The Song Of The Wolf (Edited & Rewritten)

Chapter One

The taxi wound its way through the storm-lashed landscape, hail hammering against the windows like artillery fire. Loud enough to drown out the radio host's voice, and even for the young woman in the backseat to almost miss the buzzing coming from her phone.

'It's M-A-E-B-H. And then O'Cleirigh is O-apostrophe-C-L-E-I-R-I-G-H,' she spoke into the receiver.

'Right, B-H, not V-E. Somebody must have made a spelling mistake registering you, I will fix that right away. The documents are in the clear, so I will get the copies out to you by the end of the week. We aim to be meticulous in our line of work, I apologise for any inconvenience this might have caused you.'

Maebh thanked him and hung up, relieved. Her chest had tightened at the prospect of making the 2-hour journey back to Whitehorse.

The hail had stopped. In the distance, past fields of thawing snow, a great and jagged spine rose from the earth, mountains crowned with whitened peaks. Her view of them blurred as a piece of ice slid from the car's roof and fell, joining the brown sludge on the side of the highway.

'You're in luck,' the taxi driver quipped.

She looked at him through the rearview mirror. 'Pardon?'

'I said that you're in luck. Spring doesn't usually arrive this early, let alone in March,' he said.

'Good to know,' Maebh replied with a polite smile. She wanted to close her eyes and let the hum of the engine lull her to sleep.

'Is this your first time visiting Haines Junction?' 

'My first time across the pond, actually,' she said, not wanting to come off as rude. 'Are you from around here?'

'Not from town, but I'm a local, you could say,' his fingers tapped along to the song on the radio. His hands were weathered. A testament to the hours spent gripping a steering wheel. Though the multitude of little silver scars seemed out of place. His hair was the colour of burning embers. Maebh pegged him to be in his mid-thirties.

'How long are you staying?' the driver asked.

'Not quite sure yet.'

'I'm assuming you're the outdoorsy type?'

'As much as the next person, I reckon. Why?'

'There's not much else that would bring someone your age here,' he commented lightheartedly.

A knot twisted in Maebh's gut. 'My dad's mother died.'

'Oh. I-uhh I'm sorry for your loss.'

A sense of introspection had been brewing since receiving the solicitor's letter. Like reading a stranger's obituary in the newspaper—a distant event that tugged at the strings of empathy, but failed to evoke a personal connection as you turned the page.

'What was her name? I didn't hear of anyone passing away lately.'

'She passed away in November, I think. The–err the solicitor didn't manage to contact us about her will until two weeks ago,' Maebh said, not understanding why she was sharing such personal information with a complete stranger. 'But– Eleanor Malsum.'

'Malsum,' he repeated, 'What did you say your last name was again? Maebh O.. O'Cleirigh?'

She nodded, her weariness growing with each question.

'Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Maebh is a beautiful name, funny spelling though.'

The taxi drove past a bear-shaped sign that welcomed them to Haines Junction and a tightness gripped her stomach. The driver finally seemed to sense her need for respite.