A Wise Wolf

    When Alistair stirred it was nearing dawn. He noticed first the wetness on his back from the morning dew. It took a moment or two for him to register how cold he felt. the hairs on his arms stood erect and the muscles of his torso had tightened against the morning chill. He shivered and became acutely aware of the pain in his side. He remembered this wound. An attack from behind. A knife thrust into his abdomen. A numbness that spread throughout his body. Poison. He shifted slightly to gauge his condition. His legs and shoulders were stiff and his head throbbed, but he could not identify any further injury. No matter, he thought to himself, the fatal stab wound will suffice. He chuckled at his own dark humour. The course laugh gave way to a hacking cough. He may as well have been attacked by the knife again for the stabbing pain in his side. He forced his mouth shut. The persisting tickle caused tears to well up in his eyes. He resisted the need to cough again choosing to endure the lesser suffering.     Now to assess his confinement. His hands were bound tightly to his sides by cords that wrapped around his torso. That would explain the stiffness of his shoulders. His legs were equally bound. Here arose the stiffness in his legs. Though he could not prop himself upright to see, a few attempts to bring his knees to his waist informed him that his ankles were tied to a stake of sorts. He was secured to the forest floor. By whom? He wondered.      The clearing around him appeared to have established by men. From what he could see, it was perfectly circular with not one invading tree or shrub. The grass was uniform in length as though it had been cut by human hands and a keen eye. It was not a natural occurrence, yet the hight of the surrounding trees suggested that they were deep within the Geal Forest where very few humans must wonder.           “Alistair?” A hoarse voice sought him. He turned his head to the left and then to the right. The clearing around him was empty. He could see only grass, trees and shadows. “Alistair!” The voice called again with earnest. Recognition hit, the voice was that of Prince Evander.          “Your Highness!” Alistair turned his head upward as much as his aching body would allow and just caught a glimpse of the prince’s dark curls. They were lying head to head.         “My Prince, are you hurt?”          “Very,” Evander replied. “Aren’t you? I saw them stab you.”         “Who?”          “The Wildermen.”         “The Wildermen? Those savages?” Alistair was struggling to comprehend. The Wildermen were nothing more than bush-dwelling barbarians. How had they been bested by them? Where were the guards? Where were the soldiers? He froze. Where were the guards and soldiers?          “The men?” The question caught in his throat and he coughed again.         “I do not know,” Evander replied. Alistair’s body heaved at the thought of his men being slain by such boors. Was it possible that the Prince and he and survived their entire company? Had he so drastically underestimated the military prowess of the Wilderman. It should have been an easy campaign. One to close the season before winter set in. Conquer the Wldermen, set up an outpost, return to Marion. Their assault had been met with feeble resistance. The Wildermen had put up a commendable enough fight, but their weapons were crude, they wore no armour and they used women in their forces. Alistair had cut them down like wheat in the field. So how was he here now?         His thoughts were interrupted by voices emerging from the forest. He heard the prince inhale deeply. The two of them lay helplessly with nothing to do but wait for their captors. Their captors did not appear. Alistair could hear them. The voices of men and women and children spoke excitedly amongst the trees. The volume of the chatter grew as more voices joined from all directions, surrounding the clearing. But they still did not show their faces. It was unsettling. He felt a spectacle. His heart was pounding painfully as the chatter grew louder and broke into a chant.          “Why do they not face us?” He yelled, hoping Evander could hear him above the ever-rising chorus. He never heard a reply because at that moment, like the wail of a banshee and unearthly scream erupted from the trees.