blade of his double-headed axe, bushy beard twitching. "Wolves."

I was almost as scared of the Huntsman as I had been of the wolf. He was tall, covered in a cloak made of wolf fur and wore their fangs around his neck. His beard was dark and thick, with a scar running through it down to his neck. I thought he was as tall as a giant, back then.

Then the Huntsman cursed, for the sun was going down. We'd been warned not to venture outside at night and it seemed the Huntsman knew it too. Anyone who went out, went missing, never to be seen again. We'd lost ten people before the strict curfew was enforced, and the people in my village learnt to bar their doors.

He bundled me into the closet, and I heard him shutting all the doors and windows. Then, he joined me in the small, dark space, one finger over his mouth to signal silence. I trembled, because outside a howl was rising on the wind. The Huntsman shut his eyes and put his head back. He seemed to be asleep, except for the tight grip on his axe. I couldn't sleep at all, but listened to the sound of the pack crashing through the trees, baying in bloodthirsty glee.

I heard a few of them snuffling at the doors and windows, growling at the scents they found. One tested the strength of the shutters and I heard the scratch of its paws against the wood. I prayed for a quick death if they found us, clenching my hands into fists and holding my breath. The man beside me didn't flinch, just waited patiently at whatever the outcome would be.

With a loud whuff, the wolves loped away, their howls becoming more distant as they raced towards their prey. We could not venture out, and so we waited.

In the morning, the Huntsman took me back to my village. I'm not sure what he expected to find – we'd both heard the pack on the hunt. I sat in front of him on his great warhorse and wept at the destruction, the tears cold and wet on my cheeks. Doors swung off their hinges, blood splattered the snow. The corpses of my friends and family were mangled and half-devoured, faces twisted in fear and pain.

I covered my mouth to keep from screaming, pressing the soft kid leather of my gloves into my face. Above me, the Huntsman seemed as impassive as a stone giant. The horse pawed the ground nervously, the smell of wolf strong in its nostrils. After a time, the Huntsman sighed and pulled my red hood up over my hair.

"I'm sorry that the wolves took your family, child. But I can give you a new one." He gripped my shoulder with one hand, and with the other tugged on the horse's reins. "The Wild Hunt is upon us. If we are to end this plague, every demon wolf must be hunted down and destroyed."

In that moment, the world around me seemed to slow down and my life's purpose crystallised. There was only one path before me, and at the end of it was the wolf who took my beloved grandmother from me.

"Then let us hunt, monsieur."

We left the village, leaving the bodies where they lay.

They called it a plague – one bite from a demon wolf and you became like them. A monstrous beast that craved human flesh above all else. In the beginning, they were disorganised, only attacking small villages at night. Cautious and cowardly, they struck down the vulnerable, the weak.

The Huntsman said they would soon grow into an army big enough to attack the fortress cities. If that happened, all would be lost. The king agreed, giving the Huntsman a special licence to create an army of wolf hunters. There was no need to conscript, but the Huntsman only accepted the best from the volunteers.