Summer was fading, and this cool, windy night proved Autumn had begun settling in. The harvest moon lit the sky, and a chill air lay itself upon the land. The road gleamed as if it was sunrise instead of night itself.
Crisp leaves crunched under the rickety wooden wheels of a hasty coach, bopping its way across the cobblestone road.. The man sat atop the two wheeled carriage was dressed in a large blue coat, scarves wrapped around the bottom of his face and neck. His eyes were the image of fear, bloodshot and filled with tears.
The man whipped the reins up and down, sending the stark white horse into an even further frenzy as it galloped up the empty road. "Please Falter, please go faster!" the worried coachman pleaded.
He turned his head around, seeing a pack of thirty or so wolves running towards him. "Damn, they caught up even quicker this time, wretched beasts. How starving can they be? We are still in Summer, despite this cold. They should have plenty to eat. " the coachman thought.
He put the reins in one hand, and whipped around in his seat, pulling a knife from his boot. On the side of his wobbly coach was the corpse of a huge buck, tied up by its hind legs and antlers. The coachman began furiously cutting at the ropes, digging the blade into the sun bleached fibers.
The wolves picked up the pace, the alpha male in the back directing two companies of their strongest hunters to enter the woods on either side of the road. His sharp teeth formed a crude smile, and his eyes thinned as his pack was closing in quickly on the meal.
The coachman let out a groan as he cut through the front part of the rope, sending the front half of the deer to drag against the road, its antlers making horrific sounds as they clattered across the cobble. He tried to reach for the back rope, but lost his grip on the reins, sending Falter right across the road, bouncing the coach violently. His knife flew out of his hand as he heard a loud crack from under the coach. The coachman's face winced deeply, like a child eating its first lemon, at the sound.
He knew now that only luck could get that buck to fall, so he doubled his efforts with the horse, trying to force the rope to come free of the coach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw shadows running alongside him in the woods. His eyes winced as he knew his life was coming to an end. In a last ditch effort, he pulled in on the reins, bringing Falter to a screeching stop, causing the deer’s corpse to fly forward into the air, but it was still connected to the coach. Glass jars clinked together loudly from within the cabin. "YAAH!" The coachman roared with all of his might, bringing the reins down as hard as he physically could.
Falter took off faster than the coachman had ever seen, whipping the deer carcass back down to the cobblestone with a grotesque crunch. The rope snapped, and the buck was
dislodged. The wolves that were running alongside him stopped abruptly, lunging for the deer with their jaws wide.
The coachman waited a beat before looking back, and when he did, his eyes held the first glimmer of hope since the night began. The entire pack was fighting over the buck, surrounding it and tearing huge chunks when they had a chance. He saw only one wolf not taking part in the frenzy; the Alpha just stood in the middle of the road, looking directly at the coachman. Any glimmer of hope was gone from his eyes as the alpha male lifted a paw and pointed it directly at the coachman's heart. The wolf nodded its head and the coachman's entire body went numb, all color draining from his skin.
He just turned back to face the road, and gave out another "YAAH!" but this time his voice quivered and cracked.
After five minutes of clattering down the road, he had gained enough courage to turn his head behind him, and saw no wolves in view. He was thankful for the harvest moon, otherwise he wouldn't be able to see even 20 steps behind him. He realized he didn't even have a torch lit as it was so bright out, and decided he should light one before he got to the village gates. He didn’t want the gatekeeper thinking he was some rogue trying to sneak up in the night, no matter how bright it was.
Just as the coachman got the torch lit and fastened into the bracket, the tall and sturdy wall of Oasting village came into view. For the first time since he’d set off, a true warmth came over him, and a flicker of hope. Although it was against his better judgment, he brought Falter to a slower pace so as to not spook the watchmen. He slowly approached the giant studded gate, and hailed the guard. “Aye, good evening to-”
“It is not evening, it is the dead of night,” the watchman yelled down to him.
“Ah, yes, and a dangerous night it is. I’m being pursued by a very large wolfpack, and they are only just a few minutes behind me at most. Please, if you-”
The coachman’s plea was cut off by a very loud clinking sound followed by a large wooden bang. At first he was filled with joy, assuming they were opening the gate. Instead he saw a very small window open towards the bottom of the gate. He looked back at the road, tears in his eyes from pure fear that the wolves were going to catch up. “Please, I beg you, just open the gate, I’ll put my hands on my head, you can search-”
“What’s actually going to happen, traveler, is you putting your hand through the sniff hole,” the watchman said bluntly.
Wolves howled in the distance. The coachman’s head shot up to the figure silhouetted by the harvest moon. “PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME IN! The wolves, can’t you hear them, they’ll be here any-”
“You’ll put your hand through the sniff hole, now, or you can be on your way,” the watchman said with a bit of spice.
The coachman dove off of the top of the carriage, narrowly missing Falter’s bridle, and ran for the gate. Before he shoved his hand through, the guard cleared his throat and spoke, “remove your glove first, traveler.”
He thrust the fingers of his glove into his mouth and bit the leather tips, slipping his hand out and shoving it through the hole. He felt a warm breath on his hand, and then a moist nose sniffing all around his fingers, palm, and the top of his hand. He then heard, what he assumed was a dog, let out a short growl. “Alright sir, you can remove your hand and return to your coach,” the guard said, a little friendlier now.
The coachman climbed up the cart faster than he ever had, hearing the howls even louder now. “Okay good sir, please open the gate,” he said, panting heavily.
“No, you aren’t coming in. Maisy didn’t like your scent,” the watchman said boredly.
The coachman’s face went pale. “No, sir, please, you- you must let me in, the wolves, they, they’re right here, I’ll be... I’ll... I- I was sent for, I was sent for by the leader of your village! I have cases of medicine, medicine your village desperately needs, I-”
“Nah, Maisy didn’t trust you. She can always judge a person by their scent, can’t you Maisy! Once his eminence is awake, he can let us know if he approves your entry, and until then, you’ll need to move along for the night. Thank you, now be off,” the watchman said, slamming the sniff hole closed and walking out of sight.
“PLEASE!!! PLEASE LET ME-” the coachman was cut off by an extremely loud howl.
His head whipped to see the entire pack closing in on him. He pulled on the reins and got Falter going again, but it was too late. Wolves dove from every direction, bashing into his coach, ripping off the wheels, shredding Falter from the legs up. He screamed an ungodly noise, completely twisted apart by fear, until he realized none of the wolves were going for him. They were dismantling his carriage piece by piece, and gorging on Falter’s now open belly, but they weren’t touching him. He dove off the crumbly pile of wood, and sprinted down the road, shocked that he wasn’t being followed.
He had made it a good 300 paces from the carnage, and began looking for a place on the village wall where he might be able to climb. Then he saw it. The Alpha came out from the shadow of a tree, his fur lit gorgeously under the harvest moon. The Alpha crossed his paws and gave a slight bow, and then looked up with the most hate-filled eyes the coach man had ever seen. The Alpha’s snout was snarled beyond recognition, each of his sharp teeth exposed. As the coachman began to turn away, the wolf pushed itself into the air at full speed, diving straight for the man’s heart.
The watchman on the other side of the wall sat back down by his fire, rubbing his hand through the scruff on the back of Maisy’s neck fur. He took a large guzzle off his tankard of ale, and held it towards Maisy who happily took a few licks. He looked up towards the moon, and smiled widely. “It really is a beautiful night, isn’t it girl,” he said, finishing with a large belch.
...
In the morning, all that was left outside was a pile of sawdust, shattered glass vials, and the carcass of a horse. Oasting village was completely silent. Not a soul was moving about, the usual hustle and bustle of the morning eerily missing. A single monk, his face completely bruised, limped his way to the front gate. It took every ounce of strength he had, and he lowered the Oasting banner, and raised a bright yellow flag with a black hand in the center. As soon as it was above the wall, he fell backward, dead as a rotten fish.
