The Purpose of Miss Shepley

Chapter Sixteen (part I)

Given that the Wulfric have committed treason against the Baelgast, the High Throne, and the Peacetroth, and forced the peoples to war again, in the pursuit of Justice, we do declare:

(1) That any man, woman, or child with one parent or two grandparents who are or were Wulfric, is a Wolf and a traitor against the High Throne and the Peacetroth, and shall be punished as such under law;

(2) That any person who knowingly gives aid to a Wolf is a traitor against the High Throne and the Peacetroth, and shall be punished as such under law;

(3) That in the furtherance of Justice we do revoke the third tenet of the Doctrine of the Merciful State;

(4) That a ministry is to be founded to establish the lineage of all persons dwelling in the Northerns territory to determine that they are not Wolves.

(The Wolfkin Articles, drafted by his Excellency Lord Everett Richards, 514 of the Common Reckoning)

.:.

The next morning, I woke in my own bed. Prudence had let herself in. She opened the curtains and swept out the grate, as she had done most every day before. I was dressed, ate a bite, and walked out to the pasture, as I had done most every day before.

The lambs were weaning, and it was coming time to choose which to breed, which to sell, and which to slaughter. My mind wasn't in the work, though, and Thatcher had roamed off somewhere, besides, so I just stood under the shade of the oaks, trying to not think.

For the rest of the day, and the day after, and for yet many more days after that, I tried to go about my business and not think.

I tried to not think about my father. I tried to not think about the man he killed, or what else he might have done, or whether he'd ever held a pike... And I tried to not think about just how much of the Wyrm blood was in me, precisely.

My eye often wandered over the Grassbeck, to the peaked roofs of the Wolves' cottages, while I was trying to not think, til one morning, I decided I'd had enough. I huffed and crossed the creek.

I clambered up the north bank, still trying to not think, passing through crumbling walls and overgrown garden beds til I came to the door of one of the little cottages.

It was dug into the ground, and two stone steps led down into it. Birds nested under its eaves, and evidently mice nested alongside them, for it stank of more than just dank and dust. I took a step inside, eyeing the roof beams, wondering just how sound they were and just how foolish I was.

Not a thing within the cottage was upset, though it was all coated in thick dust and cobwebs. A bed was still made up with quilts and linens. Chairs stood round a table, ready for the next meal. Pots and jars waited in a cupboard.

I ran my finger through the dust on the cupboard and found a tiny wolf, painted in still bright colors, grinning up at me. Its tongue lolled and it looked rather silly. Beside it was a set of crocks, simple and elegant, glazed in a green as dewy and lively as living moss itself.

I crept deeper into the cottage, my heart thudding -- if the roof came down, I'd surely be killed. I glanced over baskets and chests, lingered on a little rag dolly with long black hair and amber beads for eyes, and then I came to the bed.

It was a snug rope bed, barely big enough for two, with a headboard and a footboard and no curtains -- just the sort of thing one would expect in a cottage, really, except it was beautiful... The lines were graceful, all the joinery fitted precisely, and every last inch of it was carved deep with beasts and flowers and runes twisting and twining round each other in impossible knots.