She woke in the same cold dark on a gentle slope of spongy turf. She was among trees too, not the tall firs that had punctuated her ride, but stunted Scots pines, with needles like hair, long and fine. These had embraced and slowed her as she rocketed through them, their pliant limbs dragging at her like so many soft fingers. She’d come to ground in thick brush, rolled a way, and then fainted. But as she took stock of her injuries, she realized she had come through it with little more than scrapes and bruises. It was the shock of the impact and stark terror as had likely caused the black-out. But something”a noise perhaps”had wakened her.
She did not feel fit to travel a long way tonight, only enough to find her broom and shelter until daylight came. The flora and terrain of this area were much like that of her own valley, and she felt home couldn’t be far away. She could make out the familiar shapes of whin and heather in the moonlight”smell them too. Moonlight. How long had she lain there oblivious under the pines? Moonrise at this time of year was about midnight. And there it was, a big white disk, just coming in sight over the trees.
Full moon. She froze. Something was nudging her brain”a memory”recent”the thing that woke her. What was it? There it was now”again”a screaming howl, off to her left. How far away? And what?
But she knew without seeing. It must be a werewolf. Jacko’s stories notwithstanding, she knew enough of witching lore to ken that sound, an almost human scream, rounding into a snarl. She had to get away and quickly. The Wolf’s sense of smell was legendary, no matter which way the wind was blowing.
Now there was the noise of movement far off in the trees on her left. She felt about for her broomstick. It would take her far from danger. But there was no salvation near to hand”and, though she wished and wished, she could not Summon it. Underage magic was a whimsical force. One never knew what form it would take”if it took. She saw a shadow in the trees that hadn’t been there a moment ago. And a glint of something in the moonlight. What? Pale fur? Eyes? Fangs?
She was scrabbling on the slope, then running full out, away from the glint, the movement, the screaming howl. She was fast for her size, but she didn’t know her surroundings. One false step and she’d be on the ground and easy prey. No sense hiding, her scent would give her away in a second. She could hear behind her the whirr and creak of pine boughs being thrust aside. She imagined the fanged muzzle gulping breath, the sharp claws renewing themselves on flinty rock, the hackles bristling with anticipation of the kill.
She ran headlong into a spinney of low-hanging willows and alders. Overhead, wide-fanning branchlets dimmed the moonlight, and beyond in the heart of the thicket, blocked it out completely. Would this be an advantage or a liability? Would the absence of light negate the creature’s thirst for blood?
Apparently not. As she crashed through the darkness she heard with dismay, ever nearer, the sounds of slavering, foaming breath, and imagined a lolling tongue and drool-flecked muzzle. And the beast could likely see in the dark.
Her arm bumped against a tree she hadn’t seen. It staggered her, but for an instant only. Seconds later a low-hanging branch whipped across her face stinging her eyes. Now half blinded, she hesitated, her stride shortened. It wouldn’t be long before she was stopped entirely by a full collision with a trunk, or tripped up by a naked root, or tangled in thorn bushes, trussed and splayed for the coup de grace.
Then it was that the trees, dark threatening shadows against a deeper dark, began to develop an edge, a form, against some kind of light behind them. What was happening? Was it dawn so soon? No, the light was tinged with green, like an effusion of verdant life from the trees themselves or the onset of a fierce mountain storm. If this was not an illusion, a mirage of hope to numb the certainty of doom, she could now pivot, dodge, run full out without fear.
But her earlier hesitancy had closed the gap too much. The creature was right behind her. Something sharp brushed her back near her shoulder”a claw”or the dreadful fangs. She closed her eyes, gulped and gasped, prayed wordlessly, and lunged onward.
What does one wish for at the end of hope? Minerva was never clear afterwards what her last thoughts were before it happened.
~*~
They found her at sunrise, curled up under a hairy pine, bruised and dirty, her clothing in tatters.
“You hardly stirred when Robbie MacDonald found you,” her father murmured, bending over the great old feather bed, stroking her hand, her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was really there, safe and whole, and no illusion. “When you didna come home by sunset, I started to worry…then I got an owl from Brobdingnag Bones. His fool of a son…och…we had the whole valley out searching…found your tartan in a briar patch…you must have lost it trying to get free.” His brow puckered. She couldn’t tell if he was on the verge of tears or a tirade.
Minerva tried to think back past the crash. She had only disjointed memories of intense pleasure at a sky plump with clouds, and dismay at the pink of sunset.
Goodie broke into the silence. “Ah, a good lang bath’ll mak ye feel better. Then ye can tell yer yarn, an a barrie tale it will be.” She bustled about, Accio-ing the big iron tub and water from the laundry room as she chivvied Da out the door. “Tak aff yer claes, child, and we’ll hae a look at yer wounds, then into the tub wi ye and forgit yer tribble.” She started a small blue fire under the tub and ran more water in from her wand-tip. Minerva jumped down from the high bed and got out of her shift, eager for a bath and rub down. She felt so sore, and not only from the bruising of the crash. Surely fearful rigor had caused a lot of her muscular soreness. Even her jaw felt clenched…and her shoulder hurt. Her shoulder…
“Goodie!” she screamed and the scream tapered to a whimper. “Oh Goodie…my shoulder… I’m…I’m a…” She suddenly dropped to a crouch and hugged herself as if to ward off the memories of the night before, which now came pouring into her conscious mind.
“Whit is it, child? Yer not hurtit, juist knurles an scarts…tho mony midgie bites….” Knurls an scarts…bruises and--scratch marks! This set off a fresh bout of wailing and Goodie had to reach down and pick her up about the shoulders. She drew her sweet babbie, already growing into a great gangling girl, over to the ancient nursing chair with its willow frame and seat and arm-rests, which had over the years molded itself to the old nurse’s ample requirements. Goodie settled into the chair and gathered Minerva close, clucking and patting, rocking her in a gentle rhythm, like a boat turned sideways to a current of small lapping waves.
“Wheesht, child, calm yersel. And look here.” She reached down next to the chair and pulled up the withy-wand broomstick. “The MacDonald lad”he wis wi the search party”he found it in a bush. Only twa-three broken faggots…”
But Minerva would not be comforted by the sight of her trusty sweep. “Goodie”last night”it was full moon.”
“Aye, ma dearie, I knaw. Lucky it wis to hae a good strang licht to see by.”
“No--Goodie --The Wolf!”
“Naw, naw, there been nae wolves in the Hielands in a lang, lang time.”
“No, Goodie, no”I don’t mean an ordinary wolf.”
“What are ye sayin, child? You didna meet a werewolf.”
“I did, Goodie, and he scratched me or bit me”just here.” She reached up and touched behind her right shoulder.
Goodie squinted at the spot. “There’s naught there Minerva. Nae scart…naethin.”
“But I felt it, Goodie, I feel it now. It makes me shiver to think the creature was close enough to touch me. And then”oh Goodie”I changed.”
“Changed, child?”
“I changed into a wolf--a little one. Oh Goodie, darling, I’m a…a…” She searched for the dreaded grown-up word. “…a Lycatrope. I shall be locked up or banished from the clan or hunted down and a silver stake driven through my heart!” The tears were streaming down her face as she clung to her last refuge, her Nursie, whom she would soon have to leave forever.
“Bletheration! There be nae werewolves in these pairts, only pine martens and red deer…an orra black draigon mebbe…”
“Then how come I changed? Changed, Goodie. I swear it. I was running”on my last breaths and strength”and it was dark in the wood, so dark, you couldn't see the wand in front of your face”and the wolf close behind. It scratched me”I know it did”and suddenly I was thrown forward onto my hands. Only they weren’t hands, Goodie, they were paws, hairy and clawed. My whole body changed. I was fast Goodie”ever so fast. I dodged the wolf, I feinted and turned”just like I was on the pitch”and the wolf wasn't fast enough. It scrabbled about and started gaining again, but I had my energy back and to spare, and I outran him like he was standing still. I lost him in a beech grove and”oh, Goodie”” She dabbed at her eyes, searching for words to continue the terrible story.
“Ye maun dreamt it, child. ‘Tis only natural. When ye fell, ye dinged yer head…”
“You don’t understand. I felt my body change, my back legs crook like a hound’s, my teeth go to fangs, my ears prick up to the top of my head. And after the chase was over, I felt hungry, so hungry, and I”oh”I sniffed the air and smelt blood”"
“Ye whit?”
“I saw something moving in the grass. I chased it. It was little and fast, but not so fast as me. I cornered it and “oh---I played with it first. I threw it up into the air and carried it about. It was so scared, I could feel it quivering in my”my mouth. ” She shuddered. “Then when I was sure it was dead, I ate it”head and tail and all! I remember the crunch of its little bones, the fur, the warmth and…and the blood...Augh! I must be a Wolf, Goodie, I must!” She buried her head in the ample bosom and wept uncontrollably.
“Hark, child, gif ye did cheenge into a beastie”and I’m not sayin’ ye did, or ye didna”it wouldna be from the touch or even the bite of a werewolf. The first cheenge niver comes til the neist full moon---that I ken.”
“The next full moon? But how”are you sure, Goodie? Are you dead sure?”
“Sure as my auld mither tellin’ me so in a chair very like this ane.”
“I can’t believe it was a dream, Goodie. It was so real.” Minerva dried her eyes on the back of her hand. “Promise me you’ll lock me in the barn next full moon, just to be safe. I wouldn't want to bite you or Da or any of our friends--”
“Aye, dearie, I promise.” There was more clucking and patting and rocking. And then--“Intae the tub wi ye nou, before that dirt yer coated wi hardens ye intae a stone golem.”