Sooooo much wordsssss. >.>
Finn smiled at the two pup’s idea to make a game out of the event. But there was a soberness in her eyes, knowing that someday it would no longer be a game. Childhood was so fleeting, for some it never happened at all. She had killed her first wolf at just over a year, guided by the but merciless paw of her grandmother. What Finn had not learned from her father, she’d learned from his mother. Morrigan Mac Suibhne had already been a legend about the mountains before Finn was even born. Tall as a bear and tough as rocks, she fought her way to the top of the hierarchy and clung there with an ageing, but no less iron grip. She managed to sire three equally fierce sons, “The Blood Brothers” as they were ironically known, for they were all children of different fathers. Cuhlain Fidh had been one of those.
So it was with all this legacy upon her shoulders that the recently disowned, battered and disheartened Finn took instruction from her. She had killed her first wolf on a snowy day in December. He had been a young thing, same as her, but brash and proud and full of himself. It had been an easy thing for the skinny she-wolf, for she had been taught by the best. It was all downhill from there. Finn Fidh had excelled in the art, and soon left that little den in the mountains, abandoning an almost homicidally insane Morrigan. And then she had fought her way across the country, to end up standing where she was. Though she doubted any family from home remembered her, she knew she herself had added just as well to the bloody heritage of her family as any of her uncles or father.
It was an effort to draw herself from these gloomy thoughts. Living in Anathema was wonderful, but now, with idle time and pleasant feelings, it was far too easy for her mind to become untethered and drift into the dangerous waters of her past. Alastair nudged her lightly with his shoulder, and Finn blinked with surprise to see Naniko motioning for her to follow. She glanced at the deer, grinning in her customary way. It really was like they were siblings. That simple gesture had been enough to remind Finn of the present day, and draw her out of that invisible funk that hung about like smog. The she-wolf turned and followed Naniko, her long legs keeping her close behind. The deer did not, simply watching from the trees as the disappeared into the caves, before snorting softly and retreating into the pristine, snowy woods.
“Any home is a fine thing.” Finn murmured, flashing Naniko a smile. She would not be so rude as to mention aloud that she had not had anywhere that could be called home in over four years, that would be crass and purposeless, so instead Finn turned her eyes towards the artifacts. “What are all these?” She inquired, inspecting each object with and curious, penetrating stare. After a moment, she realized her mistake. “Ah, but you did not bring me hear to tell me about these things, I came here to tell a story!” She looked to Naniko hopefully, “But I wouldn’t object if you could tell me about a few of the more interesting ones later on.” The she-wolf sat and cleared her throat.
“As I said before, this is the story of the faerie wolves of the Rocky Mountains. This was a story told to me by my father, and belongs to my great-great-grandfather, who was, coincidentally enough, also named Finn Fidh.” The she-wolf’s voiced smoothed out and growing more expressive as she immersed herself into the story. Even her posture changed, straightening somehow, becoming more impressive, “Now, when Finn was very young, he was abandoned by his pack. He was a troublemaker, you see, and very quickly his antics had earned him the scorn and annoyance of the leaders. His parents, who are no longer mentioned amongst the Fidh bloodline for this very reason, left with the rest of the pack in the dead of night, crossing the waters to the west and taking up residence on the island there.”
“Finn Fidh was abandoned, and soon he awoke to realize this. Having spent more time causing trouble than learning the skills dearest to the wolf, Finn was a terrible tracker, and could not follow his family. Alone in the deep, dark woods of the coastline, night set in, and soon the young wolf was in real danger. A cat, much like the cougar I had fought, had crossed the mountains to the east, and journeyed down into the valleys. He was a monster of a beast and his name was Bayard. Muscled and sleek with eyes like golden coins, and teeth like knives. He had a taste for the tender flesh of pups, and so it was with macabre glee that he took up Finn’s scent, stalking through the undergrowth towards him on paws as wide as horse’s hooves.”
“The little wolf stared in terror at his doom, rooted to the spot, unable to move.” Finn leaned forward, pale eyes wide as she stared at Judas and Severus. “The cat tensed, leaped!” Here she reared high, as if about to jump, “And little Finn closed his eyes, awaiting the final blow that never came.” She sat again, neatly tucking her stump of a tail close to keep the end from getting cold. “He opened them again, looking about in wonder. For here he was surrounded by wolves that glowed in the darkness, and moved in all shapes and sizes and colours. There were some as tall as your mother is now, but on all fours. Others had antlers growing from their heads, or the wings of birds. And none were alike in shade and hue. Some were golden, others a brilliant red, some orange and black, some even green! Or blue!”
“They surrounded Finn and urged him to his feet, and with his new pack he ran, silent in awe and wonder. These creatures were the faerie wolves. In all the stories of my youth, they were the protectors of the land, though whether they truly existed as creatures of flesh and blood, or spirits from another time, I cannot say. Finn grew into adulthood among these myriad creatures, learning their mystical arts. His trickster nature grew stronger, and along with his intelligence and wit he soon had the entire countryside on edge with his tricks. He swapped the heads of deer and wolves while they slept, and snag a tune so scandalous that the clams gasped in shock and he stole the pearls right out of their mouths. His hearty laugh sent creatures near and far ducking into their dens and hovels.”
“There are a thousand stories of the great Finn Fidh, and I am ashamed to say I know perhaps only a quarter of that. There are some tales that speak of him stealing the moon so that he might replace it, and watch everyone going about their business from above. Others that speak of him getting tricked himself, though these are very rare. The one that I love the most is the story of how he met his mate, Sian a Tuinne, my great-great-grandmother. She was one of the faerie wolves herself, you see. It is said her pelt was the colour of a night sky, all blues are purples and inky violet. And strewn through her fur were tiny motes of light, so that she truly did twinkle like the stars.”
”Despite being a particularly wise and respectable example of her kind, but she was oddly captivated by the lively jester that had grown up amongst them. In turn, Finn was firmly of the opinion that Sian was the most beautiful she-wolf in the entire world, and often played pranks upon her in a sort of foolish courtship. Growing tired of constantly waking up in the mornings buried by wreaths upon wreaths of fresh flowers, or spontaneously growing a pair of giant dove wings, or having the single ray of sunlight shine upon her constantly, even on the rainiest of days, Sian hatched a plan. She would beat Finn at his own game, hopefully stopping this silly business for good, while also agreeing to be his mate.”
“Luring Finn down to a secret pool in the depths of the woods, she encouraged him to drink, doing the same herself to prove the water had no spell or glamour upon it. So, Finn took a great gulp. But he had been deceived. The water could not effect one of the faerie, for they were already saturated in whatever magic originated from the pool. Upon consuming it, Finn was struck by a sudden strangeness, and found himself suddenly growing roots. He became an elder tree, overhanging the mere. Sian laughed aloud at fooling him so, and Finn found he had no quick reply, for he did no know the language of trees. Sian left him there, but returned every morning to pour a little water from the pool on Finn’s roots, and to bask in his shade while the sun rose high.”
”Eventually, Finn learned the language of the trees, but it was a slow and patient speech, brought to life by the creaking of branches and sighing of the leaves. He and Sian spent these slow days conversing, and just like that a century passed. Upon the centennial of him becoming a tree, Sian sang the spell that broke the curse, and Finn Fidh snuffed the air as a wolf once more. He had changed greatly while in the tree, and the years had made him calmer, kinder. He and Sian became mates that day, in a great and colourful celebration that lasted a whole week. And sometime later my great-grandfather, Faolán, was born.”
Finn blinked slightly, like a movie player that had run out of tape, she had suddenly come to the end. “So that is the story of how my ancestor joined the faerie wolves of mountains, became a tree, and began the line of Fidhs.” The she-wolf stretched, vertebrae crackling. “If you ever wish to hear more, I will gladly tell it. There is a story of how Finn Fidh made peace with Bayard in his adulthood, and how they became fast friends later on. Or the story of when Finn tried to rope all the birds in the forest together, so that he might fly. But for now, I think we shall leave it at that.”