Page 20 of Father of the Wolf

Hope heard his soft complaints and decided for about the millionth time that Steve was a very good friend. She looked at the wolf, her newest patient. He hadn’t moved or even twitched. The only sign of life had been his menacing growl and the blinking of those unnerving gray eyes.

She stepped back into his line of sight and watched as those strange eyes focused on her. She flinched as her headache produced a particularly strong stab of pain and a touch of dizziness. Pushing aside her discomfort, she said in a soft, soothing voice, “Hello, fellow. We seem to have a situation here. I’m a doctor. I would like to help you, but you have to be nice and not hurt me.”

Why had she said doctor instead of vet? Never mind. Just so she could keep her patient calm. He didn’t seem afraid, just in great pain. But the pain would make moving him difficult and the muzzle essential.

She began to look him over as she waited for Steve. It was no wonder he was in so much pain. He was literally covered in wounds! Surely the car hadn’t caused all of them. The worst seemed to be around his neck and shoulders, including several cuts that may have gone bone deep. They looked like bite marks. She’d seen similar marks on dogs brought in after a fight, but never so many on one animal. Now she knew where all the blood came from. Many of the gashes were savage, possibly fatal. A pool of dark blood spread slowly around the wolf’s body.

What could have done that? He must have been attacked by something really big, or maybe many animals at once. She couldn’t imagine a battle that could bring such a prime example of the species so low.

Steve walked back and said “I can’t find anything. Not even an old sock.”

“A sock?” She gave him a wry grin, “How about a stocking?”

“Will it hold? I don’t want to take any chances.”

“I don’t know, but we can try.” She turned away from Steve to pull up her pants leg and slide off one of her knee highs, then the other. No need to show her scars to Steve. Or to anyone. The stockings probably wouldn’t hold, but against all reason, she didn’t really think they were needed other than to let Steve feel safe.

As she moved closer to the wolf, she wondered if she was perhaps losing what was left of her sanity. First werewolves, and now wolves. Just what were the fates trying to tell her?

Her hands hesitated. How could she be sure this wasn’t a werewolf, too?

Oh yeah, because they’d just hit him with a car. Surely werewolves would know better than to run into a road. And now, she actually planned to use her stockings to tie a wild wolf’s mouth closed, and then move the seriously injured animal in the slim hope of saving its life.

Something was very strange about the wolf’s behavior. Did it maybe have rabies? Some animals were affected so that they became sluggish instead of aggressive. Or maybe it was a werewolf or a vampire or an alien. Since reality had abandoned her nearly a month ago, at this point, who knew?

She murmured quietly to the wolf, “Easy now, my wolf. I need to put this on you to make it safe for us to help you. I don’t want you to move until I know how badly you’re hurt.”

The wolf didn’t so much as blink, but she thought his gray eyes seemed alert and intelligent despite the pain he must be suffering. His eyes followed her face as she moved closer and slowly knelt near his head.

A shadow fell over Hope as Steve stepped behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The wolf growled, a deep rolling sound that had Steve stepping back again.

“Are you sure about this?”

She didn’t answer him, but slowly moved her hand toward the wolf.

Steve continued, “Then I think we should move him quickly, so we can sedate him and determine the extent of those vicious looking wounds. Especially since whatever used him as a chew toy may not be too far away.”

The wolf blinked into Hope’s brown eyes and gave a small lick with his tongue, giving her the impression that he agreed with Steve. Her hands were now very close to his head, and she slowly proceeded to muzzle him, wrapping the nylon around his jaws twice. Then she tied it off behind his ears. He never moved but held eye contact with her throughout the entire procedure.

Steve brought a blanket from the car that they could use as a stretcher. They placed it carefully behind the animal and rolled him over onto it. Hope marveled at the muscle tone beneath his thick, wet pelt and noted that his other side was just as badly torn up.

Next, Steve moved the car so that they wouldn’t have to carry him very far. They lifted him into the back of the wagon, and then made the short trip to her home.

The wolf made no other sounds or complaint, nor did he struggle when they moved him inside. Very strange.

* * *

The second time Rath awakened, he was disoriented and unable to move. He was hanging, with his wrists tied high above his head. He couldn’t see clearly, only the outlines of people standing around him. And he couldn’t hear the words being said.

“Dàn? Are you there?” he asked silently, hoping Dàn was still with him. Still alive.

For a long moment, there was no response. Then, “yeah, I’m here,” came the weary answer.

“I can’t see. What’s happening?” The blurred surroundings and muffled noise closed in on him.

“You don’t want…to know.” Dàn’s answer was slow and broken, as if he were being interrupted.

“Probably not. But—” Rath’s sight began to clear. His hearing as well. So that must have been Dàn’s doing. But why? Then he looked around him and began to understand. He was tied to a tree. Dàn probably was, too. If he turned his head, he could see their hosts where they were gleefully beating someone. He assumed it was Dàn. The light was dim in the deep forest and the air smelled of blood. Rath listened to the impact of each hit. The number and spacing of the blows sounded as if two were dealing blows, but only one receiving them.

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