The wolven village was always my favorite out of all the Faction towns, and it wasn’t merely because I belonged to it. It was set deep in the woods, much further into the forest than the rest of Dolinska’s surrounding Faction suburbs. The foliage was thick here, huge pines blocking out most of the sunlight, their trunks covered with ivy. Wildflowers grew along the edges of a stone path, covered in moss. Little wood cabins sat in a disordered fashion beside triangular cottages with crooked thatch roofs, placed in odd spots along the village. The town smelled of wild sage, pine, and cinnamon baking into bread. It was already making me hungry, thinking of the sweet rolls my father had purchased for me as a child here.
We started down the path. Guards surrounded us, giving us space while ensuring our safety. The autumn leaves, a mixture of orange, red, and yellow, gave a stark contrast to the rich emerald of the forest. It had snowed that morning, but hadn’t stuck to the ground. Emma pulled her winter cloak on to avoid the chill. I put my arm around her shoulders to share my shifter warmth as we roamed beneath the streetlamps of the village.
I began pointing out features. “The shops here are focused on homemaking. They sell fabrics and yarns, as well as home decor and freshly dipped candles. Many wolven sorceresses take up flower arranging, painting or needlework in their spare time. Everything about our village is about making the home, and the community, a more welcoming and beautiful space.”
A woman sat at a spinning wheel, creating magical silk, while another sorceress a few feet away worked on canning newly harvested vegetables for the winter. A shifter nearby worked on stitching his leather armor, while at a forge only a short distance away, his co-worker hammered away at a blade. Everyone in the wolven village seemed busy, working on crafts, hobbies, or necessities that would ensure the pack made it through the winter.
“What’s that?” Emma asked, nodding her head at the statue of a beautiful woman tucked within the trees, surrounded by a circle of pointed stones. Wolvens laid flowers at the statue’s feet, bowing in reverence.
“It is an altar to Neva. Some say she is the goddess of the moon, and as wolves, we revere the moon and worship her,” I said. “We leave offerings upon the altar, for the hope of a good hunt.”
“Do the wolvens hunt often?”
“The village mostly supplies its own food. Venison and other game is what is offered in the shops for meat, killed fresh that morning by the pack’s hunters. The vegetables and fruits are grown right here in the village. Everyone has their own garden, and each villager is expected to chip in for the town’s survival.”
People stopped in their tracks and bowed to us as we passed. Shifters slumped to the earth on all fours, while their Marked curtsied as we passed by. A small crowd had gathered in the town to get a look at us, but some kept their distance, averting their eyes and paying attention to their work.
We were not beloved by everyone, but at least we were not actively hated. That was a good sign.
We passed by a dirt arena, surrounded by wooden fencing. Inside the arena, two wolvens in their shifter forms fought. The older wolven barked orders at the younger one, telling him he needed to be lighter on his feet. A large bonfire burned next to the training arena, and was surrounded by wooden benches. There was a small cart there with a sorceress on staff that served spiced cider and hot chocolate.
We stopped for a moment, taking a seat by the fire so Emma could ward off a bit of the chill. A servant moved to help her, but I waved him off and obtained a hot cider from the cart vendor myself, pressing it into my mate’s hands.
“A training arena,” I explained. “To teach the hunters how to bring down game. The bonfire is always kept burning, from autumn to early spring, for anyone who wishes to come get warm, and perhaps share a bit of conversation.”
“It feels so cozy here,” she said, cheeks warming in the firelight.
“The pack is very close-knit, more so than the other Factions. You won’t find the elaborate riches of the dragons here, nor the magic of the alicorns, or the knowledge the griffins hold. Yet you will find family, and neighbors willing to share whatever they have. It is a great place to raise a child.”
A few people lifted their hands in greeting to me, and I waved back with a smile. Emma noticed, and commented, “The villagers seem to know you personally.”
“I spent much time here as a boy. My father was a simple man, for as great a king as he was. I think he would’ve preferred to live here, if it were possible. The times he brought me here as a child were always full of wonder and joy. I enjoyed growing up at the palace, but if I must admit it, I have to say that this is my true home.”
A couple of children were watching us mischievously from the trees. They giggled, and pointed at Emma.
I indicated they should come here. A few of them gasped and ducked to hide, but a brave girl trotted out from behind the bushes, gazing at Emma with wide eyes as if she was her own personal hero.
“Hello,” Emma said, looking down at the little girl’s closed fist. “What is it you’ve got there?”
The girl wiggled back and forth, then said, “For you, my queen.”
She put a small blue stone on Emma’s lap. It was shiny and polished, but wasn’t anything special— probably had come from somewhere in the forest, perhaps from a river nearby.
“Thank you,” Emma said, taking the small stone in her hand. “It’s a lovely gift.”
“Your hair is so pretty,” the little girl said, and her fingers twitched.
Touching a monarch wasn’t permitted in our society, but Emma pulled her hair to the side and said, “Here. You can play with it, if you like.”
The little girl nearly burst with joy. She reached out to stroke Emma’s hair, then began twisting the strands between her fingers. The little girl giggled as she braided Emma’s hair back, and when she finished, she said, “Do you like it?”
“Very good. It’s beautiful enough to go to the ball,” Emma said.
The little girl was giddy. She ran off with a squeal, crying, “I fashioned thequeen’s hair!”
I rose with a laugh, and helped Emma up. “She’ll be repeating that story until she’s old and gray for sure.”
Emma didn’t respond. She was sad as she watched the little one run off.
