About Taming the Mountain Mist
by KC Warwick
26 pages
/ 12000 words
Available file types - html. lit, pdf, prc, epub, Sony-optimized pdf
As commander of a Roman garrison in remote Britain, Justin finds a lot of things strange about his new home. Mainly it's the village attitude toward wolves that surprises him; hunting them is forbidden, and he can't understand why.
At least Justin can't understand it until he meets Falan, who's the village healer, and a werewolf, to boot. When his commanding officer wants to come to his village for a hunt, Justin puts himself on the line for Falan and his people, and pays the price for his protection. Can he and Falan find a way to save themselves?
Sample
It was nearly dusk and the mist was so thick now that Justin could barely see where he was going at all. He was no longer sure whether he was traveling down from the moors or back up onto them again, nor where the Wall was, nor the location of the fort of which he was--assuming that he could ever find it again--Garrison Commander. He was tired, hungry, cold and dispirited. He had set out that morning with two native guides to hunt deer on the moors. The sun had been shining, his second-in-command had seemed happy to be left in charge, the gods were smiling on him. Or so he had thought.
As they returned home with a young buck that would supplement army rations very nicely, the mist had started to come down, swirling like cobwebs around the stunted trees and gorse bushes that dotted the rough turf. He had paused to remove a stone from his boot, and in that short time the mist had become a fog, cutting him off from his escort as effectively as if it had been a palisade fence. He had shouted, but the noise was muffled by the mist; once he thought he had heard a faint reply, but it could have been the call of a bird. He had pressed on, convinced that he would run into his two companions at any moment, and now he was utterly and completely lost.
The autumn sunlight had gone, it was growing cold, and he was glad that he had worn native dress -- the woolen breeks and thick tunic being considerably warmer than scanty Roman garb. Up here on the frontier they tended to dispense with such formalities; it just wasn’t practical to be a conventional soldier of the Roman empire on one of its farthest borders. The Wall itself was a thin line between a modicum of civilization and the lawless wastes were tribal country. He liked the informality, the freedom, and the responsibility which went with it, even though the prestige was less than in one of the regular legions. He’d been up on the Wall for a month now and was starting to feel at home; maybe this was the Fates’ way of reminding him that nothing was certain.
He needed shelter, somewhere he could wait for a while until the mist cleared, and then maybe he could find his way down to the fort. Or at worst, the inevitable search party would be able to track him down, humiliating though that would be. A cave would be ideal, though he’d settle for a decent clump of bushes if needs be, anywhere that he could conserve a little warmth. He was shivering now and he could not move fast enough to keep himself warm, lest he should twist an ankle on the uneven turf and be left in a worse state. If only the mist would lift!
He stared up into the grayness above him, wishing he could at least see the stars, though it was hardly dark enough for that yet. When he looked back down to earth, there was a wolf standing a few spear’s lengths in front of him.
His first reaction was to freeze. He had his spear, but he knew that killing a wolf was a very different proposition from hunting deer, and he doubted he was up to it. Besides, the locals had told him that killing wolves was unlucky, that they never hunted them and that in return, the wolves never attacked their sheep. He was not sure whether he believed that. He was not even sure whether a wolf would attack a man in such a situation--maybe they only did so if they were hungry, or frightened. This wolf did not look frightened, quite the reverse. It regarded him with clear grey eyes, looking him up and down as if assessing whether it would be worth going for him or not, evidently recognizing him as an intruder here on its own territory. Justin knew that he ought to be trying to scare the animal away or make his own escape, or something, but all that occupied his thoughts was the fact that the wolf was spell-bindingly beautiful. He had never seen one this close before, but he was sure that they did not all have a pelt which shone like burnished metal even in the dim light, fading to silver around the head and tail. It looked as if it would be soft to the touch too, and he had an illogical desire to reach out a hand and stroke the thick fur. Instead, he said softly, “It would almost be an honor to be torn to pieces, because you are the most beautiful animal I have ever seen.”
There was a strange shimmering in the mist and where the wolf had been standing, there was now a man, tall, slender and wrapped in a long cloak, with grey eyes and hair the same silver as the wolf’s hanging down over his shoulders. Justin took an involuntary step back, his heart thumping, and the man said thoughtfully, “You have good taste, Commander. I’m glad to see that.”