The Woodsmen and the Magical Wolf

Who's to blame for what happens in the woods?

Recap: Our narrator, a young maiden unable to say her own name and cursed to wander the fairy woods until the spell on her is broken, has just left her village and entered the forest.

Who’s to blame for what happens in the woods?

You, for wandering there. That’s what my grandfather would say.

He used to tell me stories to scare me away from the forest. Like my imagination needed more incentive than the old gnarly trees, the sunken paths, and the unidentifiable sounds.

I needed to get to the next village before sunset.

The further I went, the less my skin crawled with the magic that had sent me into the gloom. But in its place, I could feel despair rising up to choke out the hope that I would ever see my family again.

I tried to shove it down and push onward.

I brought this upon myself. When I met the spell caster, I thought I had met the most prideful person in the whole kingdom. But apparently I was just looking in the mirror.

His name starts with R.

I’m not allowed to say the whole thing.

Yes, it was the diminutive, diabolical leprechaun R__________, who believes he has the most beautiful name in the world. He told me that no one could ever guess it.

Who do you think might have guessed it?

And who do you think might have been foolish enough to ask him to guess hers?

A more beautiful name than his, I had said.

He said he would guess my name, and that would be the last time anyone would ever say it.

I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

As I headed deeper into the woods on the day of my banishment, I thought about the first story my grandfather told me about the forest.

It’s the tale of two woodsmen, brothers — and the magical wolf.

They had lived together all their lives, my grandfather said. They spent their days felling trees and chopping wood to sell in the village. They mostly kept to themselves.

One day, the second brother bought a horse — a beautiful horse, dappled and strong, perfect for riding at breakneck speed through the corridors of the forest, even to the edges of the mountains.

The first brother congratulated him on the purchase. They both became very attached to the horse; bitter disagreements ensued about how it should be cared for.

But wolves had come down from the north that season. There were more of them in the woods than ever. And the brothers feared for the horse.

One night, the first brother heard a noise outside. He took his axe and went to check the stable. In the morning, he told his brother he had seen a wolf.

The next night, the first brother heard another noise; he said he spotted the shining eyes of a wolf gleaming through the window. He ran outside and chased it away with his hatchet.

The following day, the second brother said he had seen a wolf near the woodpile at dusk.

The townspeople who came for wood often heard them debating over protection for the horse. More than one said their arguments started escalating into physical fights.

Very late one night, they both went out to protect the stable. They waited in the dark. Then the first brother cried out that he saw the wolf. The second brother yelled back that he could see it, and he was going after it.

The next morning, a townsman saw the first brother standing over the body of the second brother, his axe covered in blood.

“I killed a wolf,” the woodsman said. “But in the light of day, it’s turned back into my brother.”

So rumors spread of a magical wolf that could take on the shape of a person. The first brother said he never saw the magical wolf again. He inherited the horse.

My grandfather said that in the woods, if you look closely enough at anyone’s eyes, you can see the wolf inside.

That’s what I was thinking of when the silhouette of two men appeared before me through the trees.