Journey to the Enchanted Yukon
1446 Words
The moment they left Banff City, Lisa, the dainty princess, made a singular decree—dig a hole. With a grace befitting her station, she guided her guard to survey the perimeter outside the city gates until they discovered a thriving maple tree. Solemnly, she buried her shoes underneath its majestic canopy.
"I always knew Father and Brother wouldn’t have time to frolic with me," Lisa mused softly as she watched Sam, her guard, cover the last remnants of the eagle-claw marked soles with earth. "They’ve always got more pressing matters at hand."
More pressing than Lisa herself, it seemed. Yet, the little princess couldn’t help but dream. What if, for just one fleeting day, her brother found time?
Lisa presumed those shoes, an offering from her brother, carried similar hopes—a symbol, perhaps, of his longing for shared adventures. But now, uncertainty gnawed at her convictions.
Could the letter she penned to her brother convey her expectations? Would he stand beside her as a brother should, or would he urge her to marry the Canadian leader she had never met?
Too timid to confirm her fears, Lisa chose escapism, retreating to corners her brother's influence couldn't reach.
"Sam, this time we're traveling far!" she declared with determination.
"Where to, Miss?" Sam inquired gently, his steadfast devotion blending seamlessly with his deep, protective tones.
Lisa lifted her gaze, pondering the vast, inviting horizon. "To the Yukon!" she decided—a place touched by myth, where the sun sets seventy-two times a day.
* * *
The journey to Yukon was arduous. Even for the robust Ryan, Sam's counterpart and fellow protector—who'd normally travel seven days without rest—it promised to be an extended trek, made slower by the presence of the tender-footed princess who refused to walk even a step unaided.
Yet, time was Lisa's ally.
Her mind drifted to cherished childhood memories of her brother’s care and those enchanted shoes marked by enchanted talons—a magical tether that once lifted her spirits but now left her in the doldrums.
Sensing her unease, Ryan produced a hefty travelogue.
Lisa, initially disinterested, was soon persuaded—if only because of Sam's unwavering loyalty. Reluctantly, she flipped through the pages.
Then her attention caught inked depictions: snow-cloaked mountains shining milk-white, lakes greener than any gemstone, waterfalls blushing pink under sunlight, and elk rumored to wander only within the Rockies...
Her curiosity kindled, Lisa resolved to visit every marked destination!
Summer was in full bloom. As long as they reached the Yukon before winter snow and Canada’s epic storm season, they would be safe.
With teeming anticipation, she embraced the adventure ahead!
* * *
“Do you think there are fireflies in this forest?” Lisa asked, lifting her skirts and navigating the wooded path, scrutinizing the map and doubting the journal’s accuracy.
“It’s true that fireflies only emerge when night falls,” Ryan assured, deftly clearing stray branches to ease her way.
“What about the other animals? Do they keep nocturnal hours too?” she inquired further.
Ryan remained silent. Admitting fully that his presence was instinctively daunting to the wildlife around, making them skittish and scarce, could unveil truths not yet ready for the open air.
Instead, he focused on cherishing their solitude—perhaps too much, for his part of his heart wished to monopolize more of Lisa’s attention.
Yet, if such wild creatures intrigued her...
“Would you fancy a rabbit, Miss?”
“Roasted rabbit?” Lisa misinterpreted, misled by his accent—a quirk she attributed to some far-flung heritage but one she deemed irrelevant given his current role.
Her whimsical nod: “A roast rabbit leg, not too charred.”
Ryan: “…”
Initially considering to present her with a cuddly wilderbeast, his unanticipatedly feral instincts—the habits he'd cautiously obscured—lay bare by the question.
Her approving perspective could have nuanced revelations bridging his world to hers.
Faced with Lisa's earnest wonderment, Ryan hesitantly probed, “Do you like creatures that are... fluffy?”
—Had he known the reasons for Lisa's estrangement, this query would not have been so frivolously posed.
As it stood, her measured glance insisted such curiosity from her guardian, though unconventional, wasn’t an affront.
“Yes, I do," Lisa finally admitted, reminiscing over a plush, velvety soft toy left behind in her hurried departure.
Ryan's inner being roused, nearly overtaken by sheer impulse to morph, to envelop her with lupine affection, his primal urges beseeching a gentle stroke against his awaiting form—silky coat, swaying tail, and pointed ears eager for her touch.
Yet, control reigned. Crude instinct, temper your desires.
Patience remained his mantra.
Keeping composure, Ryan earnestly vowed, “I’ll procure the most comforting pillow for you.”
A softly surfacing smile adorned Lisa’s lips, unspoken approval or dissent withheld.
Skepticism shadowed her—this robust guardian, while gallant, might not fathom such nuances of comfort as her well-cultured upbringing dictated.
Her silence conveyed as much—nonetheless, he'd serve her, but importantly, nothing more.
* * *
Despite no promised fireflies appearing that night, Lisa embraced her restful habits, retiring at ten sharp beneath the covers Sam had laid, braids coiled into neat repose, face aglow by the moonlit sheen.
Yawning ceased as slumber took.
Determining her stable sleep, Ryan switched to his innate form.
A giant black wolf stood poised, sleek pelt glinting robust and formidable. Bathed in lunar brilliance, his silhouette cast dominion, an umbra enveloping the innocent sleeper.
He tenderly licked his paws, cunning golden eyes glowing keenly in the enveloping night.
Groomed, fur immaculate, he indulged in a liberating shake.
—Pondered a customary howl.
“Awwooo—!” or so began, rapidly stifled, swallowed back, lest the harmony be disrupted.
Embarrassment tinged instinctive twitch of hackles, raising a stoical tail.
His intention was but a soft release—was she disturbed? His gaze returned to the dream-weaving Lisa.
Content, her repose unperturbed, only then relief descended over Ryan.
For beneath the lunar spell, even a brave wolf harbored innate irremovable traits.
A visage softened by regret reflected in his eyes. The tail swept, now gently brushing low.
As each night drew nearer the zenith of the full moon, wolfish essence yearned celestial song.
But even the beastman reasoned; then, consequence shared the cost.
* * *
Dawn found Lisa observing the crescent moon slipping beneath the horizon’s grasp, words idly shared.
"The moon will soon be full," she marveled.
Behind her, a startled hitch in Ryan's rhythm as he prepared camp betrayed his inner tension, fearful she’d noted his nocturnal revelry.
A frozen mantle clamped over Ryan's broad shoulders, fingers poised, clutching an inconspicuous firm grip, reflecting on scenarios.
Yet hope resided in her unintended passing mention, unbroken into further subject.
His heart beat suspended, wishing urgency not inflame her certainty unwarranted.
Lisa’s anticipation swerved elsewhere, enthusiastically poring over her map, “Let’s be off—the fireflies’ interlude passed, but no matter!”
By childhood practice, she avoided excessive expectancy—as disappointment reigned more prevalent, she adeptly reoriented desires anew.
She examined the parchments, her thrill evident: “Ah, look! We’ll traverse the canyon—then skirt the path leading to Misty Forest’s threshold. It’s elk migration season, right? In just two weeks' time, we’ll catch them!”
Map unveiled, gestures animated, she presented her case vibrantly, “Never have I witnessed the elk! Legend claims their cries echo the spectral grace of spirits rushing between the woods.”
Sam voiced no reproach; guardianship deferred to offering, paired in congruent silence.
“Then it's to the Misty Forest.”
Ryan procured succulent fruits, proffering a simple repast. Juicy, bright-hued, thinly skinned, they served Lisa's palate well enough.
Nibbling as she mulled over question: “By the way, Sam, did you hear anything strange last night?”
Tasked with gear, Ryan hesitated perceptibly, sensation once more convulsed.
A touch later, guardedly inquired, “To what do you refer?”
Amid eating with dedication, the day’s plump fruit demanded due attention. Conversational threads faintly slackened by delay.
“Oh, I meant last night…” she recalled.
“A sort of canine’s howl…”
Ryan, taken aback: “?”
“Odd sounding, indeed,” Lisa concluded in mild jest.
He swallowed, bemused, yet relieved, whimsy spared him credit unearned—ushering quiet amusement to warm the retort withheld.
Her innocence preserved their secret, if only for now. Still, as her protector and confidant, he cherished each moment, every adventure, and all blank spaces slated to be filled by shared destinies on their arcane passage northward.
- Writer
