Jori - A Fairy Tale of Sorts Ch. 03

Figures, she thought rather uncharitably. Find 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em. And God! am I sore...

She was a little startled a few minutes later when Roul crawled back into the bower, carrying a small sack and yet another waterskin. She decided to keep her mouth shut until she found out what was going on.

He rummaged around in her pile of utensils and dug out a couple of bowls. From the sack, he poured something into them, then turned and handed one of the bowls, a spoon and the waterskin to her.

"A mixture of cereal grains, berries and nuts," he explained. "And milk. For breakfast."

She decided to put her uncharitable thoughts on the shelf and gratefully accepted his offering. She poured some of the rich, creamy milk over the mix, making sure to leave enough for him before handing back the skin. She tentatively spooned some into her mouth and was delighted at the taste. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

"When?" she asked, indicating the food.

"At dawn," he told her. "You were sleeping so peacefully. I decided to make a run back to my Clan for something better than bread and water for breakfast. I hope it is to your liking."

"It's excellent," she nodded, taking more. "Why wouldn't it be to my liking?"

"Not everyone has a taste for bitches' milk," he pointed out. That stopped her.

No wonder it doesn't taste like cow's milk, she thought. Or even goat. Bitches' milk. That's a first. But actually, it isn't bad at all.

"I think it's rather good, actually," is what she told him, forgetting he was telepathic.

"I'm glad," he smiled. "We have an abundance of it around our den and not much in the way of cow or goat milk. Not to get to ahead of myself, but... have you thought about returning with me to our Clan den? To live... as a member of our Clan?"

"Thought about it, no," she told him, and his expression fell. "Dreamt, yes." He was immediately attentive.

"And...?" he prompted.

"And the dream was very pleasant," she admitted. "You'd have to promise me, if it didn't work out, that I could just leave unharmed."

"Well, you couldn't just leave..." he told her and she felt an apprehensive knot grow in her stomach. "We'd have to provide for your comfort and survival, whether you were living with us or not. Which would probably mean building you some kind of house and making sure you had food and water."

"And that's it?" she asked, hoping the relief she felt was permanent.

"Yes, that's it," he nodded. "We don't take prisoners. However, you might want to give us a chance before you decide to strike out on your own."

She nodded silently. There were a large number of changes looming on the horizon and she knew she needed to keep an open mind.

"Fine," she told him. "In that case, it will only take me a few minutes to finish this excellent breakfast, gather my meager belongings and be ready to go with you to wherever you wish to take me."

For an answer, Roul smiled broadly, sat back on his heels and devoured breakfast.

* * * * *

Most think of a cave as a dark, dank place, inhabited by deadly feral creatures. And perhaps, some are. However, the cave of the White Hawk Forest clan was anything but.

To begin, the approach was up a gently sloping wooded hill. A wooden stockade surrounded the cave mouth, with a small egress for a stream. The gate was tended by clansmen who opened it as Roul approached, Angelique in tow. Once through the gate, it appeared more like a woodsmen's settlement than a cave of Werewolves.

The stream issued from the cave mouth and ran through a hewn channel until reaching the stockade. On either side were thatched huts, some with smoke coming from them, others with people bustling about. And children. Everywhere there seemed to be children. Or maybe there weren't that many and it was only their exuberant energy that made them seem like they were everywhere at once. To Angelique, it seemed just like one of the fief villages of her husband's.

Beyond the huts, though, was the imposing mouth of the cave. It, too, had a guarding wall, this one of laid stonework and certainly designed for defense. Angelique noted that the source of the water was beyond that wall, somewhere back in the cave. Very useful in case of a siege. As she and Roul walked toward it, he waved his hand from side to side, indicating the huts.

"Granaries, smithy, smokehouses, kitchens, crafts shops and so forth..."

She followed his gestures as he spoke and saw that the clansmen, men, women and children, were regarding her with curiosity and interest. Some of the youngest ducked behind their mothers, to peek out in apprehension. She presumed they were the mothers because they were definitely adult females, generally naked. It seemed in most cases as if the entire clan went without clothes. Notable exceptions were the smith, in a huge leather apron, the bakers also in aprons, and in fact, anyone working at an occupation potentially dangerous to the skin.

Roul guided her to the flight of stairs which traversed the stone wall and on up to the rampart. The view into the cave took her breath away.

There was a grove of trees growing inside the cave, thriving in the light from the cave mouth and also from light filtering in from holes in the cave roof. Among the trees were wooden houses, expertly carpentered and decorated. And whereas outside there had been several dozen people, here there were closer to a hundred, all moving about, conducting business in the most ordinary way.

Farther back, in the gloom of the cave, she thought she could see the glint of torches flickering in the darkness.

"Where are we?" she breathed as she looked over this wondrous sight.

"Welcome to the home of the White Hawk Forest Clan," Roul smiled, waving his hand before him. "We have lived this simple life for thousands of years. The myths and legends of the forest help quite a bit in seeing we are left alone. My home is yonder, beyond the houses on the left."

"Come," he turned to her. "There is someone I would like you to meet." He turned without waiting and began to descend the far side of the rampart while the sentries looked on in idle curiosity. She hurried to follow him. He might be Alpha Male of the clan, and therefore wouldn't be challenged, but she wasn't and she wanted to be sure to stick to his protection like glue.

He walked on down a broad avenue beneath the trees, beyond the tall wooden houses, beyond what she now recognized as clumps of orchards, to a fairly ornate and tall home standing apart from the others. Those around its outside bowed deferentially at his approach and he strode right past them with a nod and a curt greeting. They mounted the stairs to the front door and through it, to a foyer.

To the right was a well-appointed parlor, to the left a stairway leading up, and straight ahead there was a passage leading farther back into the house. It was that hallway he followed. She followed him along it, through a large dining area, to a sitting room with lush couches and overstuffed chairs, low tables and a sideboard, and one very old woman.

She did not rise when Roul entered, though Angelique half expected she would. Instead, she observed, "You have returned."

Well, she certainly has a firm grasp of the obvious, Angelique thought as she looked at the woman.

Yes, I do, she was startled to hear in her head. And some of the not-so-obvious as well. I speak aloud out of respect, for Roul and for you, since you are a novice at telepathy and have not yet learned sufficient control.

Okay, so that puts me in my place, Angelique thought. Must remember... mindreaders. Need to learn how to block it, too... she added as an afterthought.

"You can, in time," the woman said aloud. "Is this the woman, Roul?"

"She is," he answered. "May I present Sybille the Prophetess, previously Baroness Angelique de Beauchene, née Lady Angelique Gauvain?"

"A Gauvain!" the woman exclaimed. "White Hawk blood... wonderful!"

"My Lady, may I present my mother, Yvette Silvain? She is our clan's chief Shaman."

Angelique was caught a little off guard. She should have known that an elder would be important, and that Roul introducing her first should have been a warning. She fumbled a curtsey.

"I am very pleased to meet you, ma'am," she said, trying not to blush at her own stupidity.

The old woman regarded her for several moments before deciding, "I believe you will be a great asset to our clan. We have much to teach you. And you needn't ma'am me... you are a Baroness in your own right. Being companion to Roul, to us you will be Marthe de Loup... Mistress of the Wolves."

"She hasn't decided to stay, mother," Roul put in gently.

"Well..." Angelique started to say, before the old woman interrupted her. She was already leaning very favorably towards joining the clan.

"Oh. That is unfortunate," the Shaman pronounced.

"Why is that?" Roul asked.

"Because she is pregnant with your offspring," the Shaman informed him.

[to be continued...]