As Murphy settled in beside Syllke, the Vantha stroked the wolf’s head gently. It was a shame that the creature had suffered so. But Syllke could not change the past. If Murphy wished it though, he would have the young artist’s friendship – and help if he could give it. Murphy laid his head on Syllke’s leg and the boy’s hand went to the wolf’s shoulder. “You’re nice and warm.” Syllke said with a grin. “Between you and Morwen, I should be alright.”
The two cuddled together in companionable silence, Syllke glancing outside the log to watch the swirling white. Murphy dozed off, but Syllke was reluctant to sleep in such bitter weather – there was always a chance that he would not wake up if he wasn’t wary. After a while, he dislodged Murphy’s head from his lap, moving to the end of the log and kicking at the snow which had built up there. For a few moments, he ducked out into the storm, stomping and kicking the snow away from the entrance, having no desire to get trapped in the log. Murphy, watching him and quickly catching on, rose and joined him, pawing at the snow too. Satisfied, they both clambered back into their little shelter and resettled themselves, Syllke practically curling himself up around the wolf after the chilling few minutes spent out in the blizzard.
“Sorry to wake you up, Murph.” He said softly, stroking the coarse fur on the wolf’s back, his face pressed against the Kelvic’s coat. “how about I tell you a story to make up for it?”
Murphy, of course, could not say yes, but his intelligent golden eyes seemed to be giving his assent. So Syllke began.
“Long ago, before your race walked the earth, there was a man who lived in a hold off away from the city. One day, when he was out hunting, he came across a dead wolf. Along with the mother wolf, all of her pups had died of the cold, but one. This one, the man took and tucked under his parka, carrying him home.
Now, this hunter had a young son – a boy who was gentle and kind and loving – a good artist and a wonderful story teller and singer. But there was something wrong with the boy’s legs and they did not move, so he must sit by the fire or be carried about by his father or brothers. But all who knew him, loved him for his kind heart and bright smile. The hunter gave the wolf cub to his youngest son and let him raise him on caribou milk. The two became the closest of friends and were inseparable companions. Where the boy went, so too would go the wolf. And where the wolf was to be found, there would be the boy, right by his side. The boy grew to be a young man, and the wolf grew to be large and strong and fierce, always loyal to the boy and his protector.
The young man was old enough to look for a wife, and his eyes fell upon a girl who was lovely as the moon, with raven hair to her waist and eyes with all the colors of the lights in the sky. He never thought that she might look back, but, shyly, she smiled at him, and his heart beat faster. She had heard about his gentle, wise ways and she was not bothered that he could not hunt like the other young men. His stories made her smile and his songs made her heart melt like the ice on the spring rivers. The two fell in love.
But her father was a jealous, greedy man, and did not wish to see his daughter leave his side merely for the sake of love. So when finally the young man asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage, the father said “My wife needs a new parka. Bring me a caribou hide.”
Of course, the young man had no way to hunt the caribou. But when he lay in his bed at night, and whispered his sorrows to his friend, the wolf, who was very, very smart, the wolf ran out and killed a caribou, dragging it back so the young man could skin it, and present it to his lover’s father, as instructed.
The old man only grunted and said, “A good parka needs ermine fur for decoration. Bring me ermine skins, and then we’ll talk.”
Once again, the young man whispered in his friend’s ear and once again the wolf leapt up and ran off to hunt and kill ten fat ermine. The young man skinned them and presented the furs to his lover’s father. But yet again, the old man made a sour face and said, “A good parka needs wolverine fur along the hood, to keep away the ice. Bring me a wolverine pelt and you may marry my daughter.”
Now, the young man was greatly dismayed, for the wolverine is the fiercest animal in the north – fast and strong and vicious. He did not want his friend to get hurt, so he kept the old man’s demand to himself. The wolf was saddened by his friend’s tears, though he did not know their cause, until one day, the wolf heard the young girl sighing as well, and she said softly to herself, “Alas, I will never get to marry my true love for he has no way to bring my cruel father a wolverine’s pelt.”
Quickly, the wolf ran, hunting for a day and a night until he found wolverine in his den. There was a fierce and bloody battle, and the wolf was bitten and clawed many time over, but finally he managed to kill wolverine and slowly, slowly dragged him back to his friend. The young man gasped in astonishment, but his joy lasted only a moment as the wolf, his best friend and brother, lay down at his feet and died, injured beyond healing by his fight with wolverine.
The young man wept until he could weep no more, and though his family tried to remove the body of his friend from his grasp, he would not let go. Finally, exhausted, the young man fell asleep. A dream came to him. It was the wolf, who smiled and said, “In the morning, skin wolverine. Then skin my body. Place my pelt over your shoulders and take the wolverine skin to your lover’s father.”
The young man awoke, his face still stained with tears. But he felt strong and did as his wolf had told him to do. When he placed the wolf skin over his own shoulders, suddenly his feet twitched. And then his knees. And finally his legs jumped. But as he watched in amazement, he saw his feet and hands become paws. His legs and arms became hairy and stretched to the ground. He turned when he felt the twitch of a tail and he swiveled his pointy ears about. For he had turned into a wolf.
Instead of being filled with dread, remembering his dream, the wolf grabbed the wolverine pelt in his jaws and loped away to his lover’s hold. Throwing the skin at her father’s feet, the wolf suddenly transformed back into a young man – but one who could stand and walk and run like all the others, for he now had the strength of his wolf inside him. Taking his delighted lover’s hand, he ran back to his own hold with her, laughing all the way, and that very day they married.
The young man told the girl his secret, and he found he could transform into a wolf whenever he chose, and the girl loved them both dearly, and together they raised many healthy, happy children, some of whom could change to wolf form, like their father.”
Syllke finally came to a halt, patting Murphy with a grin.
“So that’s where your people came from, or so some people claim.”
Murphy made no verbal reply of course. But his green-gold eyes looked into Syllke's as if he wanted the Vantha to know he had understood.
Time passsed and the two hunkered down to endure the cold. Eventually the snow covering the log provided an extra layer of insulation for their shelter, and with fur and Morwen's protection, they did well enough. Finally, the storm blew itself out. Thankfully it was not one of those three day blizzards. All told, it had lasted perhaps a few hours or so. When the snow had finally ceased to fall, Murphy stuck his nose out of the log. Coming back inside, he nuzzled Syllke's hand, as much to say, let's go!
"Alright, Murph. I'm with you. This log is getting a wee bit cramped." Murphy happily swaggered back outside and Syllke followed him, anxious to make his way back to the city and his hold. Turning to the kelvic, who had hesitated, looking at Syllke uncertainly, he said, "Come on. I'm not going to walk off and just leave you out here. Let's go home."
LE FIN
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by Daroes Murphy on September 27th, 2011, 9:05 pm 
