CHAPTER 17

BAND AID

There are many forms of healing.

There’s physical healing, emotional healing…heck, there’s even mental and spiritual healing. All have their dangers and prescribed solutions, to be administered by a qualified individual.

But the REAL question is: When does healing take place?

Answer: When we are willing to believe.

Someone is watching me. Wendell couldn’t shake the feeling. Like actually stalking me.

Maybe I didn’t hear them right. How could they know I’m the hero? Whoever ‘they’ are. I mean, seeing me doing magic—so they know I’m a mägo, sure…but how would they know I’m the ‘hero’?

The thought disturbed him.

Deeply.

Why would someone from the village watch him anyway? What had this person—or ‘people’—seen?

He didn’t recognize the high-pitched voice, but it did sound familiar.

Wendell had heard it at night, twice, when he was walking around the village.

But that sparked another question: Had Wendell been too lax in his actions and someone was already suspicious? Silas  brought up the light flaring in the village—the burst of magic everyone could have seen if they were looking outside at the right time.

But I only did that to save my own life, he justified himself.

Not that it would help.

What would the villagers DO if they found out he used magic? He’d never asked if was against any particular law. So what would happen?

Would he be arrested?

Cast out?

Lynched by the people and forced to hang on the end of a rope from a tree at the village’s edge?

Ugh. That last one was a bit gruesome.

He shuttered.

Wendell looked over his shoulder again.

He wanted to run and get out of sight, but the faster Mouse tried to keep up, the more it jostled the wounded bird.

All the excitement of his magical success was swallowed up in the fact that he’d hurt living creatures because of his experimentation. A mother bird and her four babies were now dead as the price for figuring out how to create a gust of wind.

Whoop-dee-do.

Wendell opened the door to the barn and led Mouse up the back stairs to the bunk room.

Used for Silas’s workers, the narrow area contained four sets of bunkbeds, a central area where three unmatched chairs sat around a worn table with a wonky leg. Along the opposite wall eight medium sized trunks squatted on the floor, five lids open, perfect for personal belongings.

Wendell had yet to get settled or unpack—Silas was prompt to put him to work the moment he and Jan had shown up from the village.

“You have some temporary roommates,” the old man had warned him. “Gnome triplets.” Silas had scratched his head in confusion, then. “I’ll be damned if I can tell the irritating buggers apart, but they seem to be polite enough. At least the one making the arrangements was, anyway. Rue is the name. One of them’s a musician he tell’s me—Bartleby.” The old man had looked a bit confused on the details, so he let it drop. “Just give them a wide birth and you should be fine.”

Bartleby turned out to be a fantastic musician, in fact. But Wendell hadn’t bumped into any of the gnomes since he’d arrived.

“Bring her over here, Mouse,” he adjusted the chairs to allow the hound easier access to the table. “We’ll put her up here and see what we can do for her.”

Setting the book of magic down on the table, Wendell carefully lifted the frightened creature up onto the flat surface. It chirped loudly in protest, flapping its wounded wing about as it did.

“Woah, little one,” Wendell cooed. “Don’t make a bad injury worse. We’ll figure out how to take care of that wing.”

This wasn’t the first baby chick Wendell had taken care of.

When he was six years old, he’d disobeyed his father and climbed up in the neighbors apple tree. He’d heard the chirping of birds from his fence and decided he’d wanted a closer look. So he’d climbed up the fence and into the tree to see the new chicks first hand.

Problem was, climbing on the branch jostled the nest so badly, one of the chicks had fallen from the nest.

Terrified of being punished, Wendell had brought the bird home in tears.

“Thing is, I don’t think this world has band-aids,” he mumbled.

“This world?” replied a sleepy voice.

“YEAAAARGH!!” Wendell screamed, flipping around and falling out of his chair with a solid THUD.

The smiley on his shirt panted heavily, its cheeks turning green, ready to puke.

A head casually peeked out from under a blanket on the top bunk, propping itself up onto an elbow.

“That’s an odd thing to say,” the gnome smirked. He blinked a few times and let out another loud yawn. Sitting upright in a sudden movement, he flipped his short legs forward to hang over the edge of the bed, then added, “Sorry for the scare.”

Wendell, embarrassed, quickly got to his feet. “Oh. Hello. You’re the guy who performed at The Den last night.”

The gnome had a clear complexion with rosy cheeks—the type you get from spending a good deal of time outdoors. His hair was a golden blonde, slightly curly but trimmed short, with eyes that sparkled sky blue.

“That would be Bartleby. My name’s Feller,” he replied, then cocked his head curiously to the side. “That guy?”

Wendell stared back, openly confused. “Pardon?”

Feller smirked, “You said, ‘that guy’, not ‘the gnome’ or some other derogatory description. Just…that guy.”

“Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Historically our race has been called all sorts of nasty things for nothing less that sharing the same air as humans, but…,” he paused, looking Wendell over. “I just don’t usually receive instant acceptance as being, I don’t know,…a person?”

He waved it off. “Don’t mind me. I’m being far too critical, which in this instance, means rude. My apologies. I travel a lot and there’s usually not many places that accept my race, that’s all.”

Wendell nodded, “Got it. Well as I told Silas, several of my good friends happen to be gnomes. All you’re likely to get from me is acceptance.” He smirked himself, “And I’ve been to Clockworks City, so I get the difference in environment.”

Feller frowned. “Other than your jeans and t-shirt looking like something you’ve picked up at ‘Jimmy’s Wear and Wash’, I’d call you a liar.” He nodded towards the smiley, “That mägoweave outfit, by the way, is completely out of style here. You know that, right?”

Wendell shifted uncomfortably. “How do you know my clothes are mägoweave?”

Another yawn. “Last time I checked—shirts didn’t wink back.”

Wendell shrugged. “Point taken. But I swear on Mahan’s Pink Panties I have been to Clockworks City.”

The room echoed with the gnomes boisterous laughter. “Mahan’s Pink….oh…my…that’s FUNNY!” After several moments, he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m using that next time I…oh, hey—I wasn’t trying to insult you…uhhhh”

“Wendell.”

“Wendell, that’s right. Jan told me you’d be moving in today. Well look, Wendell, I’m not trying to insult you. It’s just a bit hard to believe. I mean, Clockworks has strict laws and preventative measures to keep outsiders from stepping foot on Gnome homeland. They’re terrified of the ‘big’ folk, no matter what they tell you.”

“You certainly don’t seem to be,” Wendell shot back.

“Ah,” Feller smirked, “well I’m not your average gnome.”

With all he’d been through, there was something about not being believed that irked Wendell.

Not that he had to prove anything to anyone, but of all the people in the world, the last person he was willing to be refuted by was a member of the same race who had tortured him for months on end.

“You’re not insulting me,” Wendell continued, striving to keep his tone calm and even. “You’re just not believing me. I can understand that. But I have been to Clockworks City and I didn’t travel there on my own. I was taken there when I was…sick. The gnomes healed me.”

Feller stared blankly at him.

Wendell shrugged. “I know about Trench Wars, and—”

“Many people know about Trench Wars, Wendell, so I—”

“The G.R.R., The Government Faction, I’ve been interviewed on WHRN and have Techno-Mägo friends.”

Bartleby let a small gasp escape his lips. “Next thing you’ll tell me is you even know about TGII.”

Wendell folded his arms and glared. “Are you talking about the religion, the Temple of TGII itself, or that jerk Father Noah?”

That got the gnomes attention.

“You…know about Noah?”

Wendell’s frown turned to a clenched jaw. “Let’s just say that if there was any gnome I could possibly hate, Noah would be at the top of my list. If Buddy Keisler hadn’t saved me—”

Feller choked, “As in the Bestselling Author? He…saved you?”

Wendell nodded.

The gnomes jaw dropped open. “Saved you with what—an autograph copy of ‘Winner Takes Most’? Who ARE you, kid?”

Another shrug, “A guy who could use some help. Know anything about setting a birds wing?”

Feller slid down the side ladder. “I…do. My sister Bail knows a great deal more, but I have a little technical knowledge.” He kept staring at Wendell as he pulled up one of the chairs to the other side of the table. “I think you and I should be friends, Wendell.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause my brothers and I lead pretty fascinating lives  roaming with Bartleby as a bard—and you just topped my list of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

Wendell laughed then. “You need to get out more.”

Feller laughed in turn. “Apparently so.”

****

With the help of a few scraps of wood and a couple strips of an old bedsheet too worn to use, the chick fell asleep in the new nest Wendell had made from collected straw.

“Not too bad,” said Feller. “You’d make a pretty good vet.” He eyed the magical book and then tapped the cover with his index finger. “Though, I’m wondering why you didn’t just use this, instead.”

Wendell’s hand went defensively to the the cover. His fingers draped over the spine. “Magic?”

“Easy there, cupcake. I’m not gonna steal anything. Of course, magic. That is a fantastic book.”

Wendell looked curiously from the book to the gnome and back again. “You’ve…read this before?”

Bartleby nodded. “My parents had a copy in our house while I was growing up. Always wanted to be a techno-mägo but I didn’t have the gift.”

“Gift? You have to have—”

“Mägo are all different. Without getting all religious on you, let’s just say that each of us has a connection to the universe around us. Some stronger than others. Your ability to do magic depends on that connection. The ability to interact with what is called intelligences. Those are the smallest building blocks of existence we know of. Smaller than atoms…smaller,” tapping his chin, feller pondered. “Think of it this way—normally we would use scientific notation and quantum physics to measure this, but even ‘quarks’, which is the smallest particle actual science officially admits to knowing of, is too big. Only the techo-mägo have been able to go smaller, convincing the science nuts to accept it by using the Planck scale.”

Wendell’s face contorted into something that resembled human broccoli, trying to follow the description.

Feller looked back and flinched. “Oh. Uh. Sorry. Geeked out there for a second. All you really need to know is that an Intelligence is roughly 11 quintillion times smaller than the size of a quark.”

Wendell sat back in his chair, still staring at the cover of the book. “Right. Smaller than an atom.”

Feller laughed.

Wendell held up both hands in defeat, “Hey—other than making my brain bleed from your moment-in-science, you’ve already taught me more about magic than I’ve learned to date.”

Feller cocked his head to the side. “Is…that good?”

“I’m grateful! You sure have me fascinated, if nothing else.”

“Coolio.” Propping himself back in the chair, Feller asked, “Can you do any magic? I mean, I’m only asking because this is one of the first books you’ll be required to read if you were admitted to the University of Magic.”

Without hesitating, Wendell waved his hand. “Välo.”

The room burst with a bold white light.

Bartleby grinned wide. “That’s pretty good. Can you manipulate it at all?”

The light source, which seemed to be coming from everywhere, collected into a single orb overhead, then shrank to the size of a golfball, slowling lowering until it rested over the small bird. The light shifted then, softening until it looked like a tiny desk lamp, shining its light exclusively over the chick.

Bartleby leaned forward in this chair, studying the light source. “Wow. You really have a talent, Wendell.”

“This? This is nothing,” he scoffed. “It’s only a light.”

“No, it’s not.” Rapping his knuckles on the table, the gnome grinned form ear to ear. “Controlling a source, ANY source, takes years and years of practice by even the most skilled of practitioners. I know of professors at the University itself that can’t do what you’re doing now.”

“Really?” It had never occurred to Wendell that anything he’d learned would be challenging to anyone other than himself.

Bartleby held up his hand to the square, “TGII strike me. You have some serious talent, my friend.”

Cooool.

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

Okay. Okay. I’ve probably been a bit too critical.

Wendell let the light blink out. “You’ve read this book then?”

Bartleby nodded firmly.

“So how would I use the book to help the bird?”

Pulling the volume in front of him, the gnome flipped to the center of the book. “By using the healing spells.” He flipped through a few pages, looking.

“There are healing spells in there?”

“Apparently you haven’t read too far into this—because if you can control light like that, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to learn most of the spells in here.”

Wendell’s smile grew so large, you would have thought he’d won the lottery.

Healing? I can actually learn how to help OTHER people?

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

Why didn’t you SAY something?!?

Shifting in his seat, he tried his best to compose himself. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal who he really was.

Calm down Wendell. Got to be careful, he reminded himself.

“I’ve,” Wendell cleared his throat, “had some struggles with reading. Most of the words and terminology don’t make sense to me. I’m a bit embarrassed about this, but I can’t read very well and I don’t have a teacher.”

“Not surprised you can’t read most of this. I had an advantage—both my parents were highly educated and teachers themselves. Tutors were also provided for me when I was younger. Those mägo are a paranoid group, let me tell you! My dad told me once that they try to make a thing more complicated than it needs to be…just so they have less competition.”

“Competition? Competition with who?”

Snorting, “With everyone! Have you met many mägo who didn’t have an ego? Personally I think they want the rest of us in the dark so they can feel special.”

Huh, Wendell pondered. Hadn’t thought of it that way. “Any chance you might be willing to help me figure some of this out?”

Feller looked up from the book. “And give you an advantage over the paranoid, egotistical, dominating society of magic users?”

“Uhhhh, yeah?”

Wendell noticed a distinct sparkle of what he could only guess was rebellion in the gnomes eyes. Feller started laughing from deep in his chest.

“When do you want to start?”

****

“It’s not working.”

“It’s not as simple as saying the words—which you still aren’t pronouncing correctly. You should know this if you’re already manipulating light the way you do. Think about how you move light about and how you change the way it manifests, Wendell.”

It had been over two hours—hovering over the bird still asleep in the nest.

Two hours of experimenting.

Two hours of frustration.

Wendell sat back in his chair and sighed.

Life as usual.

“I know that visuals are important, Feller, but I’ve been visualizing the birds broken wing this whole time.”

“Healing magic isn’t visual, though,” the gnome corrected him. “This is mostly emotional work, Wendell. Healing is personal. There aren’t many magical healers on this world, because it’s not only taxing to one’s strength, it takes a certain kind of heart to be able to transfer life from one place to another. Maybe one in a thousand practitioners, but it’s probably more.”

“Are there that many mägo?”

Feller frowned, “Magic is available to most people, even if it’s only minor abilities—but very few take advantage of it.”

Wendell sat there, stunned.

The book was opened to pictures of a person laying upon a cot and another person, presumably the mägo, standing over the bedridden subject. The black and white sketch had three wavy lines connecting the two parties.

“This is about the give and take between you and whomever you’re trying to heal, which comes in three ways that I know of.”

“Which are?”

“Transferring from one source to another. Mägo have been known to draw life from a soldier during their last breaths to ease their crossing and transfer it to a fellow soldier to help them live on.”

“Isn’t that like,…I don’t know…”

“Necromancy?”

Wendell flinched. The word sent a chill down his spine. “Yeah, that.”

The gnome shook his head slowly. “No. Necromancy is about the dead in and of itself. All the uses I ever heard of only happen after a subject or target has passed on from this life. What I’m talking about here is a transference. Another example is where a child is born, but struggling, and a mother cannot be saved—so she sacrifices what life force she has left to give to her infant child.”

“Oh.” Sad, but that makes a lot more sense. “What’s the second way to heal?”

“That would be using the force of magic or the intelligences of the universe to strengthen the intelligences within another. It’s extremely rare, but can be very powerful.”

Wendell imagined standing over the bird and calling upon the forces of the universe to mend the broken wing of the bird.

“That’s rare?”

Feller raised an index finger, “That specific form is rare, yes—but there are other, more common and less powerful forms of this type of healing. The Brotherhood for example are known to be strong healers, who use a laying on of hands, with an exertion of faith and will. There are fathers blessings, mothers blessings…and blessings given in the uniting of wills. The Iskari are known for that among their High Council.”

There’s a lot TO this. Much more than I thought. Which awakened a curious question in Wendells mind. How many forms of magic are there? “You sure know a lot about magic for someone who didn’t train as a mägo.”

A quick wash of pink flooded the gnomes face. “It was always a bit of an obsession when I was younger. But the truth is, my parents were amazing. My dad especially—and he worked for the Government Faction, so he had access to all sorts of books—many of which he’d bring home when he wasn’t supposed to.” Feller scratched his head and gave Wendell a sheepish smirk. “Then he’d ‘accidentally’ leave one open at the kitchen table as he worked on another.”

Wendell chuckled softly, “Where a young Feller could wander over to the table and catch a ‘glimpse’ of something interesting, I’m guessing?”

The gnome chuckled, “Something like that.”

“So what’s the third way to heal then?”

Pausing, Bartleby considered for a few moments before answering. “I don’t know much, only that it’s by far the most rare. From what my dad says, the only real references are from accounts of the Gnolaum using it.”

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

Wendell immediately averted his eyes. Oh boy.

Feller looked up from the book, “Oh, I’m sorry. ‘Gnolaum means ‘eternal’. At least that’s what I was taught, but now we’re outside my realm of knowledge. It’s referring the the Hero of the Gem, who is supposed to come back in these last days of the world.”

Look casual, Wendell. Don’t give yourself away now. Just keep it cool. Then thunking his elbow down on the table, he flipped his head up and peeled his lips back from his teeth in an awkward grin. “Oh really? That’s, uh…fascinating.”

Feller froze. “Are you okay?”

“Me?”

“Who else would I be talking to,…Mouse?”

The hound let out a massive yawn from under the table.

“Uhhh, yeah. I’m good. Fine. Completely. Everything cool here.” Stop it, Wendell!

The gnomes eyebrows slowly arched upward together in perfect unison. “Then why is the smiley on your shirt sweating profusely?”

Wendell started coughing uncontrollably. He’s gonna know. I’m all alone here in a village of witch hunters and now the visiting gnome is gonna find out I’m the hero and BLAB TO EVERYONE!

Sweat slowly beaded across his forehead.

This is bad. This is very, very bad! No—change the subject. Come on, Wendellizer, be smart—change the subject and change Feller’s focus!!

“What word am I supposed to use, then?” Wendell blurted out. “One means heal, correct? While the other means…life—but isn’t that the same thing?”

The gnome frowned. “Not…quite. Elämä seems to mean more of life itself, while päräntää is about the condition of that life. Does that make sense?”

Wendell nodded, You did it! Now no one will be the wiser—wooHOO! …but he started shaking his head instead. “No. No it doesn’t. Not at all.”

Feller sighed. “I never used this kind of magic, Wendell. I’m not sure how you have to tweak it.” Closing the book, he leaned back in his chair and motioned to the bird. “I’m only guessing here, but I think you have to truly care about what you’re trying to do.”

“Care.”

“Well, yeah,” Feller added, “That’s the thing about magic, Wendell. There are seven disciplines—or schools, but there’s a common thread that connects them all, and that’s various uses of emotion. When you combine the words, intent, emotion and the particulars of any specific mägo, you get a different result. Beyond that, I’m sorry. I don’t have a clue how to do this.”

Well THAT’S frustrating.

Wendell let a sigh escape is lips.

He did care about this tiny animal. It was HIS fault that the bird was hurt in the first place. If he didn’t help the poor creature, it’s existence would be far more challenging—if it survived at all.

“Right,” he mumbled, “I can do this,” the words more for himself than the gnome. Leaning over the straw nest, Wendell focused his complete attention on the sleeping chick. Digging through his experiences earlier in the day, he held the visual of the broken bodies of the mother bird and her chicks, all crumpled upon the ground.

He felt the guilt.

The remorse.

It was Wendell’s fault. By using magic he’d not properly been instructed in—by trying to influence forces he didn’t understand, he’d caused the demise of these innocent creatures.

The guilt of his carelessness, of his recklessness weighed heavily on his heart.

I’m so sorry, little one. Truly I’m sorry. Your pain is because of me. It’s my fault…and I want to make it better. To take away your pain and help you have a happy existence.

Feller explained more about intelligences. That every living thing was made up of this specific substance and just like the captain of a ship, there was only ever one intelligence at the head of a body of organization.

That was the intelligence a mägo had to work through. To influence.

Wendell reached out and gently touched the chicks head with his index finger, whispering “Päräntää.”

There were no sparks, no swirling colors or special effects. Just a tender shudder from the infant bird, and then Wendell yanking his hand backwards and immediately grabbed his left forearm.

“Ow!”

Feller looked up. “You okay?”

Wendell opened and closed his hand a few times, rotating his wrist. “It felt like something…bit me.”

The gnome’s brows jumped up, like a child on a trampoline. “Bit you? As in,” and he made chewing motions with his mouth.

“Yeah. I know, it sounds stupid, but the moment I said the word and touched the bird, it…” but he trailed off. Nothing had been on the table to bite him. It sounded ridiculous.

The chick stirred. At first its head bobbed up and down, but it started flapping, flinging the bound wing about wildly.

“Woah there, little one,” said Feller, “let’s take that off and…”

Wendell shook his head, “No—I don’t want it to suffer anymore. Let’s leave it be until we can have someone else to take look at it.”

“That’s part of the problem, right there, Wendell. If you want to be a healer, you need to see if what you do actually works. I know the poor thing is in pain, but how can we know if you performed a healing spell unless we see what’s under those bandages?”

“Alright. But please,…be gentle.”

Feller smiled warmly. “You really are a kind person, you know that? Most people wouldn’t have even bothered bringing the bird back here in the first place.”

Wendell ignored the comment. He was far too concerned about the possibilities.

What will happen if this actually does work? If I can actually heal someone, like…like Ithari heals me?

He watched the gnome with eagerness, gentle fingers taking the energetic bird into his hands to remove the bandages.

“Hold still there little one,” Feller whispered, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Skilled hands made short use of the bandages, freeing the bird from its confines. With squeaks of protest, the uncovered wing was fully extended and examined.

Bartleby looked up at Wendell with a goofy grin of excitement.

“You, my friend…are a healer.”

****

“SERIOUSLY?”

Feller couldn’t stop giggling. “For the fifth time, yes Wendell, you are now, officially, a healing mägo. A rare and sought after breed of magic user.”

“Im a healer,” Wendell said to himself—still in shock. “I can change everything now.” He looked from the bird to the gnome, a new light of determination in his eyes. “That old bat and her medicine can rot because I can save them now. I can fix it all and make it better.”

A strong hand gripped Wendell’s forearm. “Woah there friend. Slow down. Yes, you helped this creature—but you don’t know what you’re capable of—to what extent you can perform this kind of magic. Goodness, Wendell, you don’t even know what affects it might have upon you, yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Scooping up the chick, Wendell brought the animal closer to his face to get another look at the perfect, flexible wing. “I healed this bird. Its wing was completely broken, you saw it. You helped adjust the bone and the bandages. Right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Now we have a completely healed animal in front of us, right?”

“Well,…it looks like it, yes.”

“Then healing is possible, right?”

Feller hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Of course, but…”

“Then I need to leave as soon as possible,” Wendell cut in, “Get back to my friends.”

“Didn’t you just get here?”

Nodding, “I did, but the situation has changed. There are people who need me, and I…”

…left them.

That’s what Wendell wanted to say. He’d left his friends and run away.

But that doesn’t matter now. I can go back and make it all better, for everyone. Dax, Alhannah—I can make sure they get better now and fix my…

The last word stuck in his mind.

Family.

That’s why running from the Black Market and Sanctuary hurt so badly. I ran away…from my family.

The people who love and care about me.

Care for me.

Those who stick by me, regardless of the odds.

“Wendell?”

But it’s only been a few days. All I need to do is find someone with a port key back to the Black Market.

“Wendell.”

Once I get back, I can help Alhannah get better and I’m sure Höbin would help me find a way to get in touch with Chuck—or get back to Sanctuary.

A firm hand grabbed his wrist, and his attention.

“Wendell!”

He looked at Feller, “What?”

“Your arm.”

Wendell followed the gaze of the gnome, down to his left forearm. Just below the elbow was a bruise. Black and purple, it had the strange shape of a squiggly line. “That’s odd.”

Feller pressed his finger into the bruise.

Wendell flinched hard. “OW! Hey, watch it.”

“That bruise looks…,” he paused, “new.”

Wendell yanked his arm back and lightly rubbed the surface of his skin. “Yeah? So?”

Feller seemed to ponder for a moment, but he quickly replaced his expressions with a broad smile. “Nothing.” Glancing out the window, “It’s getting late. My brother is supposed to meet Silas and Jan at The Den. You want to get a bite to eat? Tonight they serve goat stew. It’s some of the best I’ve had. They usually serve fresh hot bread and creamy butter to go with it.”

Wendell’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food.

I am hungry. But his mind went to the village and the wolf attack from the previous night. Thoughts of being pulled aside, grilled with questions didn’t sit well.

But I do have to eat.

He pushed the worries to the side. Surely the village had worked out the troubles by now. If they were concerned about wolves, the men of the town would come up with a plan that didn’t have anything to do with Wendell.

“Sounds great. Just not sure what to do with the bird. Can’t just walk off and leave it sitting on the table.”

“Hmmm. Good point.” Feller snapping his fingers, “We can grab some worms from the compost pile on the side of the barn. Feed the little guy a few of those and we should be good for the evening! You ready to leave or you gonna change?”

Wendell’s jeans and t-shirt shifted like water over his skin and in an instant, he stood there in full leathers, identical to what he’d been wearing the previous night. “I’m ready—” but he paused with a slap of his palm to his forehead.

Feller whistled, “Nice trick. What’s the matter?”

Wendell made his way to the door. “Silas’s favorite axe. I left it by the wood pile.”

“Leave it until tomorrow. It’s getting dark and walking that road is a pain at night.”

“Can’t. Promised Silas I wouldn’t leave his favorite axe out in the elements. Don’t want to upset my new employer on my first day.”

“Alright,” Feller grunted, “Then you go grab the axe and I’ll see if I can scrounge up a few worms for our new bunkmate. Meet you out front?”

“Done.”

****

The sun had already set, leaving the last breath of light to see by when Wendell hit the trail. He sprinted up the hillside as fast as his feet would carry him.

You idiot, Wendell. The last thing you want to do is irritate Silas. Keep the good impression going and earn your own reputation. That’s what you need to do.

A howl broke the nights silence.

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

…as well as move faster. Now is not the time to get stranded out here.

Another howl split the air, the echo circling behind him—this time much closer.

The hair on the back of Wendell’s neck stood on end.

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh CRAP! Come on Wendell, where’s the axe, where did you set it down?

Breaking into the clearing, he could see the steel tool leaning against the chopping stump. Without stopping, Wendell snatched up the in one hand and…

“There he is.”

Wendell skidded to a halt.

The high-pitched voice was back, a scratchy edge to the tone. Looking about didn’t help with the fading light—he couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from.

“Would you stop telling me what to do?! I have just as much right to talk as you!!”

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

“H-hello?” Wendell stammered, eyes darting from tree to tree. Not that he could really see much. The shadows continued to engulf the landscape like a carnivorous beast. He raised the axe to his shoulder.

“Woah,” blurted the voice, “Dude’s got a weapon.”

Pause.

“Duh. Of course I’m gonna stay back. Think I’m stupid?”

Another pause.

“Don’t answer that.”

“W-who are you?” Wendell called out, slowly backing down to the trail.

The words didn’t echo.

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

Okay, creepy just escalated to…scary.

Time to get out of here, Wendell.

Now!

Another howl pierced the night, then again in short succession.

Gotta go….gotta go!

Wendell tried backing out of the clearing without looking away—afraid something might jump out at him.

Come on, you big chicken—just RUN!

His ears twitched. Something large was rushing through the brush…

And that’s when he noticed two sets of glowing eyes peering out from the brush on the opposite side of the clearing.

Waving his hand, Wendell ignited a sphere of bright white light into the center of the clearing. The small globe flashed to life hovering head-height over the soil.

…causing the shapes to flinch and back into the brush.

Wolves.

No, no, nonononono, he gripped the axe harder.

Two massive heads stared up at the light for a moment, and sensing no danger, pushed through the tree line, their gaze locked on Wendell.

Nostrils flared and both wolves bore their teeth in a wild snarl.

Raising the axe like a bat ready to swing, Wendell took a step back.

“Niiiiice wolfies. You stay right there and no one will get hurt.”

He gulped, Specifically me.

Letting out a series of barks in explosive succession, Mouse burst through the brush, sliding up to Wendell’s side. Front paws planted squarely in the ground, the hound barked repeatedly, saliva flinging from his bottom lip.

The massive canine, which dwarfed both wolves in actual size, looked from one threat to the other, and stopped barking.

Ears twitching, he looked up at Wendell and let out a soft whine..

“What…is it boy?”

Neither of the wolves moved, but their expression changed. Snarls vanished, and both stood more upright, ears twitching.

Until another howl split the air.

Stepping forward, Mouse wrapped his body in front of Wendell, looked at the wolves and gave a single, sharp bark.

Both wolves jumped into the clearing, darting across the open ground diagonal to Wendell.

…and ran off.

Mouse looked upward, his triangular ears turning to the sound of the howl. A moment later his body visibly relaxed. Turning to Wendell, he opened his mouth and let his tongue roll out in a relaxed pant.

Wendell broke the air with a nervous laugh. “What was THAT about?”

Dropping to one knee, he let the axe fall to the ground and gave the dog a double-armed hug.

“YOU…have the best timing in the whole world. Thank you, buddy.”

To which Mouse replied with a very wet lick across Wendell’s face.

“Eww.”