As a boy, not long after you had left me in the shallows with the druids, when I still imagined your return, I would pretend you were both with me. Father would be the tree on the right with the thin branches that reminded me of his slender arms and fingers. You would be a tree on the left; the one with the hanging moss that I imagined was your long hair. You often teased father that you would cut it. Do you remember? “It gets in the way,” you would say, “And it’s too long for a woodcarver’s wife.” You would grab one of his carving tools as you said it and start backing away with whittling knife in one hand and locks of golden hair in the other. Father would cry out and beg you to stop. “No! My lady! Such an exquisite flora must never be cut back!” he would say, “It must be left free to grow and its beauty to inspire all those who gaze upon it.” Then he would chase you around our small room. Of course, he would enlist me to help him in his most urgent and noble cause. Our grand crusade would always end in success, the great peril of the knife conquered and the legendary sunlight tresses protected from harm. We would all laugh, you the hardest, as father and I caught you and tussled you to the floor.

I wish those battles had lasted longer, and I wish the ones I fight now would end.

It is not that I am a coward; I am sure of that at least. But I worry for father, and I worry for Zena. It is the wolf in me. No. Not completely. That is a lie, and I am not comfortable with the telling of untruths. It is not just Calonveriel the wolf, it is also Calonveriel the man who desires to protect what is his, his pack, his family. Ha! Do I think of Zena as family? Already? Well, I just said it, didn’t I? Now that most definitely ‘is’ the wolf talking. That covetous, impulsive and angry pup still nips at my ankles and howls in my ear. I am changed, but he is an old friend, mother, and he will never leave me, not completely. And so I resign myself to the fact I am both man and wolf, and will just have to strive to be the best of most natures, for Zena, for father and for you.

I asked father to carve me a sword and a staff. My boyhood eyes had never really appreciated his skill. But truly his works are beautiful. I make sure when I can that he is supplied with as much naturally fallen wood as I can find the parks and groves around the city. I am sure he runs out not long after I leave, but his stock is always full when I visit. I choose not to ask about this. Besides, even the Woodland Goddess would pause just for a moment in her censure if she saw one of father’s carvings. Balance in all things, is that not what the Druids had lectured to me all of those years. If my father must ignore Ehlonna’s disapproval, then perhaps the balance is that I shall not.

Thanks to my Goddess’s blessings and father’s skill, I believe I am able to do away with much of this cold metal that weighs down my body and spirit. You see, what were whispers before are now shouts and shrieks that are impossible to ignore. The trees are especially determined to be heard. By her grace, they do not speak to me often for their thoughts are as long and deep as their roots. But when the trees do talk, well, it is their reproach that is the loudest. Theirs is an authority that is ageless and undeniable, and let me tell you, they do not like me carrying iron and steel! They despise the cold, cruel teeth and claws of men that stab, shred and sever their flesh. So the oldest of the ironwood and blackwood trees have shared me with their secrets of axe-breaking so that I, too, will defy the blades of men.

The day grows dark and our burdens are heavy, but like my body, my spirit feels lighter. I go now to visit two people I love. I will see you again, too, mother, but I waited a long time for you, so I think you won’t be mad if I delay our reunion just a little longer. I have an evil to weed out, a love to grow, and an impatient dire wolf who is demanding lemon cakes. I won’t deny him, not when I must ask him to accompany me to the Abyss once more. That place! If I could, I would open up a great chasm beneath it to swallow up all of that hate and perversion. It would be a fitting fate for such a place with such a name.

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