Cry for the Wolf : Prologue 2 by Richard Walker

Rate this Story (5 best) 1 2 3 4 5

He "Harrumphed" and trudged on towards the rear of the compound. Dead for 10 years and it felt like she walked beside him still, saying all the things she'd always said.
The snowfall had not been too bad, the worst of it hadn't topped the knee when first it had fallen, but despite the fact that the fall has slackened considerably, the winds picked up the large, glittering flakes and blew them into great heaps, drifting deeper than his waist in the windward corners and the against the windward walls. The knife-like howling winter winds carried the desolate howling of the wolves back and forth so that it became impossible to tell the two apart, and whether danger lurked close at hand or farther afield.
He breathed a little easier, seeing the evidence that the work of the manor was getting done in proper time. There was more than enough not going as it ought around the hall.
Ol' Nell – he grinned to think of the look she'd give him if he'd called her that to her face – Her Ladyship was sick ... again, and she an old woman these days, as he was old now himself. That was more than enough by half for him of things that ought to be otherwise. Hard times for the family, and not the first.
And this, it was the worst time of year for her to be tripped up by infirmities. He feared for the old Dame's life, winter sickness' usually closed the book for the elderly, and Nell was better than 50 with no meat left on her bones.
She had never been sick a day when the master was alive, he remembered well.
Every one of them at Foxwoerth knew she pined for him, but none spoke of it for Nell wouldn't.
They all silently feared the day she would stop fighting, knew she did so for the young lass' sake.
As often as she had lain at death's door under the young lass' ministrations she must have thought of it, giving up the ghost and rejoining him.
But it was obvious the old girl just couldn't let go of her own dear Rhiarra, or of Foxwoerth. She just couldn't go without being here to watch the future unfold and have her own clever hand in it.
He sent up yet another heartfelt silent prayer of thanks to the mercy of the Light that Rhiarra had been close by in great Fallond and able to come and tend to Nell so quick, despite the weather.
The young lass is standing in as mistress again, and p'rhaps this time for good.
It had taken time, but she knew the estates near as well as the old dame herself, and she had always been a canny and sharp-sighted lass. He had even been somewhat relieved when the steward had brought her to him to go over the duties of his office and let her know that it was he who looked after the safety of the household. She was learning well and speedily, and was sharp in choosing legal causes to pursue and the course they should take, as the master, her father, had been.
To see her, Rhiarra was her mother reborn. She was her mother's future and Foxwoerth was where both their hearts lay, which was why the old Nell always landed here at Foxwoerth when she felt poorly.
A more dutiful daughter no mother could wish for, few could be found so thoughtful with a heart so caring.