The Wolves of Witch Pond

Willow “The wolves have prowled and hunted around our ancestral burial ground for generations. Always on the full moon, so we can’t perform our most sacred rituals anymore.” That’s what Willow’s grandmother had told her about the wolves when she was a girl. She held her grandmother’s soothing voice in her head as she tucked the comforter around her like a cocoon and squinted her eyes closed, trying to block out the mournful howls that reverberated through her house. She should have been out under the glowing, full disc of the full moon. Instead, she was wrapped up in her blankets wondering how many members of her coven would lose their lives that night. Whenever Willow closed her eyes, her dreams were haunted by the snapping jaws and dripping fangs of the prowling wolves, their eyes flashing in the moonlight. A cool wind blew through Willow’s open window, rattling the charms hanging in the frames. She shivered and tossed the blanket back. Grabbing her robe off the end of her bed, she turned her legs over the bed and slipped her feet into her slippers. Padding down the hardwood hallway, Willow kept the edges of her robe pulled tight around her slim, petite body. She got to the room at the end of the hall and let herself in without knocking. The charms in those windows rattled too, the chilly wind making the purple curtains billow into the room. “Morgause,” Willow whispered, scurrying to the edge of the bed. Morgause was spread-eagle on the bed, her covers kicked off, breathing heavily with some drool hanging at the edge of her mouth. Her pale skin practically glowed in the light of the full moon. When Morgause slept on, Willow grabbed her shoulder and shook the other woman. Morgause grunted and snorted. “Maggie, wake up,” Willow whisper-shouted. Morgause mumbled and her eyes fluttered open. She sat up quickly and clutched her own heart. “Wil, what are you doing here?” she asked, breathing heavily. “How can you sleep on a night like tonight?” Willow asked, keeping her voice low. She glanced around, as if her words would draw the wolves right into the bedroom. They never entered the village, though. “Easily. We have protective charms in every window and door. Besides, the wolves never get this close,” she said, yawning and stretching. “Now, can I go back to bed?” “Wait,” Willow said, grabbing Morgause’s shoulder. “Can we reinforce the charms?” Morgause creased her brow, her blue eyes dimming. “What has you so concerned? Did you have a vision?” “No, nothing like that.” Willow shook her head. “I just have a gut feeling.” “Okay,” Morgause sighed heavily. She got out of bed and shuffled over to her dresser. Morgause started digging through the top drawer. Willow pulled an amethyst crystal and a stone of black obsidian glass from her robe pockets. She sat on the edge of the bed. Morgause rejoined her and they looped their arms together. Morgause held a sprig of pine in one hand and a bleached rabbit bone in the other. Willow closed her eyes and clenched her fists around the two crystals. Both women began to hum in harmonized tones. Willow felt the power rise up in her, magic that was powered by the ancestral burial ground of her coven, just outside the village. The crystals vibrated in her hands and she concentrated on the protective charms in each window and door of the house. The power pooled in Willow’s chest like a small sun, growing and glowing hotter and brighter. When the power grew to an uncontainable pressure, she released it outward and ceased her toning. Morgause stopped at the same time. Willow opened her eyes and looked at the charms in the windows. They glowed gold, illuminating the entire window frame for several seconds before the light faded. The house would be a fortress against any unwanted visitors. “Feel better?” Morgause asked with another yawn. “A little,” Willow muttered. “Great, well, I’m going back to bed,” Morgause said. She grabbed Willow’s wrist and pulled her up. “Thanks for stopping by.” She grinned as she pushed Willow towards the door. Willow sighed and waved to Morgause before retreating to her own room. She didn't return to her bed. She went to the window that faced the pond. Her house was on the edge of the village and she could see the reflection of the moon on the water. Small black silhouettes raced around the pond on four legs, sometimes stopping to throw their heads to the moon and bellow their howls. Shuddering with each howl, she curled her hands around the window frame and leaned out into the open air. Witch Pond was the ancestral burial place of her people. For over a thousand years her coven had laid their deceased to rest on that pond. The released souls provided future generations with a strong link to the land and made them one of the most powerful covens on the continent. Willow sniffed and pinched her nose. A couple of hundred years ago, the pack had moved in. They’d been brutal to the coven and had claimed the pond as their own territory. She stayed by the window and watched the wolves run around until sunrise. The moment the sun crested over the horizon, the howling ceased and the wolves went to find their dens. Grabbing a personal protection charm off her dresser, Willow ran out of the house, not even changing out of her nightgown and robe. She ran to the pond on short, stubby legs, feet depressing in the cool ground. The moment she reached the shores of the pond, Willow dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. “Ancestors, please do not forsake us,” she prayed. She laid the protection charm and the crystals in her pockets at the edge of the water as offerings. Even though the rising sun overpowered the strength of the full moon, Willow could still feel the lingering power of her ancestors’ strength, which was always the most powerful on the full moon. It was when the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest, which was why her coven had so many important rituals to perform on the full moon. None that had been honored in about two hundred years. Willow opened her eyes and smoothed her hands down her thighs, fixing the wrinkles in her silk robe. She stayed by the pond, even when her robe soaked through from the damp ground around the edge of the water. When the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, Willow glanced over her shoulder. Morgause approached, her golden-blond hair fluttering in the morning breeze as the sun made her skin glow. She was so beautiful with the sun haloed behind her, like an angel. “I knew I’d find you here,” Morgause said. She knelt on the ground beside Willow. Even kneeling side by side, Morgause was a head or two taller than Willow. She was wiry and thin whereas Willow was petite and athletic. “Every full moon, I think that if I get here fast enough, I can reach her,” Willow admitted in a soft, defeated voice. “She’s with us all the time,” Morgause said, reaching out and taking Willow’s hand in hers. “Perhaps you should speak to High Priestess Durga about this. She may have some insight into contacting Grandmother when it isn’t the full moon. She does specialize in spirit magic.” Tears pricked Willow’s eyes. Just three years since their grandmother had passed and every full moon, she had been denied the chance to feel her warmth and her presence around her because of the wolves. Someday, Willow vowed, her coven would reclaim Witch Pond, no matter what she had to do to force the wolves out.