A housewarming

Brannin spared a look at Arvil Thorm as he moved in close. He was gangly and thin faced, wearing loose fitting, dark pants, light shirt, and black boots. Those who knew him said he was a dullard. But Brannin knew him as lovable, trustworthy, a good worker, and extremely devoted to his family. Arvil would let nothing happen to any of them without a fight.

Brannin watched as the wolves closed in. Three walked wide of Brannin and angled in between the wagons. Brannin moved in to intercept them, waving his ax and yelling wildly. The other pair moved in toward Arvil. He, too, yelled, waving his ax above his head. None of the wolves seemed impressed. Arvil rushed at the foremost wolf, the one to his left, his woodcutter's ax swinging. The women screamed. The wolf leaped aside to avoid the ax. The second wolf rushed in with a leap, but Arvil met it with a thrust of the bladed end of the haft. The wolf leaped aside, yelping. Arvil watched from the corner of his eye as the first wolf rushed in to catch his left side unprotected. He swung his ax in a horizontal arc the wolf barely avoided. His recovery was not quick enough and the second wolf took advantage of it. It flung itself at him, clamping its jaws below the right elbow and twisting him around. The first wolf went for his left leg. Down he went. Screams filled the air.

Brannin's wife, Althea, reacted. She was stoutly built, wearing a light yellow smock over yellow blouse and ankle-length brown skirt, her black hair hung in a braid to her waist. Not someone given to the concept of being a member of the "weaker sex", she jumped off the wagon and swung her stick at the wolf as it tore into Arvil's arm. The wolf, too busy concentrating on the arm, received a powerful blow to its back for its failure to take note. It snapped at the stick, snarling. With a startled yelp, she fell back, losing her grip on the stick. She caught her breath as the wolf now faced her, teeth bared in a bestial semblance of a triumphant smile.

Brannin cursed his foolishness. He had noticed these wolves were larger than he was accustomed to, but had not associated their size to any particular breed or attributed to them any notable level of ferocity, initially believing their reason in attacking his group as merely a forage for food. Now as he faced three of them, he realized they were ward wolves, a particularly fierce mountain breed and known to attack man. The fact that they were in these parts presented a major problem. Two of them closed in while the third hung back. Brannin raised his ax and yelled at the wolves. They continued to move in, looking for an opening in his defense. Clearly they were considering that battle-ax.

Brannin heard his daughters screaming and spared a glance. He roared a raucous oath. He swung his ax in a horizontal arc, moving in and whirling in a full circle as he swung it. The wolves jumped to either side, snarling. Without stopping he turned to run to the aid of his wife. From the corner of his eye he saw the huge black shape that crashed into him, slamming him painfully against the wagon. An instant later teeth dug deep into his left thigh, ripping at the trousers and the flesh beneath. With a yelp of pain he twisted and raised his ax above his head to bring it down, but his assailant had anticipated his move and moved back quickly. Both glared at each other.

Brannin froze. It was the fifth wolf, bigger than the others, a black wolf whose single right eye blazed with malevolent intelligence. The other side of the face where an eye should be had been smashed in, the skin closing above the crushed skull in a hideous mound of discolored flesh. For Brannin it was coming face to face with an old nightmare.

Althea gasped from anticipation. The wolf poised to leap upon her. Suddenly, two yelling females appeared beside her. Her two older daughters came to her aid, waving sticks at the wolf. Not wasting any time, Althea recovered her stick and stood alongside her daughters. Confused, the wolf stepped back and stared, snarling. It could smell the fear on the females, the odor making it lick its chops with anticipation. It smelled anger, too.