She could feel the roots and rocks and leaves beneath the boy's feet, the crisp breath burning pleasant in his lungs. He ran at impossible speed through the brush, chasing a stag. As the distance between the boy and the beast drew longer, he opted for the trees, scrambling with feline agility into the branches and then leaping from one to the next with the easy silence of a spectre.
The high road was the right path, as he gained on the creature. The whirl of branches, the brush of leaves, the spring of living wood beneath his bare feet and hands was exhilarating. The wind rushed by, such was his speed, only broken by twists and turns amidst the maze of boughs. Soon he was almost above the stag, its massive form barreling through the trees below knocking aside smaller brush and saplings in its fearful flight. The boy loaded his legs like springs on the edge of a wide branch and pushed off hard, leaping for the stag, but the branch gave way beneath his strength and he fell headlong to the ground with a sharp crunch on his back. Whatever pain was supposed to be, Ariadne could not feel, and she doubted the boy did either. It was as if his body only allowed the good sensations to thrive while extinguishing the rest. He lay there motionless for a time, the stag retreating far from his grasp.
What are dreams but impossibility made manifest? She thought as the boy started to laugh, though no sound escaped his lips. His body made the motions, the heaving of his chest, the broad smile on his face, the wracking movement sometimes confused for pain, but there was no sound of laughter. He was mute, though she did not think for any reason other than a choice of his own indomitable will. She felt him exuberant with playfulness, though he had failed in his hunt.
After a time, he calmed and rose again. He could hear movement in the forest around him, multiple forms like shadows in the fading twilight. Their paws were stealthy but not mute among the drying leaves and twigs of the forest floor. He sniffed the air and closed his eyes, counting seven by the slight changes in their scent alone. The boy opened his eyes and gazed into the darkening gloom, readying himself for what would be a grand chase. The piercing howl set him running as fast as his little legs could carry him, weaving between trunks, hopping brush, diving through holes in solid webs of vines. Behind him, she knew, a pack of wolves hunted. She felt no fear. His emotions were joyous, as if being chased by hungry beasts were the pinnacle of good fun.
While he was quick, the wolves were quicker, shrinking the distance between them and their prey by degrees with each turn of his head to look back. The syncopated beats of his heart seemed out of tune with the gathering violence, the only thing the same between him and his pursuers a deathly, hallowed silence. The amber eyes of the wolves glowed daemonic in the sinking sunlight. A few strides, at most, stood between the boy and the jaws of the nearest wolf, his coal black fur swallowing the light around him as his massive form dwarfed the orphan boy. While the boy felt no fear, Ariadne was suddenly consumed by it. Her concern was a wellspring of woes she saw befalling her fantastical friend. Her mind raced, trying to pull herself from the dream before the fangs struck, before what once was beautiful and free was swallowed up in the hunger of beasts. She tried to close her eyes, but her eyes were not hers. She tried to scream, but the lungs, the throat, the vocal chords were his, and she was without control, without hope.
All is well, Dreamer. All is well.
The voice she heard was not her own, nor did it emanate from the boy's throat, rather it seemed to proceed directly from his mind, a calming force of such magnitude she was instantly at ease. She felt the boy turn, the fangs of the nearest wolf only a fingers width from his neck, a second wolf an arm span or less away, the rest not far behind. Yet, in a smooth motion the boy ducked under the fangs of the great, black wolf, gripped its foreleg with his hand and pulled, hard. With its base broken the wolf's momentum sent it tumbling into the nearest tree trunk where it struck with a helpless yelp. He did not look, but rolled under the lunge of the next nearest wolf, taking out both its front paws and allowing it to tumble forward as well. The remaining wolves slowed and circled, unwilling to leap into the fray, their wild chase leaving them breathing heavy. Where hunger once ruled, now fear reigned in their simple minds. The final wolf of the pack entered the small clearing. He stood more than a head taller than any of his brethren, his shoulders the height of a full-grown man's. His fur was a mix of pure white around the eyes and chin, another diamond spot upon his chest, and flashes upon his paws, but the rest was of deepest black. His golden eyes shone molten in the twilight. The boy stood, Ariadne's mind began to race again, but she felt a wave of calm, and let it be still Only a dream, Ariadne.
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The great wolf sunk his head low, hackles raised, teeth bared as he approached the boy with feral caution. One of his paws would have been enough to crush such a tiny thing as this boy, but he hesitated. The boy blinked once, then stood as tall as he could muster, puffing out his tiny, defiant chest. He looked the wolf straight in those golden eyes, and held his gaze. The wolf stopped. He began to snarl, and salivate, the curl of his lips showing fangs the size of the boy's forearm. He did not step closer. His snarling and growling grew louder, the other wolves joining in his frightful expostulations, but they only circled. Still the boy held the wolf's gaze, golden boring into silver, boring into gold. Behind the boy's eyes the fearful gaze of Ariadne witnessed the impossible.
Soon the snarling ceased. The hackles on the wolf lowered, the tension in its muscles melted away. It rolled its shoulders and lowered its head downward, breaking eye contact. The boy felt triumphant, and then took a step forward. The sudden tension in the wolf made the boy pause, knowing the creature was ready to bolt. The child lowered himself on his haunches, though already much smaller than the great wolf, and put out his hand, allowing it to be seen. The wolf relaxed only slightly, but began a tentative prowl towards the boy, its golden eyes glanced up at the boy's eyes and then down again, head hung low, almost dragging on the ground. The remaining wolves sat. The two that had been thrown limped back into the circle and lay themselves down. A council of amber eyes watched the exchange. The great wolf crept up to the very edge of the boy's reach, and laid down, just the tip of his nose touching the tip of the boy's fingers. The boy reached just a little further, feeling under the wolf's face for the white fur of its chin, stroked it, and the wolf let his head rest ever so lightly in the tiny hand. The boy's smile hurt his cheeks, and Ariadne could feel it.
See, Dreamer. All is well.
They sat there for a time, the boy’s tiny hand stroking the edge of the wolf's massive jaw. The moon rose high in the night sky, half-hiding behind the veil. A deep groan escaped the wolf, and he lifted his head, his entire body, sitting on his haunches, and let out a mournful howl. The boy stood, knowing the signification, and watched silent as the great wolf and his brethren padded out of the clearing toward the Furrato Plains to hunt easier prey.
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All is well.
The words clung to her mind as she awoke, the boy's strange calm, the combat of wills between him and a massive wolf. The reality of the dream seemed, in that moment, more stark than the feeling of her own flesh against the covers.
The light of the rising sun burned a molten scar into the Eastern sky. From her tower she could see all around, from the Western expanse of the Sundered Sea, to the whole city scape of Irshirana and beyond to the East. Beyond her mortal vision in that direction, she knew it existed, the Great Loch and the Abunai Forest, home to wolves, and beasts, and, maybe, a small orphan boy too. If only you were right. She thought. If only all were well.
