Twelve

 

Rosa could delay no longer. The ashes from her grandmother's pyre were cold on the stone altar in the forest, and she had made more cheese than she could eat in a year. The mead would not finish fermenting for some days yet, and Alard's hunters had followed the wolf's trail to a clearing in the forest, before they'd lost it.

Treating the hunters' coughs and chills from sleeping in the snow had given her all the information she needed to head out on her own hunt, along with the certainty that no one else would be out in the forest, risking his neck against the beast. The Baron's hunters didn't dare cross the witch who was now the town's only healer, who'd ordered them to rest inside for a week.

She'd sacrificed four elderly hens to use as bait, or she intended to – the old broilers were still alive, stuffed in the sack over her shoulder. Fresh blood mattered to predators, and surely this wolf was no different.

She found the clearing easily enough, though there were no wolf prints to be seen with the fresh dusting of snow the ground had received since the hunters had last been here. But it mattered not. She had no intention of tracking the beast to its lair. Instead, she intended to lure it out with the smell of fresh meat.

Rosa moved to the middle of the clearing to slaughter the chickens. Her experienced hands made quick work of the killing part, but she took her time gutting the carcasses, throwing entrails across the snow to spread the blood further.

When she was satisfied that she'd made enough of a mess, she washed her hands and sought a suitable vantage point from which she could see clearly while she waited for dusk. The tallest tree was not the stoutest, but she was light enough to make the climb, if she kept close to the trunk. She climbed as high as she dared, before unwrapping the coil of rope she'd worn around her waist to tie herself securely to the trunk.

Only then did she string her bow, knowing speed would be her ally once the wolf appeared. The more arrows she could sink into its hide, the better chance she had of killing it before morning. Then perhaps the souls of her family would let her sleep without nightmares.

Wrapping her cloak tightly around her to keep out the cold, Rosa settled down to wait.

She must have fallen into a light doze, for she opened her eyes to darkness, or near enough. The full moon above lit the clearing, turning the reddened snow into the black of corruption. And yet...something moved across it, like a cloud, but more corporeal.

She plucked an arrow from her quiver and nocked it, ready to fire. The creature moved closer to the chickens, and Rosa loosed.

The arrow found its mark, but the creature that collapsed on the snow was too small to be the wolf. Its tail twitched once, then was still. A silvery fox, she thought, drawn by the bait. Not the wolf at all.

She slumped against the tree. Well, the fox would now be bait, too. She considered going down to retrieve her arrow and perhaps butcher the fox, to spread more fresh blood over the scene, but decided not to bother. She had plenty of arrows, and all night to wait.

Silence descended on the clearing again. Rosa longed for a hot meal, or even a flask of mead, but she hadn't thought to bring more than a chunk of ham, as she was already heartily sick of cheese.

Mead would have ruined her aim, anyhow, she told herself as she munched on the cold ham.

Something slammed into the trunk of her tree, nearly shaking her out of it, and the ham fell from her fingers to the ground below.

A second passed, and she heard the sound of chewing, accompanied by a faint whine, like a dog in pain.

Whatever it was crashed into the tree a second time. Then a third.

Rosa hung on for dear life, hoping the rope around the trunk would hold.

Then she heard the sound of scrabbling, like the creature was digging a hole in the snow.

Or a grave.

Rosa shook herself. Animals did not dig graves.

The sounds stopped, but she barely had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before something hit the tree, harder than before. Again. And again.

On the fourth blow, the tree tipped sideways at an alarming angle, spilling Rosa off her branch into space. Only the rope around her kept her from falling.

The tree shuddered from the force of another blow, and the rope became uncomfortably tight. She flung her arms out to catch anything that might support her weight, but she dangled too far away to touch anything.

Cursing, Rosa pulled out her knife and began sawing at the rope as another blow sent the tree toppling against the one beside it. A smaller tree that began to buckle under the weight...

Rosa sawed faster, barely noticing as she scraped her fingers raw on the rope, for her attention was directed down, in the hope that the snowdrift below would be deep enough to break her fall.

But all she could see was a pair of glowing blue eyes, staring straight at her.

The wolf, she knew without a doubt.

The beast flung itself at the tree trunk again.

Ominous cracks sounded, though whether from her tree or the other, Rosa couldn't be sure.

She could feel the rope stretching, unravelling, ready to drop her within reach of the waiting wolf, but her blood-slicked fingers hummed with power. The rope snapped, but the air caught her, as she had commanded it to. She spread her cloak, letting the wind carry her to the lower branches of the next tree.

A much sturdier tree than her first choice, though she could no longer see much of the clearing.

The wolf's eyes followed her, as if the creature could see her.

No, surely not. Wolves saw movement, and used scent to find their prey. If she stayed still against the trunk, it would lose interest in her and investigate the chickens instead.

The wolf that had let the fox go first, like some sort of scout, before attacking the very tree she sat in. Where the arrow had come from...

No. Wolves were not that clever. Men thought like that, ones skilled in battle. Not animals.

Something closed on her boot. Rosa kicked out, and was rewarded with a whine as the wolf let go. She scrambled higher up the tree, out of reach.

Why wouldn't it leave her alone? Surely now it would go and eat...

But the wolf sat down in a patch of moonlight, turning those glowing eyes up at her as if to say it could wait all night.

It could, she realised. It could wait all night and all day, its fur protecting it from the cold.

Whereas she had no food, not enough rope to secure herself, and she'd have to sleep sometime. When she did...she'd fall, and the wolf would have her.

No. If she had to climb a hundred trees and ride the air currents until dawn, the wolf would not touch her. If the creature really was a wolf, which she was beginning to doubt.

She began to climb.