Play of Shadows

01.7 River

They were close to completing the game.

Ann knew this to be true. The sacrifice of the white wolf was a game event that progressed the story, triggered by an advance in the players' understanding of the instance. It confirmed the existence of the Witch and brought into question the Werewolves' loyalty. It was a necessary part of the plot.

That didn't make it feel any less like a kick in the gut.

The howling started up again. Ann paused her exploration of the forest to listen, but the blonde wolf didn't call them back. It just howled, as it had when they had first woken up, and paced the forest in a hopeless search.

"It should know the white wolf's gone," Mara said, but quietly, as if afraid that the blonde wolf would overhear, "What's it searching for?"

They were huddled together, the four of them. Discussing the clues they had, trying to fit the pieces together, and – in Ann's case – doing her best not to join in on the mournful howling. She didn't know whether it was the faux familial connection or her wolf instincts, but the loss of her NPC mother hurt. It was difficult to strategize with a cool head when all her Wolf wanted to do was run.

"Let's follow him," Ann said.

"What? Wait, what about the Witch?" Louis demanded, but Ann had already disappeared in the thicket. The other wolves shared a glance and gave chase, albeit with half the enthusiasm.

The blonde wolf howled again. It seemed to have been waiting for them – as soon as it set eyes on Ann it bounded deeper into the forest, as silent as a shadow. It led them to a part of the woods they had never seen, where the trees grew tall and old and their branches blotted out the sky.

"There's a path here," Grant mused, pawing at the ground. Stone slabs peeked from underneath a growth of weeds and loose dirt.

"What's it doing over there?" Mara whispered.

The blonde wolf sat under a crooked weeping tree. Ann nosed her way through the canopy of lush leaves and found the object of the wolf's attention. A statue, roughly-cut from dark granite, embraced in the tree's roots.

"It's a wolf," Louis breathed.

They moved closer cautiously. The blonde wolf watched them placidly.

"There's two of them, see? One's broken," Mara said.

The shattered remains of the second wolf statue were half-buried in the moss. Ann nosed a few pieces over, sniffing at the ground. The scent of wilted flowers and wine and bread and human things was still in the earth, though gone old and stale with the passage of time.

"The villagers made these?" Louis asked.

"Who else? Or are you suggesting the wolves gnawed these out to look cool?" Grant asked, showing off his teeth in a wolfish grin.

"They brought them offerings, too," Ann said. "Flowers and wine, bread and fruits. Things you'd leave in shrines."

"Alright, so the villagers know about the wolves – maybe even used to worship them. So, what gives, then?" Louis asked.

"They forgot."

The words sounded like a growl, uneven and imperfect.

"We forgot, too," the blonde wolf added, then lay down slowly, pillowing its massive head on its front paws. Its eyes were sad.

"It made us forget."

"The Witch," Mara said.

The blonde wolf growled under its breath. "Under a full moon, we remember," it said. "Under a full moon, we hunt it."