his eyes she knew him. It was the wolf that had attacked her as a child. With a cry, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife, and she swiped at him.
The wolf danced easily out of her reach, though. After a last look at her, it turned and loped off into the trees, her sleeve still in its mouth.
Shaking with fear she pulled herself to her feet, wincing as she put weight on the ankle that had tripped on the root. She stared for a long while intothe trees whence the wolf had gone.
Why did he leave me alive?
she wondered. She finally turned and limped the rest of the way.
When she arrived at her grandmother’s cottage she was exhausted in both mind and body. When Giselle opened the door and saw Ruth, her face drained of all color.
“Child, what happened to you?”
“It was the wolf from so long ago,” she whispered.
Without another word Giselle ushered her inside and bade her sit.
Ruth accepted the chair gratefully and submitted herself to a thorough examination. Within minutes her grandmother had elevated her ankle and put a poultice of willow wood on it, which eased the swelling. Giselle had then washed the scratch on her arm and dressed it with dragonwort to help stop the bleeding.
“The wolf killed Simon the tanner,” Ruth said at last.
Giselle looked up sharply. “Are you sure?”
Ruth nodded. “His throat was torn out, his body covered with scratches and partly eaten. There were wolf prints in the dirt, and it wasn’t far from there that the wolf attacked me.”
Giselle picked up Ruth’s left hand and gently pried her fingers open. Ruth stared down numbly as Giselle took the knife from her grasp. She hadn’t realized she had still been holding it.
“Did you kill him?”
“No, I didn’t even touch him. He tore my sleeve and then he just … left”
Giselle’s eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise that Ruth had seldom seen from her. “That does not stand to reason.”
“Nor did I think so,” Ruth admitted.
Outside the wind began to howl angrily around the cabin, shaking the small building in its wrath. “lt’s an ill wind,” Ruth said with a shudder.
“Nonsense,” her grandmother snorted* “Wind is neither good nor ill, it just is. Its effects we may not like, but the wind itself bears no will of its own”
“That’s not what Father says,” Ruth muttered.
“Well, your fathers ignorance is not my doing. He’s too much like his father—too stubborn to learn, unwilling to believe the evidence of his own senses.” Giselle sighed in frustration. “At least you shall know better, whether you choose to follow my path or not.”
Ruth smiled at her grandmother. “I will always follow your teachings, in one way or another.”
Giselle gazed fondly at her. “That’s my good girl. You can also think for yourself, and that is best of all.”
Ruth nodded, her fear subsiding with each passing moment. It was good to sit, warm and secure, and bandy words with the woman who had taught her so much.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I just wish I knew what stayed the wolf’s wrath.”
“Might have been God, honey;”
Ruth opened her eyes and stared in amusement at her grandmother. “I'm not sure I will ever understand your ability to reconcile your unwavering faith with your reliance on only what you can see with your own eyes.”
It was an old conversation, but Giselle smiled at her with tolerance anyway. “As I’ve told you before, the study of nature and the world does not preclude God. You do not see the wind, but you feel it and may know its effects. So it is with God. I do not see the reaction between your skin and the herbs I place upon it, yet I know that it will stop the bleeding fasten I know that it works, even if I do not know how or why.”
They fell silent, and once again Ruth listened to the howling of the wind. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that it was a hungry wolf prowling around the house and seeking to devour them.
The wolf danced easily out of her reach, though. After a last look at her, it turned and loped off into the trees, her sleeve still in its mouth.
Shaking with fear she pulled herself to her feet, wincing as she put weight on the ankle that had tripped on the root. She stared for a long while intothe trees whence the wolf had gone.
Why did he leave me alive?
she wondered. She finally turned and limped the rest of the way.
When she arrived at her grandmother’s cottage she was exhausted in both mind and body. When Giselle opened the door and saw Ruth, her face drained of all color.
“Child, what happened to you?”
“It was the wolf from so long ago,” she whispered.
Without another word Giselle ushered her inside and bade her sit.
Ruth accepted the chair gratefully and submitted herself to a thorough examination. Within minutes her grandmother had elevated her ankle and put a poultice of willow wood on it, which eased the swelling. Giselle had then washed the scratch on her arm and dressed it with dragonwort to help stop the bleeding.
“The wolf killed Simon the tanner,” Ruth said at last.
Giselle looked up sharply. “Are you sure?”
Ruth nodded. “His throat was torn out, his body covered with scratches and partly eaten. There were wolf prints in the dirt, and it wasn’t far from there that the wolf attacked me.”
Giselle picked up Ruth’s left hand and gently pried her fingers open. Ruth stared down numbly as Giselle took the knife from her grasp. She hadn’t realized she had still been holding it.
“Did you kill him?”
“No, I didn’t even touch him. He tore my sleeve and then he just … left”
Giselle’s eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise that Ruth had seldom seen from her. “That does not stand to reason.”
“Nor did I think so,” Ruth admitted.
Outside the wind began to howl angrily around the cabin, shaking the small building in its wrath. “lt’s an ill wind,” Ruth said with a shudder.
“Nonsense,” her grandmother snorted* “Wind is neither good nor ill, it just is. Its effects we may not like, but the wind itself bears no will of its own”
“That’s not what Father says,” Ruth muttered.
“Well, your fathers ignorance is not my doing. He’s too much like his father—too stubborn to learn, unwilling to believe the evidence of his own senses.” Giselle sighed in frustration. “At least you shall know better, whether you choose to follow my path or not.”
Ruth smiled at her grandmother. “I will always follow your teachings, in one way or another.”
Giselle gazed fondly at her. “That’s my good girl. You can also think for yourself, and that is best of all.”
Ruth nodded, her fear subsiding with each passing moment. It was good to sit, warm and secure, and bandy words with the woman who had taught her so much.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I just wish I knew what stayed the wolf’s wrath.”
“Might have been God, honey;”
Ruth opened her eyes and stared in amusement at her grandmother. “I'm not sure I will ever understand your ability to reconcile your unwavering faith with your reliance on only what you can see with your own eyes.”
It was an old conversation, but Giselle smiled at her with tolerance anyway. “As I’ve told you before, the study of nature and the world does not preclude God. You do not see the wind, but you feel it and may know its effects. So it is with God. I do not see the reaction between your skin and the herbs I place upon it, yet I know that it will stop the bleeding fasten I know that it works, even if I do not know how or why.”
They fell silent, and once again Ruth listened to the howling of the wind. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that it was a hungry wolf prowling around the house and seeking to devour them.
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