Page 7 of Father of the Wolf

It was several hours later when he felt an intense stare. He, the watcher, was being watched. He raised his gaze to meet that of a large black wolf on the opposite bank of the stream. Sgrios. With the barest shimmer of blue sparks, the wolf shifted form to become man.

“You sit long and see little.” Sgrios must have been on the bank, watching him, for some time.

“I sit long and see much. But far from enough.”

“You look concerned.” Sgrios met and held his gaze.

“I am.” He could see much of what was coming and knew this current would be difficult to control. Yet he had no choice. He had to find a way, the right way, to bend the stream of destiny to his will.

“When do you leave for the Bear Clan?” Sgrios asked.

“Tomorrow.” Sometime the current was changed by many small stones rather than a few large ones. “Where will you take the others to hunt?”

“I had planned to go east.”

“Could you go west instead?” The first small stone fell to the water, causing barely visible waves.

“I can.”

Dàn let out his breath and watched the tiny ripples spread out across the surface of the stream, the change was subtle, and yet… vast.

Chapter Three

Tricks of Memory

Choosing the Course

Hope’s knees quivered. She gripped the counter to stay on her feet as she connected the information on the newscast to the woman she’d seen being attacked in the alley. The woman had been found dead. More terrible than dead, she’d been torn apart by animals. It was unclear yet how, or by what. Shit. Dental records had been necessary to confirm her identity. Torn apart by animals.

She’d pretty well convinced herself that she had imagined most of the attack. She almost believed it had been a couple of teenage hoodlums trying to mug her just as the police suggested. Not that she’d told them, or anyone, her interpretation of the night’s events. Her conclusions were entirely too strange.

But now? The woman had been covered in bite and claw marks, as if by vicious animals. Her name was Sarah Collins. She was twenty-two years old.

Just what had she really seen that night? Why couldn’t she get the police to understand that the men and dogs she had seen were connected? She sucked in her breath and tried to regain control of her pounding heart as her grandmother walked into the kitchen.

“Hope, my dear, did I hear something break?” Granny’s eyesight wasn’t the best anymore, but she saw the shattered bowl at Hope’s feet easily enough. “Goodness! What happened?”

Hope stared down blankly at the scattered shards. When did she drop the dish? She only saw the young woman’s happy face pictured before her eyes. She looked back at the TV. They were still telling about where her body had been found and cautioning others to watch out for dangerous animals.

Granny must have looked at the screen too. “Oh my! The poor girl didn’t have a chance. I just can’t imagine what would take a soul so far from the path.” She shook her gray-haired head sadly, probably thinking the woman had been a lost hiker.

“I—” How could she tell Granny that this was the girl she had seen attacked? She couldn’t. It would only worry her grandmother. She wished she could talk this out with someone. Maybe putting her fears into words would show how unlikely they were. But she couldn’t talk to Granny. And not Steve. He already thought she’d fallen off the deep end. She wasn’t close to anyone else. Hope bent with a towel and began wiping up the broken pieces.

Granny bent her light frame, kneeling to help Hope. “Are you all right, dear? I’ve been worried about you. You just haven’t been yourself since you were hurt.”

That was an understatement. Except, to which “hurt” was she referring? The first time that had put Hope in physical and mental therapy for six years? Or this recent one that would likely send her back? No, she wouldn’t worry Granny about this.

It would pass, like all terrible fears do. Wouldn’t it?

* * *

The wind blew through the trees as Athair led Dàn and Rath toward the territory of the Bear Clan. As they loped over long miles, Athair thought about the two young men with him.

Long ago, before they had fled Ireland, the oracle gave one truth about each of the boys as was the custom with newborns. According to that ancient one Dàn would hold the future within his grasp, and Rath would find his destiny as the sword of fate.

The prophecy for Dàn was easy to understand, for he was a true seer. In other times, with a chance to learn from oracles, a shaman and other seers, he would have strong sight, perhaps without known limits. Athair chose him to travel to the Bear Clan in the hopes their seer would agree to teach and guide him.

It would take little to make him formidable in his talent. Already he used his skills unconsciously and was usually one step ahead of everyone else. When Athair went to tell him of the decision, Dàn was in the middle of preparing his travel pack. He had known he would be chosen.

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