All characters and situations © me 2002 and so forth.

Chapter Two

The town of Elwenda was seldom empty. Situated in the center of the ominous forest, it thrived, a homely metropolis where the villagers from surrounding pueblos gathered to shop, socialize, and tend to their affairs. It seemed impossible for someone to see a face that they hadn’t seen somewhere else at some point. The man carrying the basket of fish through Market Alley was married to the apothecary’s daughter. The girl selling flowers in the town plaza was their daughter, the boy discreetly stealing candies from the general store their son. The old man sitting on the porch of a dusty book store was anonymous, but he’d always been there, it seemed.

Every loss to the wolves was felt by everyone who lived inside the forest of Midriedan. The community graveyards grew fuller; the wandering undertaker and his somber apprentice had fewer holidays. Cottages that once brimmed with the laughter of small children were silent, their draperies black with mourning. A black banner was flown in Elwenda, a white rose painted onto the fabric in honor of those who had passed.

Peter stood outside the liquor shop with his brother and sister while his grandfather shopped idly inside. Peter pulled his jacket firmly around his chest and adjusted his cap; the normal hustle and bustle of Elwenda was subdued, honoring the memory of Ben Tucker, the sentry who had died nights before. Nadine flexed her fingers inside her wool gloves and shifted closer to Peter, who wrapped one arm gently around her shoulders.

"I wish Grampa would hurry up and buy his liquor," she complained and gave a shiver. "I’m cold."

"Me too," Graham said and sulked, glaring at a group of haughty teenage boys who sauntered past. One had a smoke between his lips. Graham turned to Peter and asked excitedly, "Pete, can I buy me some smokes?"

"Don’t be stupid, Graham," Peter retorted. " ‘Course Grampa won’t buy you smokes."

"I never said nothin’ ‘bout him buyin’ me smokes!" Graham answered hotly. "I asked if I could buy ‘em!" Lying against the side of the building with his head on his paws, Cody lifted his head up and whined, gazing at the children.

"No, you can’t buy ‘em," Peter told him firmly. He ignored his brother as he began complaining, instead casting his gaze around the town.

Something had changed; there was a buzz to the conversation. Heads turned in the direction of the South Gate, the entrance farthest away from the liquor store.

Peter recognized one of the boys walking in the direction of the commotion and called out, "Frank! What’s goin’ on?"

The boy stopped upon hearing his name and turned to squint at Peter. His expression changed quickly into a smile of recognition, then he motioned for Peter to join him. "Don’t know, but I sure as hell plan to find out. C’mon!"

"All right!" Graham exclaimed, jumping up, but Peter set a hand on his shoulder stopping him. "No, Graham," he said.

"Why!" Graham demanded. "I wanna go! I got just as much right to go as you do—"

"Stay here with Nadine," Peter told him sternly and added as Graham began to argue, "and if I come back and yer gone, I’m gonna hold you down while Grampa whoops you."

"You ain’t supposed to go nowhere neither," Graham accused with a sulk, but he obediently sank to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. Nadine waved at him as he left.

He joined Frank and the two of them followed the flow of people towards the Southern Gate. Frank put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and remarked, "You sure got yer brother on a short leash. I sure wish Jeb listened to be like that."

"Graham knows I ain’t gonna do somethin’ unfair, that’s all," Peter answered with a shrug, then grinned. "Jeb knows you’ll walk all over ‘im unless he acts up."

Frank laughed and agreed. "Yeah, that’s pro’lly true."

The crowd suddenly stumbled to a halt, and Frank caught the back of Peter’s jacket before he walked into the gentlemen standing in front of him. Curious, he hurried over to where a wagon was parked outside thrift shop and clamored onto it. He held out his hand to help Frank up after him, and the two boys squinted over the heads of the other villagers.

Peter stared in awe while Frank whispered, "I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before…"

Three horsemen had halted their steeds in the center of the plaza and were regarding the folk that encircled them with puzzled expressions. Peter recognized the older man as a peddler of some sort by the mountain of a pack that was strapped to his back, but that was where the resemblance to the world Peter knew ended.

The old man’s clothes shone when they caught the light, the fabric appearing as soft as baby’s hair. All three of the horsemen were garbed in somewhat similar attire, though this man’s clothes were definitely finer. Patterned red squares covered the black fabric that brushed his ankles. He did not wear boots, but sandals made of wood. His head was covered by a wide, circular straw hat that kept the snow from falling onto him.

The two other horsemen, Peter realized, were boys. One was very young, Graham’s age. He wore a plain black robe like the old man’s, though this one appeared coarse, as if the stitching were not the best quality. He had a straw hat on as well, but his looked much more worn. His face, like the old man’s, was slightly pressed in, his skin a coppery hue not found in the forest where sunlight only just penetrated. Coal black eyes watched the villagers around him nervously; his lips were parted in apprehension.

The other boy was older, possibly fifteen, and though he was dressed the same as his companions, it was apparent to Peter almost immediately that he was not a native to their land. Despite himself, Peter couldn’t help but stare at this boy’s extreme… beauty. His skin was pale, too pale, only shades lighter and pinker than snow. His hair was a rich crimson red, tied into a long tail that brushed the center of his back and just below his eyes. His face was more angular, proportioned more like Peter’s than the old peddler and the boy, and yet his features were so picturesque Peter wondered… where was he from?

His eyes were large and green like a cat’s eyes, and his ears, Peter noticed with some shock, were long and tapered, swiveling to and fro much like a horse’s ears might. To keep them safe from the chill, they were currently set back against the sides of his head underneath his hair.

Held in the crook of one arm, a golden monkey nestled closely against the boy for body warmth. Its black, bony fingers were held against its little chest, but its honey-colored eyes immediately spotted Peter. Its eyes flashed with human intelligence that Peter found unnerving.

Even more so, seconds later, the red-haired boy spotted him as well.

The old peddler carefully dismounted from his stocky brown and white horse and dusted off his robe. Then, turning to his audience, he bowed respectfully and spoke in a language that Peter didn’t understand.

In fact, it appeared that no one understood what the old man was saying.

Befuddled, he tried another language, and the result was the same: the mass of puzzled villagers stared at him, uncomprehending.

He tried three more times and was met with disappointment each time. At last, a clearly desperate expression on his face, he cried out, "Can you understand me, any of you!"

"Yes!" Peter answered excitedly before he quite realized what he was doing. Frank shot him a surprised glance, then shouted himself, "Yes, we understand!"

Immediately, the rest of the village was alive with uproarious questions. The mass surged towards the three horsemen, and in fright the gold monkey freed itself from the boy’s arms and sprang up onto the roof of one building. The boy looked after the monkey in confusion, but did not seem to fear it running away.