By the Silver Moon's Light

Almost everyone experiences moments in their life when they feel 'out of touch' or 'not quite with it'. Most don't grow up with a deep and abiding belief that there is something wrong....something deeply twisted about their life. That there must be some dark and sinister secret dating back to their birth, and a driving need to know what it is.

As I stood in the drizzling rain over my mother's grave I was aware that the need to know would never be fulfilled now. The last person capable of telling me the truth of the matter was being buried today. I can't say I felt grief, more of a cold and sullen rage that when she died, she took the secret with her to the grave. I know as the rain dripped from my nose and chin that those around me believed I wept, but the truth was revealed in my rigid posture and tightly clenched fists. I wore black, not in mourning but by preference -- it suited me, not just off setting the wild tangle of my curling black hair and the green fire of the eyes that reflected back at me in the glass, the cream of skin so fair and fine you could watch the blood course through my veins. Black suited my moods. I preferred the night to the day, shadows to brightness and quiet to loud and boisterous celebrations.

I would have to deal with a loud and boisterous celebration of sorts today however. My mother's wake would follow the burial with food and drink in abundance. There would be loud weeping and wailing from many who professed to know and love her, and tales of her youth and good natured gentleness. They didn't know her at all to think this. A more acid and poisonous tongue never spat from serpent lips. She was an evil bitch who delighted in keeping her youngest child and only daughter as slave to her whims and her temper.

In rare moments alone as a child I'd been convinced that fairies had left me on her doorstep. I looked nothing like her or my brothers or like the small watercolor of our sire that hung by the fire. She was fair and father was ruddy, while I was small and dark, a child of the shadows with strange ways and strange desires.

I knew things you see. Things I couldn't know...except I did. I saw strange lights and colors surrounding folk and knew them as good natured or bullies or worse. On that fair summer day, with no cloud in the sky and the sun beating hot on the earth, I clung to my brother Micah crying, pleading with him not to go to fish. He laughed at my fears and told me he'd bring me a fat red salmon all for myself. In the middle of that afternoon the sky turned black and trees thrashed the sky. The wind whipped the waves into white foaming mountains and Micah's boat never returned with my fat red salmon.

People began to look sideways at me then, especially when mother began nosing it about that I'd cursed Micah's boat into sinking in the storm. Four boats went missing in that great storm, but I loved my brother Micah. His was the only one I'd seen with torn sails wafting gently with the tides, deep beneath the sea. And when I cried over Mordecai's fat bonny wife's babe hung from the gallows tree, people made the sign against evil behind their backs. Ruta prayed to the old gods and went to the friar as well for a blessing. But her son was born with the cord round his neck and I stopped going to town, except when mother demanded.

I was happier in the woods and meadows. I watched the animals and listened to the tales the trees told me. I learned about the flowers and roots and grasses. What could help heal a soul, and what could hinder one. Mother whined and raged and spat foul words when I mixed strange flavors into our soups and stews. I'd have stayed my hand if I'd wanted her dead sooner. She had no knowledge that it was my herbs and bits that kept her strong and vital with many of her own teeth, far past the time when her siblings had gone to their own rest.

I hated her -- and loved her too. She was, after all, my mother. Real or not, the only mother I'd ever known and I spent many years trying vainly to win her love and approval. And now she was gone along with my last hope of learning what, if any truth lay hidden by my birth. And I was alone in the world. As much as she'd hated me, she'd kept me close by and protected me. I was virgin still, though I knew much of the ways of men and women. I was small, and dark, and quiet -- no one noticed when I was near, and I could watch.

It puzzled me. Although the men all seemed to universally desire the union with a woman, and enjoy the process, the end result seemed to cause them pain. And their brains drained from their heads when their cocks stood hard. Even my brothers turned into smiling, simpering apes when a girl lifted her skirts for them. But the girls...I had no idea what they did or why. They did not seem to enjoy much of the act, but seemed somehow resigned. A few others seemed to think it was a funny game to play against a man until such time as he could be 'caught'. I did not think any of the women involved derived any amount of pleasure from men, based on the solitary activities I observed them at. I was in no rush to find out.

I was right about the wake. The weeping and wailing made my head ache and the noise and smoke from too many pipes made me feel ill. I crept out and away until the trees blocked the light and noise and the slow rain cleared my head.

If I was honest with myself, and I had no one else to be honest with, the noise and smoke weren't the only cause of my pain and ill feeling. I had nowhere to go where I was wanted. Mordecai, as the oldest, would get the house and the bit of land. He might have taken me in out of pity, but after I saw and spoke of the death of his son in the womb -- well, his wife was certainly no friend of mine.

I kept walking and wandering. I might as well. There was nothing to go back to. I had some dried herbs and bottles of tinctures, but those were easy enough to replace I mused. Assuming I could find somewhere warm and dry to rest, and perhaps to stay. A light wind began to murmur through the trees and a creeping fog nosed around my skirts like a lonely cat. There would be frost by morning. I had only the damp shawl I was wearing to keep me warm, I had to find shelter.

In the distance a lone wolf howled mournfully. One more danger, and one more reason to find shelter quickly. I felt in the pockets of my apron. I had some small coins, mostly brass and copper, saved from market trips. Like most women I carried fire-striker, tinder (now mostly damp as well), a horn cup and spoon for eating and a wooden spoon for cooking. Not that I had anything to cook...or a pot to cook it in.

A twig cracked suddenly in the wet silence of the night woods. I turned my head only slightly, trying to look from the corner of my eyes as Micah had taught me to look. A shadow moved against the night. Damnation, the biggest wolf I'd ever seen moved to my right, it's eyes flashed ghostly green in the dimness. I wandered to the left, slightly faster but not running enough to draw attention as prey.

The fog thickened even as the drizzle abated. The wind seemed to have started murmuring my name, soft and low...Moya....the breeze seemed to whisper it back and forth among the branches. Starting low and soft but rising to a strong note, the wolf howled again, from my rear. I picked up my pace again, not quite trotting forward, driven by my fear of the hungry maw behind me.

Moya, I huffed with a snort of steam. The name was both clue and insult. We were all named with an M after our sire Malaky -- my brothers Micah and Mordecai and little Matthew who died young and was buried next to our mother and father. Holy names blessed by the friar and read from his book. But for me there was no holy name, no priestly blessing. Moya was a name from the old times. In the old tongue it meant 'bitter'.

Yes, I suppose I was bitter in fact. My life was sham, my name was curse and I was homeless. Who wouldn't be bitter I thought. Lest I forget, the wolf sounded off again, behind me and slightly to my left this time. Yes, and being toyed with by an enormous wolf bent on having me for dinner. No reason to be bitter at all, I cursed cheerlessly.

And now I seemed to be feverish. I was hallucinating or dreaming or...certainly seeing things. There was light ahead of me. We were deep in the dark heart of the forest, but I was seeing the flickering light of fire ahead. I headed for it as a drowning man reaches for light and air, and as if to spur me on, the wolf howled again.

"Oh shut up! I heard you the first time!"

I stopped. Cold at the sound of a stranger's voice. An old voice. I couldn't tell man or woman from the sound, simply old and unknown to me.

"Well, come on then! The stew was ready an hour gone. As it is it'll take half the night to dry you out."

I glanced furtively to either side, but I was alone. Except for the elusive wolf padding softly behind me. It...he...came up beside me, nosed me gently in the direction of the fire, and moved forward to disappear into the glare.

"Gad you're soaked to the skin. Go lay down and dry out... Not on my blankets thank you!"

That was a parental sounding reprimand if ever I'd heard one -- although admittedly I'd never heard one directed at a wolf before this moment. I moved forward with slightly less hesitation. The warmth of the fire was reaching out to me through the fog, and the smell of the stew was hot and savory, redolent of herbs and mushrooms and roots and...I sniffed appreciatively...meat. I couldn't remember the last time I'd tasted meat. We had fish in abundance, and what I could glean from fields and forests and streams but aside from the occasional rabbit caught in a snare, there was no meat. Once a year the Lord would kill a boar and invite all his shirelings to feast, but there was never any meat for poor widows and their daughters. And it would never occur to Mordecai to bring us a share -- it was for the men to feast. Women could make do. And we did.

My mouth was watering before I ever reached the mouth of the cave. I heard someone 'tsk' over my appearance before hands stripped me of my wet shawl and clothes. I turned from the intent gaze of the wolf, lying motionless by the fire, but hands quickly bundled me into a warm robe of some heavy fur. A wooden bowl of steaming succulence was placed in my hands along with a winsomely carved wooden spoon. The bowl of the spoon hid a tiny frog that appeared when I ate, the handle was a twining vine with curled leaves enfolding it. It was cleverly done and I'd never seen anything at all like it. It would require great skill, working with very sharp tools.... And then the flavors of the stew hit. I tasted onion, wild garlic, bay and flavors I was less familiar with. The meat was rich and fat and falling apart at the touch of my spoon.

"Summer deer."

The voice came from close to my shoulder and I turned. The old...man...woman...creature grinned toothlessly.

"The meat. It's summer deer. He brought it in."

The old one...woman I decided...head bobbing toward the wolf who still stared at me, unblinking, making me uneasy. What hair remained on her head was pulled back primly into a bun, and it...she...wore skirts of a sort. She tsk'd over the tangled mess of my own hair and pulled a bone comb from some hidden recess, starting to work unraveling the knots. By the time my hair curled softly down my back, my head was nodding on my neck. My belly was full with food richer than I was used to and a tiny carved shell of a cup had been thrust at me as proof against the weather. It was elderberry cordial and not the whiskey I expected. Still, after the emotional trials of the day, and my long walk this night, I was close to asleep where I sat.

Gnarled hands braided my hair swiftly before pushing me toward a pallet against the wall of the cave. Springy boughs of heather and cedar cushioned me and thick furs provided a soft, warm nest to burrow into. I had no idea where I was, or who this old woman might be, but for the moment I was warm and felt safe and I fell instantly, deeply asleep.

At one point during the night I thought I woke to feel a strong but gentle hand upon my brow, and hear the soft murmur of a man's low voice talking with the old woman. But sleep pulled me relentlessly back into its depths and by morning anything I remembered had become a dream, passing like the night fog.

I woke to the sudden memory of the previous night's events. But I was warm and comfortable, although there was a heavy weight against me. I assumed it was the old woman, cuddled close for warmth, but turning my head I met the gimlet gaze and laughing maw of the wolf.

"Fine for you my furry friend," I whispered, "but if I don't make water soon we'll both be the worse for it."

As if he understood, the creature yawned and stretched -- almost a bow -- before stepping carefully aside from my pallet. I could see the old woman now, sleeping soundly still against the far wall of the cave on a similar mat. Wrapping one of the hides carefully around me and stepping quietly I followed the wolf out of the cave. I didn't make it much further than the nearest bush but, while the wolf was alert, he didn't seem to sense any danger...other than himself of course. He sniffed the air and cocked his ears at every sound but watched me in a most unnerving manner. I finished my business and dabbed myself with damp leaves. Most unsatisfactory, I thought. The wolf continued to watch my every move and when I was finished, moved over my spot to lift his leg and release his own pungent stream of urine.

"Well, I guess that tells me who's boss, doesn't it?"

His tongue lolled in a most dog-like way. If I didn't know better I'd swear he was laughing at me.

"I don't suppose you know of a handy stream where a woman might bathe do you?"

It was a rhetorical question, asked without expectation of answer, but once again the huge creature surprised me. His head bobbed and jerked to one side, as if to point. He moved in that direction and then paused, turning, as if to wait for me.

"If I didn't already have the friar's word for it, I'd know now that I'm damned. But I swear you understand me."

He trotted back, nuzzled my hand and licked it, before moving off in the direction of the presumed stream again.

"Alright, I'm coming."

I muttered, as much to myself as to my canine companion. A few short steps downhill and away from the cave and I could hear the happy babble of the stream. I plucked some soapwort as I moved closer to the stream. Finding a large, flat rock by the edge of the water I dropped my fur and stepped into the stream. The water was achingly cold. I scooped double handfuls to pour over my body while my furry friend curled watchfully on the hillside, his eyes intent.

Gooseflesh rose across my belly and thighs and my nipples hardened to raspberry points before I felt wet enough. I pounded the soapwort to release the lather and began to rub the slippery stuff over my body. The wolf's eyes on me made me self conscious and uncomfortable, at the same time as I felt safe and surprisingly languorous under his gaze. Normally my bath consisted of a quick swipe with a soapy rag while mother shrieked about sin and lustfulness. I didn't know lustfulness, but I knew that I was, according to mother and the friar (and most of the town folk) a creature of sin.

As my hands slid over my breasts it seemed the wolf's eyes sharpened. I didn't know how or why that could be but it gave me a funny, fluttery feeling low in my belly. And when I cupped my breasts in my two hands and rubbed my soapy thumbs over the nipples, the feeling in my belly increased. Sliding my hands down over my hips and belly I parted my thighs a little, the springy mat of hair there as curly as the hair on my head, and as dark. As the sun rose it caught the tiny drops of water there and flashed like diamonds. Rainbow sparks shot around the stream as I spread my legs a little further and slid my soapy fingers into the valley between them.

Now the feeling in my belly surged up, into my breasts and down into my legs, curling my toes. My woman channel was hot and slippery already and my fingers slid easily over and around the small mound at the front. This was where all my fluttering feelings seemed to center and I loved having the privacy, for once, to play and explore these sensations.

The wolf whined in an anxious sort of way, bringing me back to myself. I wondered how long I'd been gone and if the old woman would be awake and looking for us. If she found me I'd be beaten for bathing naked and touching myself so sinfully, I knew. I hurried to rinse and moved back to the shore to gather the fur around me again. Before I could wrap myself into its warmth the wolf pressed hard against me, burying his nose between my thighs. I gasped and froze, fearful of what might happen next -- but what did happen is the touch of his soft, pink tongue against that inner channel and sliding over the so sensitive mount.

My knees buckled and I think I cried out. Wolf (for so I was beginning to think of him -- no longer as an animal or creature, but as a named companion) backed away but stretched his bow again, smiling and showing his teeth with his tongue lolling to one side.

"You musn't...ever. Sinful and...forbidden. I was bad to touch it there. You musn't...kiss it...again."

He sneezed, once again giving every appearance of laughing at me. But when he saw the tears in my eyes he came to me contrite, licking my face and nuzzling at my neck and between my breasts.

"All right. It will be all right. We should go back. We'll be missed."

I wrapped the fur tight around me to hide my shame. I don't know how but Wolf gave me the distinct impression that only a fool would worry about me when I was with him. Whether or not he was trying to tell me so, I felt he was likely right. It would take mounted warriors to bring him down, several of them probably. He was the biggest wolf I'd ever seen.

The old woman was awake and moving when we returned. As we passed the fire I murmured, "Stay here."

To my complete surprise Wolf dropped to the ground and rested his head on his paws. The old woman cocked her head and cackled. I saw that my clothing was dry and brushed free of mud and clinging burs. I dropped the fur I'd been clinging to and bent to lift my dress, feeling Wolf's eyes, intent on the swell of my hips. As I dressed I tried to ignore the other woman's muttering.

"So that's how it is now, eh? First whiff at a fresh, ripe maid and you turn to groveling mush? Fat lot of good you'll do as hunter or protection mooning here by the fire, taking up space."

Wolf simply huffed and turned his head away from her complaints. She handed me a bowl of warmed over stew to break my fast and announced her name was Agatha. I recalled now she'd mentioned it the night before when she asked my name, but I'd forgotten in the haze of emotion and fatigue. She didn't ask me anything, seemingly had no curiosity regarding my past, family, clan, history. As if strangers routinely appeared at the mouth of her cave needing shelter....or as if, I was expected.

I shied away from that thought and gathered the bowls and spoons to wash at the stream. Wolf gathered himself to accompany me without a word from Agatha or me. At the stream I studied the beauty and intricacy of the carved wooden wares. A master artist had made them, without doubt. Bowls made from tree bolls and knots, following the warp of the wood while revealing all the hidden beauty. I admired the carved spoon I ate from the previous night. A jeweler would have been hard pressed to create such a wonder, I thought. Another spoon's bowl revealed the head of a bear carved into its lines. In another a hidden imp peeped from cloaking leaves. They were all wonderful pieces and I cleaned them carefully. Feeling their satiny surfaces I could tell they were oiled in some way on a regular basis to seal the grain. I would have to ask, or keep silent and observe Agatha's ways.