He rolled on his back snapping playfully at the moth flying just a few inches above his head. The day was hot but shade from a tree offered a cool ground. His ears perked up as he heard familiar noises. It was the leader of the pack with his white fur, so pure that it rivals the moon’s light.

It was the pack’s pride. White symbolizes purity.

He yawned, buried his head in his sister’s belly, and went to sleep.

In the little town of Sacrage…

Two men were sitting next to the fireplace smoking their pipes and arguing. The two men had just finished their fourth pint of Jack Daniel’s so both were very drunk. They spoke in rowdy voices, able to wake the dogs but their little hideout was situated miles from any other known human civilization. Their two-story hut was built on the edge of a forest called Gillog’s Rest and passed down from generation to generation. The men are brothers, twins.

A normal night would be if the two brothers were sipping hot tea or cocoa in front of the fire but this was not a normal night. You see, a woman could do strange things to men. Witches, they are, spellbinding any unsuspecting victim (they enjoy every minute of it also). Women can pull close brothers apart like how the lovely, beautiful Leslie Hearthen did earlier in the day. Today, she turned nineteen, perfect for marriage as her father, the town iron smith claimed.

Everyman in town had wooed her since her body started to fill out, sixteen. Her fire-wild hair went all the way down to her waist and her glowing green eyes captured everything. Men thought that everything about her was perfect, her white teeth down to her white skin dotted every now and then, with freckles. They say that she’s a sex goddess although (to their delight) she’s still a virgin. That doesn’t mean that she’s a shy little angel; she flaunts what she has all the time (until all the rest of the girls turn green with envy). And because she was such a pretty little thing, everyone loved her. People offered her gifts everyday and spoiled her silly. Leslie’s upbringing was filled with gifts, compliments and arrogance.

Miss Hearthen was allowed to choose her husband within a few limits. He must not be poor, or younger than her, or older by fifteen years. The twin brothers were one of them. Matt and Michael Lane were both twenty-two.

That was the reason why both men downed their beers with great speed remembering what has happened earlier in the day.

The immature lots, all of them.

There were roughly seven bachelors in all, age ranging from thirty three to Leslie’s childhood friend.

Leslie had said, after scrutinizing each man, “Since I can’t decide, I’ll marry the first one to...” She paused thoughtfully, biting her lower lip, “give me the most pelts from the white wolf family. All eight of them, they shall be my special bridal gift.” and smiled.

The crowd; white-beards, old wives, children, parents, men and women; gasped. No one dared to kill the legendary white wolves. They rule Gillog’s Rest. Wolves were the pride and joy of Sacrage. Some people protested but when Leslie threw a tantrum crying that mere wolves were more important than her, nobody dared to say anything. And the men agreed. Leslie flicked her fox red hair and sauntered away toward her house. The door slammed behind her but not before she made a moue to her possible future husbands. She was the most desired and everyone knew it.

The crowd started to disperse, whispering in hushed voices.

“How dare she?!”

“Mother! Calm down.”

“They have to kill such mythical creatures? God’s mercy… The wolves are ancient.”

Back in the hut, late at night, the brother’s older sister knocked twice on the wooden door and entered the room looking quite furious. “What are you thinking?” Kelia Lane hit both of her brothers on the head. “If you kill those wolves, you kill Sacrage! You two have the power to call off the marriage!” (Kelia’s twenty seven, a more mature age than her siblings.)

“Dear sister, please control your temper. The forest spirit might be annoyed enough to decide to engulf you in your sleep with all the demands going through your teeth.” Matt said jokingly.

“Why you no good brother of mine!” She was prepared to pummel him until he was black and blue but Michael held her back.

“Temper, temper,” he chided.

Kelia’s rage ceased and she collapsed onto a stool. “You two really ought to not swoon over that female devil.” She rubbed her temples.

“Oh? Leslie Hearthen? Soon to be Mrs. Lane?” Matt grinned as his mind tuned to the fantasies going on in his head, certainly not for the weak minded.

Kelia shook her head, “I just really have a horrible feeling about this.”

“Jealous dear sister?”

“No Michael, I have a husband and you two are my baby brothers.” Kelia examined Michael for a moment, “you’re still a tad bit drunk.” Michael waved her off.

“Then why do you try to refrain us from,” Matt hiccupped, “her?”

Their sister sighed and wringed her hands, “Do you know how Gillog’s Rest got its name?” Michael was confused but Matt’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“I think I remember, it had to do with Gillog Cate, the former resident of this hut, right?” Kelia nodded and drank some more tea and made a face since it had no sugar.

“But I thought that this hut was ours.” Michael continued to look puzzled.

Kelia cocked her head to her right and prepared to tell a story. “Yes, but there was a time before our old blood claimed this house as their own. Remember, this town is old and once, a hermit named Gillog Cate lived here, away from all others next to an unnamed forest. Isolated, people in Sacrage thought that he was mad, mad beyond belief. In fact, he is.”

“They deserted him because he was mental? Come on, the citizens need a better reason than that to leave him.” Matt snorted.

“They did, Cate was an albino hermit. He has white hair and red eyes. How would you feel if you knocked on the door and he comes rushing out howling and trying to bite you?”

Michael winced. “Oh. A god-claimer.” God-claimers, also known as Pagans, the ‘other worshippers’, are considered a sin outside of town.

“Exactly, and people started talking, they said that he starts conversations with the wolves, he befriends them and that the wolves aren’t real wolves.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said, the wolves aren’t real wolves.”

“Then what are they?”

“I don’t know! It was an old saying. Old wives tale, wolves in the woods don’t just howl and hunt.” There was irritation laced deeply in her tone, but she continued with her story. Her two brothers listened intently. “One day, there were new arrivals in Sacrage, a family of twenty, containing, children, men, woman, uncles, aunts, cousins, you name it. The Lane family saw this place as an opportunity, they build, they create, and from time to time, they destroy. It was a very wealthy family business in estates.”

Matt’s eyes shined with pride, “The Lanes, us, our old ancestors.”

“And they wanted the wolves’ skin pelts that were in the forest that had no name.”

“Yeah, wolf pelts are still quite rare and expensive these days. Nobody could get the fur because, one way or another, you need skill, and luck.” Michael paused to think, “Lots of luck because one way or another, misfortune will fall on you, no matter how good of a hunter you are.” Matt agreed with his brother.

“Quite interrupting you two. Now, Edward Lane, the head of the family, decided that he was going to get those furs. He thought that if God was with him, he would be able to take his desired prize, bragging rights, total authority and a possibility to be the head of Sacrage at the spring elections. He took a rifle and trudge down to the forest.” There was a pause, “he disappeared and was never seen again.”

“… What? That’s not how stories are supposed to end.” Matt muttered. “Father told me that he was successful, though I didn’t believe him.”

“Perhaps,” Michael furrowed his brows, “father didn’t want to be ashamed of his ancestors’ mistake.”

“Most likely yes, I looked into the city archives a few months back to see the true story. (“Always the curious one,” Matt muttered under his breath.) Continuing, three weeks later, Edward’s little brother thought that whoever killed Edward in that forest was going to pay. Richard IV’s mind was bent on revenge and he thought that it was the hermit’s fault. In a way, it was the hermit’s fault. Gillog is, in a sense, a wolf. The man was blinded by anger, I doubt he thought reasonably.”

“How old is Gillog?” Michael asked.

Kelia paused to think, “I’m not sure, by many people, he’s ageless. Not many people remember, they just know that he’s been there before anyone was born. Before the town, perhaps, which is centuries old. Richard Lane crept up to Cate’s hut and he looked through the only window and saw something indescribable. He broke the window and took one shot at Cate’s head and Cate dropped down dead.”

“What was Cate doing?”

“I don’t know, Richard Lane didn’t say anything when he came back to the village, he was mute for a whole month until the new moon.” Her voice lowered down into a hush, “No one knew what he saw… There was darkness in Richard Lane’s house. But on that dark day, the villagers dreamed of white wolves and heard howls and tossed and turned in their beds.”

“The next morning, on Richard’s bed was a bloodstain and lots of white hairs were poking out of the mattress. So the citizens took it as an omen and started worshiping the white wolves and their power to plea for their ignorance and rudeness and asked to be forgiven. Except for the Lanes’, they refused to offer any gifts. Yet, rewards followed- Sacrage wasn’t burned to the ground in the Alle Campaign, we had an unusual number of good seasons for farming and trade when all the neighboring towns sunk into starvation and poverty. The Lanes’ took the old hermit’s hut as their own, nothing was in it. And from then on, the Lanes have been the main leaders of Sacrage. Peace has been constant since.” She pleaded with them, “Call off the contest; if we say no, then the whole event can stop.”

The brothers exchanged looks and Matt started laughing, “Kelia, I appreciate your stories, they’re nice but, we, men, have more pressing matters to attend to.” Kelia gave him a look of annoyance.

Michael frowned, “Maybe we shouldn’t kill the wolves… but,” His face seemed to light up with happiness, “Ah my dear Miss Hearten, you hair shines like fire that seems to focus only me. And your eyes…” He trailed away only to have Matt complete his sentence.

“-Glows with an unknown power to lure men to you. We’ve all heard how she looks under that apron and dress, yes?”

“The stories,” Michael grinned.

“The stories,” Matt replied, they toasted and drowned their twelfth pint of Jake Daniels.

Kelia sighed and left the boys to their fantasies. As we said, a woman can do strange things to men. Men loose their wits in the sight of near divine beauty. That’s the nature of things.

The road lit up on the full moon and the sky was cloudless. The white road which reflected the light from the moon, winded on and on. The wise woman had to walk through endless fields of crops. She was alone, but that didn’t bother her. The town was soundless, everyone was sleeping. There were no men coming to ambush her; it hasn’t happened since Gillog was killed. Two story houses lined up on each side of the street. The town square had a temple with marble pillars and arches.

In it were the larger than life size statues of a stone she-wolf and three cubs, all pure white. The woman sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. She let her knees drop to the cold floor, bent her head down to touch the ground and prayed. “Well, I tried…

Spirit of the woods, of fate and speed, spirit of the cold, of hate and need

Please, have mercy on them.” A quiet wind blew that made Kelia shiver with cold. She took it as an omen, whether it was a good omen or a bad omen, she had no clue.

At least there was some evidence of an understanding between them.