A Wolf of Ice and Iron [OLD]

Chapter 4

Adras

Mum reminds me not to leave when she heads toward town. I expect it every morning, because it is her ritual, but it does not come this morning. Which is why I am suddenly afraid, on edge, wary. Mum has not missed her chance to say this sentence every morning for the past ten years, and for it to happen so suddenly can only mean bad.

I left the wolf in my room when I came down for breakfast. A bold move, trusting the animal to not make a noticeable sound or come tearing down the steps. But it seemed to have understood when I told it to stay put, and it didn't seem to be wanting to go anywhere.

I do not eat breakfast this morning. It is normal for me to skip meals, but although I know it is not good for me I do it anyway. Sometimes I just can't muster up the courage for a mouthful of porridge mum lovingly makes for all of us.

Mum is casting strange glances around the room. Tarmae sits at the head of the table, eating quietly. Erenn sits behind him, but his eyes do not leave mine. Nari is not here this morning. Geret and Unir sit shoulder to shoulder. My other siblings are not present.

"Adras," my eldest brother speaks, catching me by surprise. I glance at him mildly, but I cannot disguise my shock at being addressed directly.

"You are not to leave your room today," Tarmae speaks stiffly, as if he has been rehearsing night after night but has not put in the time to practice the emotion that goes hand in hand with performance. "Mum will lock you in and you are to stay there. When we return, we may let you out."

They may. They might.

Some part of it hurts, but another part of it was expected. They've only done this once before, when I had a particularly curious foray into the garden at the age of twelve. I don't think they know of my venture into the garden to rescue the wolf, for if they had they would've stormed my room by now and taken it to be slaughtered publicly.

My chest tightens and I nod stiffly. My movements feel more painful, a little more difficult to make. But I don't dwell on it. They are familiar feelings that I don't like to address.

I remain sitting at the table as Tarmae stands, and Erenn scrambles to follow. Mum glances at the floor. At her eldest son, then at me. Her dark brown eyes are wide and soft and sweet, but they leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Mum," I say quickly, before she leaves and goes distant. "May I have some of that healing salve you have? I fell over my desk yesterday and cut open my foot."

It is a blatant lie, but she has never been able to tell truth from falsity. She nods to me, her dark brown hair bouncing against her shoulders. Her nod is her signal of yes, but her eyes are devoid of acknowledgement.

Tarmae and Erenn leave through the front door, and Geret and Unir dash after them. I see my other sisters leaving after them, the younger sisters that are not much older than myself.

Mum comes back to me, and ushers me toward my room. My mind is blank as I obey, skipping against the ground. Counting the cracks in the wood beneath me, my eyes vying and curious against the stray splinters. I don't even realise I'm so close to my residence until my head nearly hits the door.

Mum holds out a basket of fruits and breads. I take it from her, and although our fingers brush the contact is lacking the maternal warmth I have read in books. It is stiff and cool and while it thrums with life, it is fragile and foreign to me. It scares me.

I retract my hand and step into my room. In the basket I see the vial of healing salve like I asked. Mum never forgets things, no matter how quiet or distant she may be. The vial is glass, tied with twine and corked. Inside it is a mushy grey paste, enough to last even fatally wounded soldiers a solid month. I do not intend to use all of it.

I barely have time to glance back before mum closes my door with a heavy click, and the key follows. I hear her feet pad down the stairs, toward the front door, and then it closes.

The house is quiet, and yet I am not alone.

|~~~|

The wolf gives a great heaving snarl as I gently pat the healing salve onto the wounds. It has been an agonisingly long period of two hours of me trying to gain its trust I seem to have lost.

The wolf gives a growl, then lets me smear the last bit along its head wound. That is the one I worry about, for it has stopped weeping but it is still open and unhealed. The wolf seems completely unaware of its own ailments, and has been pacing around my bedroom for the majority of the day.

"You need a name," I say quickly.

The wolf pauses and looks back at me, mildly interested. Its amber eyes are bright and harsh in the midday sun that is filtered through by trees. Its tail flicks once, then it gives a huff and walks over to my window. I watch as it leaps onto the sill beneath it, nose nearly touching the glass.

After a few moments of thought, I walk over to it. The wolf doesn't acknowledge my presence, only staring out onto the grass that is covered by a thin layer of morning frost that hasn't yet melted. Its amber eyes glow with something I can relate to. A certain hopelessness, longing, wishing, wanting. For something we both can't place.

The wolf stares at my garden, then its amber eyes seem to sweep across the lawn, the roses, the frost, the pond, the fence it could step over. Then at the forest beyond, the wall of Tahthrian that keeps us inside and should've kept this wolf outside. Its eyes are sharp and wide with longing.

"Do you know what season it is?" I ask it. My voice is a gentle whisper, but I can hear it shaking.

The wolf looks at me then. Its regal silver and black-tipped ears twitch, its nose huffing and breathing in my scent. It looks away, but its eyes are somehow softer and more welcoming to me. And I don't think I'm imagining it.

The wolf huffs and turns, touching my hand with its nose. It is cold but its breath is warm, and it tickles my skin. I shiver at the dramatic change in temperature, but the wolf raises its head to stare at me.

The bandages make it seem oddly out of place in the wild, with something so human intercepting it. But it is still regal and wild, still beautiful and noble. And it has chosen to trust me.

I reach out a hand to touch its head. The wolf freezes for a moment, then thaws, dipping its nose and leaning into my touch.

The silver-grey fur is soft but bristled and coarse. It smells of the wild, feels like freedom. Its ears are sloped and angled and slightly turned in, and one has a little nick at the base. The fur inside those ears is soft and downy and warm.

The eyes watch my every move and track my face, but they are soft and warm and kind more than they are aloof and unsure. I stare right back, and the wolf reaches forward with its nose to touch mine. A gesture of gratitude and trust, much more on its part than mine.

Adras...

I hear at the base of my skull and tingling through my being. A word that isn't spoken but is communicated to me through something strange. I can hear it clearly but I know that nobody has said it.

That is your name?

It comes again. And the wolf is staring expectantly at me, its burning amber eyes alight with curiosity. And I think I know who has spoken.