In Which I Meet a Very Nasty Wolf
Albert spent our first morning together telling me his life story, from his first days as a foal through his career as a member of the king’s cavalry and right up to the day he was given to Mildred the Wise as a gift of thanks. I guessed that his former owner had more likely given Albert away in a desperate attempt to find silence, but I kept that opinion to myself.
The afternoon brought me a litany of details about Albert’s likes (he was extremely fond of chocolate), his dislikes (anything messy or muddy), his fears (which went on for close to an hour and seemed to revolve around blood, disease, and spiders), and his dreams (including one day seeing a statue of himself in the center of the main square of King’s City).
The sun was beginning to set as we traveled along the road to Jolip. I was busy daydreaming about trading Albert in for a nice mute pony when the horse suddenly started to shake.
“Oh, my goodness,” Albert cried.
His front hooves came up off the ground, and I could see one of his eyes rolling around in terror. Albert shrieked as his hooves struck the road again, and then he began to gallop. I threw myself onto his neck, grabbing fistfuls of mane just to hang on.
I yelled at Albert to stop. He yelled back at me, though I couldn’t make out a word. I thought he had completely lost his mind. Until I saw what had turned my horse into a maniac. Up ahead of us, a pile of clothes lay in the middle of the road. Crouched beside the clothes was a massive gray wolf. The beast was watching Albert with bright yellow eyes.
Suddenly, I was yelling at Albert to go, but he couldn’t seem to manage a straight line to save either of our lives. The horse ran in jagged circles, screaming. I clung to his neck, trying not to get thrown off and trampled—or worse, eaten. The wolf watched us, then eased to his shaggy feet, his eyes never leaving the horse. The light was dim, but I could still see the animal’s teeth. I was waiting for him to pounce. But instead, with wary glances at the screaming horse, the wolf slunk back into the woods.
It took me several minutes to convince Albert that the wolf was gone, and he could stop galloping in spastic circles. Finally, Albert stopped. His coat was covered with sweat and his sides were heaving. I climbed shakily down from the saddle. Once I was off his back, Albert lay down and put his nose between his front hooves. He took deep, labored breaths. I leaned against a tree.
From where I stood, I could see the lump of clothes still lying in the middle of the road. The longer I looked at them, the less empty they seemed. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I pushed off from the tree trunk and walked slowly toward the pile. My hands were cold, and my legs could not seem to work right, but my thoughts were clear. Please don’t be dead. I had no idea what to do with a dead body, let alone what the sight of one would do to my horse. To my great relief, the clothes began to move. Slowly, a head appeared, followed by long, skinny limbs. The shape of a tall boy unfolded. Beneath him I saw a small lamb. The boy turned around and looked at me.
“You—you saved us from the wolf,” the boy said.
I honestly had no idea what to say to this. And then, as if this day hadn’t been strange enough already, he knelt, in the mud, in front of me.
“I am in your debt, sir,” he said.
My face grew suddenly hot, and my jaw tightened until it hurt. I had been mocked my entire life. I didn’t need to take this from a stranger. I turned around and walked over to where Albert was still lying on the ground.
“G-get up,” I told him. Albert moaned.
“You’re not h-hurt. G-get up.” I had no patience left for this horse.
The boy approached me carefully.
“Did I offend you, sir?” he asked.
“N-no,” I snapped. “And s-stop calling me ‘s-sir.’” “Should I call you ‘my lord’?”
“N-no.” What was wrong with him?
The boy shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. “I don’t know what to do, then,” he said.
“Take your lamb and go h-home,” I told him and then grabbed hold of Albert’s reins and pulled.
“I am having heart palpitations,” Albert moaned.
“N-no, you’re n-not,” I said.
The boy was staring at my horse, who had rolled onto his side moaning. “He talked,” the boy said.
“H-he does that,” I said, with a look of great annoyance at my horse.
The boy shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs out of his thoughts. “I can’t,” he told me.
“You c-can’t what?”
“I can’t go home,” the boy said, “at least, not unless you come with me. You saved my life. I’m in your debt until I do the same for you.”
“I-I did not s-save your life,” I nearly shouted.
“But you did,” the boy said, nodding vigorously. “If you and your noble steed hadn’t come along, the wolf would have killed me and Dolly.”
Albert’s ears perked up at the words “noble steed.”
“Look,” I said slowly. “I’m g-glad that you didn’t g-get e-eaten, but I didn’t mean to s-save you. I d-didn’t even realize that you were a p-person until after the w-wolf left.”
The boy shook his head firmly. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. I have to stay with you until I repay my debt.”
I just stared at him.
“Come home with me for supper,” he said.
He seemed serious, and I was more than a little hungry.
“My family will want to meet you,” the boy said. “And my mother is an excellent cook. She would be happy to have you.”
I finally gave in.
The boy beamed at me. “I am Tate of Fair Oaks.”
“H-hobart of F-Finnagen,” I said, and then waited for the comments and the laughter.
“Good to meet you, Hobart,” Tate said cheerfully.
“G-good to m-meet you too,” I said, more than a little surprised.
We talked Albert back up onto his hooves and then climbed onto his back. Tate used one arm to hold on to me and the other to hold on to Dolly the lamb. I hoped that Albert would behave himself.
“Wh-which w-way?” I asked Tate. “Straight ahead,” he told me.
So Albert started out, still shaking on occasion and moaning quietly to himself, but he didn’t buck or gallop. Tate took over the talking.
“You’ll like Fair Oaks,” he said. “It’s a real friendly village. My family has lived there for ten generations. My great-great-grandfather kept the sheep of Lord Dillingham himself. When his lordship died, he left my great-greatgrandfather a flock of his own. My family have been independent shepherds ever since.”
We came over a small rise, and Tate straightened up. “There’s Fair Oaks,” he said. “My house is the first on the right.”
Tate pointed out a large, well-kept cottage. The wooden shutters stood open, letting warm firelight and the comfortable smell of freshly baked bread seep out into the evening air.
As Albert stopped in front of the house, the door opened. A cluster of blonde children spilled out into the yard, followed by a round blonde woman.
Tate slid awkwardly down off Albert’s back, set Dolly on her own small hooves, and then was instantly mobbed by the throng of people. His little brothers and sisters pulled on him. His mother hugged him and then led him into the house. I hung back, standing as close to Albert as I could, until Tate’s mother looked back over her shoulder at me.
“Come along, dear,” she said. “Terrance will look after your horse.”
A boy of about ten took Albert’s reins from me, and then a small hand grasped mine. I looked down at a little girl.
“Come on, Tate’s friend,” she said with a smile. “Mama has supper ready.”
Tate’s little sister led me into the cottage. It was as warm and cozy on the inside as it looked from the outside. A stone hearth covered one entire wall. A large bed stood on the opposite wall. Above the bed was a sleeping loft that housed a line of beds, each covered with a patchwork quilt. In the middle of the room was one long wooden table.
In the firelight, I got my first good look at Tate. He was tall and skinny, with golden hair that stood out from his head like straw. He had a round face and bright blue eyes above a broad smile. It was a face I saw scattered throughout the room in various sizes. I counted eight children, five boys and three girls. A large man with the same twinkling eyes came over to introduce himself and shake my hand. The round woman settled me on a bench at the table. The places on either side of me quickly filled with small, eager faces.
At first, there was a jumble of chatter as bowls of stew and chunks of bread were passed. But then Tate began to tell the story of his encounter with the wolf. All other conversation stopped as every face turned toward him in expectation.
“I had just found Dolly when the sun started to set,” Tate said. “We made it as far as the last hill before home, and then something moved off in the woods.” He paused, looking around the table. “It came closer, and I saw that it was a wolf!”
A few of the smaller children gasped.
“It came toward us, slow and growling,” he said. “I reached back for my staff, but it was gone.”
“No,” a little boy whispered.
“I threw a few rocks at the beast, but it just kept coming, its eyes glowing yellow.” Tate was clearly enjoying himself. “Dolly tried to run. The wolf leapt in her direction. And I did the only thing I could. I threw my body over hers and waited to die.”
One little sister clapped her hand over her mouth.
“But then I heard hoofbeats pounding down the road, and a great white horse burst onto the scene. Brave Hobart of Finnagen had arrived!” Tate said. “He charged the wolf, circling around us, and drove off the beast, sending it slinking back into the woods with its tail tucked between its legs!”
The table erupted into applause. A brother reached over to clap me on the back. Tate’s mother came over to hug me, dabbing tears from her eyes.
“You saved my boy,” she cried, and then hugged me again.
“I j-just h-happened to be there at the right t-time,” I said weakly.
“And he’s modest, no less,” Tate’s father announced. He reached across the table to shake my hand. “You are welcome at our table anytime. What a lad!”
“And he has a talking horse,” Tate said.
That statement caused an uproar.
“How did you get a talking horse?” one little boy asked with wide eyes.
“M-Mildred the W-Wise gave him to me, to h-help me on my journey,” I said.
“Where are you going?” an older boy asked.
“T-to Rona, to try and k-kill a dr-dragon,” I said, feeling awkward.
“A quest!” Tate’s father said. “The boy ventures out on a quest, and our Tate is to accompany him! What a day!”
No one could seem to talk about anything else for the rest of the meal. They peppered me with questions. Tate’s family wanted to know all about me and my travels so far. They were awed by Mildred’s gifts, and when supper was finished, we all had to travel out to the shed to speak to Albert, who thoroughly enjoyed the attention.
That night, I lay in the sleeping loft under a patchwork quilt, warm and well fed, surrounded by the soft snores of Tate and his siblings. But I couldn’t sleep. This whole household of people thought I was a hero headed out on a noble quest. What would they think of me if I failed? With a tightness in my stomach, I realized that coming back to Fair Oaks in disgrace would be even worse than being Ho-brat of Finnagen for the rest of my life.