Wolves of Sorrow


The chalice rested on the stone plinth between them. She took a sip first. Once she’d placed it back down he picked it up and sipped. Some of it dribbled down his chin. As he caught the droplets on his newly smooth skin she caught the drop rolling down the side of the hammered pewter.

“Thanks,” he said, watching her check none had been spilled. She only nodded. She hadn’t spoken since they had entered. He wasn’t sure if it was some sort of reverence. There was no rule saying they couldn’t speak, he had asked. That had raised, well, it couldn’t raise eyebrows. The monks had none to raise. As supplicants neither did they anymore. His legs felt strange without any hair. Like his wife’s on their wedding night. Sweat beaded on his head. He knew it was going to roll into his eyes. He looked down at the long muslin tunic he had on.

“If you want to wipe your head with it you can.” He flinched when she spoke. “I’m sure the monks have seen much worse than sweat stains.” He pushed aside where that comment took his imagination and used the hem.

“I was more concerned with how you would feel.” She shrugged. He glanced at the entrance to their cavern. The byre was just inside, keeping them warm and able to see. He wondered if it was replenished during their vigil or if it was left to burn out. He checked the ceiling to see if any small creatures lived up there. She stood up and began to stroll around, stretching her arms out and rolling her shoulders. He sucked in a breath and glanced at the entrance again.

“Shouldn’t you sit down?”

“Hmmm?” She placed her hands on the wall, sliding them with fingers splayed, across the surface. She moved along the wall around the front of the cavern then came back towards him, her eyes closed.

“You’re going to trip over something. What if you hurt yourself? Will you have to start again? I don’t know the way out of here to get you help.” She smiled but continued back and forth.

“The only thing I could trip over is you.” He crossed his arms and shifted on his seat. A painful tingling began in his toes then moved to his heels, up to his ankle. Looking down he couldn’t see anything but would have sworn that it felt like insects biting him. He brushed his hands over his bare feet and winced as the pain was momentarily stronger. She opened her eyes at some noise he must have made and came to him, hands outstretched.

“Come over here.” He shook his head, hands holding the stone plinth rigidly.

“It’s better over here, I promise.” She prised the fingers of one hand off, then the other, slowly pulling him to his feet. He hissed at the pain in his legs and wondered if there were tiny insects they hadn’t been warned about. She pulled him closer to the byre. She twirled around like when she had danced as a young girl. The hem of her tunic swept closer to the byre. He reached for the hem, grabbing her to hold her still as he looked for flames catching the material. When he found no sparks, he checked for smoke marks.

“You shouldn’t dance so close to the fire.” He knelt, still checking. She stopped trying to dance and laid herself across his back.

“You always look out for me.”

“I have to,” he grunted. She was heavy on his back, he could feel the strain on his knees.

“That’s not true.” She sighed and it felt like she became heavier. “You didn’t have a very good example either.” As he tried to push her up movement from the entrance caught his attention. He was half grateful for some help and half expecting a reprimand, but it wasn’t one of the monks. It was a large grey wolf. It looked between the two of them. He couldn’t breathe. She whispered a soft “oh” and the wolf looked at her.

“Don’t move,” he replied but she was shifting and suddenly sliding off his back. As she landed she didn’t appear to try and break her fall. One hand was stretching out towards the wolf. The wolf dipped its head and stepped closer.

“No, no.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her up off the floor. She ended up kneeling but sank into a sitting position. He went to grab her under her arms and stumbled. He couldn’t feel his legs. The wolf was stepping closer. Another had entered the cavern behind the first. He put his arms around her, pulling her back and flipping them over. He realised as he did so that he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. She was limp in his arms. He tried to drag his legs over hers and covered as much of her body with his own as possible.

The soft scuff of paws on the sandy floor came up on either side of them. He watched as the lead wolf snuffled at his face. It licked him with a tongue that was more rough and dry than he had expected. He felt pressure on his back. One had climbed on top of them. It kneaded his back, testing its weight. He sensed another behind his head, investigating them. The one at his face crouched down and shuffled closer to his sister. A noise erupted from his lips. It was meant to be a shout but he couldn’t move his mouth. The wolf pricked up its ears and flicked a glance at him. But it showed no more concern and its attention was soon back on her. The wolf on his back clambered down to join the lead wolf. Then he felt something on his waist. A nudging, then a scrape of something sharp. The belt around his tunic tightened. The last wolf was pulling him off his sister. He tried and failed to move, another noise coming from his throat. A fourth wolf had joined the group and was laying down along his sister’s side. Once he was several feet away the wolf who had removed him stepped over him, returning to the others. He screamed as best he could, a breathy noise that soon died as he lost control of himself. The wolves all glanced at him. The lead wolf snorted and as one they reached for her with their mouths open. His sight was dim, purple around the edges, getting tighter every second until nothing. The last sound he heard was a wet noise.


The next thing he heard was the rustle of material and soft murmuring. His body felt tired but his mind was suddenly clear. He tried to listen for his sister’s morning singing. She usually did it when she thought no-one was listening, so he always stayed in bed a little longer, so he wouldn’t disturb her. But this morning she wasn’t singing. The wolves!

He shot up in bed, gasping. He was in a white tent, the sides billowing gently in and out. He was on a cot high up off the ground. His sister was sitting on a similar cot next to him, feet hanging over the edge, a mug in her hand.

“Hello,” she said brightly. He leapt off his cot and aimed to embrace her but his knees couldn’t support him so instead he grabbed her upper arms and looked her all over. Then he shook her gently.

“Are you hurt?”

“Only from where you dropped me. The sand was only thin on the ground so now I have a bruise the size of a house on my hip.” She held up the mug. “Sweet tea. You need to drink.” Slowly he took it, continually glancing at her trying to see if there were any cuts or nicks on her skin. She was back in her travel clothes. They had been cleaned. “Sorry the tea’s cold. You didn’t wake up as soon as I thought you would.” He barely tasted the tea. Giving her back the empty mug he moved to sit back on his cot. She grabbed his hand and guided him to sit next to her. He realised he was still in his tunic. At his neck was a leather tie with a small remembrance on it of a polished stone wolf. He looked at her. She had a leather tie with two remembrances, one a polished stone wolf too. “They were a gift. I didn’t buy them.”

“Did you know about the wolves?” She shook her head.

“They aren’t what usually appear to help those grieving. The monks said they came for something else.” She gave a small smile. “We’re very lucky to have seen them.” He made a noise that disagreed but weighed the remembrance in his hand. He went to ruffle her hair but patted her instead. His arm draped around her shoulders.

“Would you have come if you had known?” She was playing with the other remembrance. It was some grey fur tied with a thin piece of leather. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yes. Did you get what you needed?” She gazed up at him.

“Yes.” They smiled at each other and it was like seeing her after a long absence. He had missed his older sister. He took her hand and pressed it to his heart.

“Good. Can we please go home now?”



This was written for the Flash Fiction chllenge Ten More Titles Round Two over on terribleminds.com. The picture is by Sandra Petersen and from Pixabay.com, used under Creative Commons Licence.


One Fell Swoop


As Heather walked towards the office her fellow assistant Raif was making screeching noises.

“I can’t turn the key!” she cried as Heather reached her side.

“It’s the weather, the door swells sometimes.” Raif handed the keys over.

“I thought I had the wrong keys. I didn’t know how I could have got the wrong ones since I saw Neve lock up last night and she handed them straight to me…what are you doing?” Heather had put her bag down and perched on the slim doorstep. She tested her grip on the handle.

“When I say, turn the key.” With an indrawn breath, Heather threw herself backwards, one foot on the frame as leverage to help. “Now,” she grunted. Raif turned the key and the unmistakable pop of the lock sounded. Pulling herself up Heather went in.

“Aren’t you worried the handle will come off?” Raif handed Heather’s discarded bag over.

“Not really. It’s solid. I think in a place like this they like to make sure everything is in perfect condition.”

“Like a door that swells?” Raif said over her shoulder as she made her way out back. Heather began removing terminal covers and lifting screens. She listened for the comforting chime of the computer waking up. Stepping back, she waited longer. Then she felt along the edge of each one for the reset depression. Once she had tried every terminal she was back at the front row. No response.

She looked up at the security cameras. There was no blinking red light to indicate they were on. She moved quickly to the light switches. They didn’t work. Leaning closer she tried again. There wasn’t even the crackle of electricity.

The power was out.

She didn’t remember running to the back room but she crashed into Raif coming out, who was babbling.

“The outer door wasn’t working. I couldn’t get in. There was no air recycling, no noises! I was worried about the night guard but he wasn’t there. The door was open-”

“What? No!”

“I know!” Raif covered her face. “I heard a noise and ran. I think she’s loose.” Heather shoved Raif behind her and reached for the door. As she pulled it closed Heather thought a shadow moved in the murky corridor. The latch clicked and she gasped in relief. A scraping sound came through the door. Jumping back, she swallowed.

“That’s a metal door, it should hold her.”

“What about the rear exit?” Raif was stepping back and clutching at the edges of her jacket. Heather tried the office phone. There was no dialling tone.

“First we need to get Head Office on the phone.” Heather pulled at the fastenings on her bag, hands shaking, and rummaged inside.

“Where is it?” She hissed. Tipping the contents onto the floor and scrambling through the items frantically she remembered someone asking her why she carried these things with her. For emergencies, she had answered.

“Heather…” Raif whined quietly.

“Do you have your phone?” Heather started patting down her pockets. “Ah!” she cried, finding it in her side pocket. She unlocked the phone screen, finger shaking, making her attempt it three times before it opened. “C’mon, c’mon. Got it!” She pressed ring. Her speaker turned on as her fingers grabbed at the phone.


“This is site 43223, staff ID 195683 Hotel Mike. We have a power outage and containment breech. Asset is no longer secure.” There was a pause on the other end. Heather heard the buzz of the hold line then another voice spoke.


“Out of containment sector. Only regular doors securing it.”


“No,” came the answer from above where Heather was crouched. She looked up at Raif’s reply, the other woman was watching the ceiling. Following her colleagues gaze she saw the panels shifting up and down, the movement crossing the ceiling. Taking the phone off speaker Heather hissed into the mic, “negative.”

“GET OUT NOW, HEAD TO MAIN SECTION.” The line went dead.

Standing up Heather reached for Raif’s arm. Before they could move to the front door the panels shifted again and with a crash, shattered glass rained down outside, the window shaking from the impact. The asset landed on the street outside, shaking its head and beginning to turn towards them. They dived behind a terminal. There was another crash and Heather felt vibrations run through the floor, up her arms and into her shoulders. Heather slammed her hand over Raif’s mouth when she made a panicked noise. She pulled Raif in close and they clung to each other. The only sound she could hear was her breathing. Eventually Heather relaxed her hold. She signalled that she was going to look. Raif didn’t try to stop her. Creeping so slowly that she could feel her muscles quivering with the effort, Heather peeked out from behind the terminal and looked through the front window. The street was clear. Taking a calming breath, she crawled closer. Pain lanced up her arm but she ignored it.

“Heather!” Raif hissed.

“It’s ok.” Raif stood up slowly. “Careful,” Heather added whilst looking at her shredded hand, “there’s glass on the floor.”

“We need to make our way to Head Office for a debrief.” Heather looked for her keys, careful not to knock her hand.

“And get you some medical attention?”

“That too.”

Leaving by the front door, Heather tried the key. It still wouldn’t lock so, with an exasperated look at Raif, Heather perched on the doorstep and pulled on the handle again. As Raif reached to turn the key Heather felt herself falling. She landed hard, her head smacking on the concrete. Wincing and trying to take in a breath she brought her hand up, the handle still in it.

“Fu- ugh, we need to secure the door.”

“I think that’s a minor problem.” Raif was looking in through the window. It took Heather a moment to realise. The window was gone.



This was written as part of the Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction challenge, Ten Titles From You, over at terribleminds.com. Also, the thing about the door handle might amuse my friend Laura.

Featured image from pixabay.com and used under Creative Commons.