Wolf Brother

This is a chapter I wrote this morning. It is about a wolf named Bratir – ‘brother’ in ancient Gaulish – so named because the pup was found by a warm-hearted Gaul licking his dead mother after invading Romans had killed her to make a fur cloak for their standard-bearer. We’re in ancient Brittany, circa 57 BC. The new series will be published by Sapere Books in 2024.

Photo © Lynda Adlington

The wolf moved with careful stealth as soon as he found the cover of woodland. He sniffed the air and listened to the sounds of dusk. His senses told him that this place so far from home would have new dangers though mostly inconsequential to a creature as powerful as he. The pungent scents where other wolves had marked this territory was a clear warning to be heeded. No evidence of men, though.

He sniffed the air again and knew instinctively where his immediate priority lay. He found the brook where it tumbled from higher ground and pooled beneath an outcrop, cold and clear. He lapped greedily, then threw himself in to cleanse salt-matted fur and wash away the stench of too many humans. He shook himself, sending droplets in a wide arc, then set off to find food.

A small hog curled in its prickly coat was ignored but soon a foolish ground-nesting bird took flight, leaving behind three plump eggs. He left one of them whole. It was the respectful thing to do. But two small eggs were insufficient. He heard the familiar call of an owl nearby and knew from experience where to look. He was not disappointed. Rabbits are stupid creatures and easy to catch as they break from their warrens.

Sated, he moved deeper into the mysterious and familiar world of dark forest. Moonlight peeped through the rustling canopy. A creature screeched under the claws of a night hunter. He caught the wolf scents again but they were weak, the pack no doubt far away hunting elsewhere.

He followed a trail too broad to be made by boar or deer, twisting slightly downwards. He knew where it would lead but he was in a curious mood. He sensed the river and a human settlement long before he found it. Closer, and he could smell death and hear the keening of women who have lost their children. Smoke drifting in the breeze carried the sickening stench of charred flesh. He crept to the edge of an escarpment overlooking a village. Burning huts gave the only light as clouds obscured moonlight. Bratir studied the scene, wolf's eyes seeing everything: bodies lying in a muddy clearing, homes spitting flame and spark, the wounded crawling away from the terror, here and there women searching for their husbands and children.

Of course, this makes no sense to a wolf. Bratir did not register the detail, just the whole picture. And yet again that humans are creatures to be avoided at all costs. Except that he was brother to one of them. He should leave them all, he knew that. It was an instinct instilled in every cub from the first breath. Have nothing to do with men who are all cruel and will kill their own for no reason. Or a wolf for his coat.

But there was one he could not leave.

MY BOOKS

Sadly, none of my half-dozen-or-so historical novels are available on Amazon right now but they will all be republished by Sapere in the coming weeks. Meanwhile, if you have a moment, you can catch up on the stories so far here.