Page 1 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Chapter 1

Fern

Everyone knew to stay inside on the night of the full moon.

It was a simple rule to follow, especially when one was a child who was sent to bed after supper every night anyway.

And a simple rule to forget, when one was always too deep in sleep to hear the howls echoing from across the river once a month. Howls that would cause fathers to tighten their grips on their axes and mothers to hold their babes a little closer to their breasts.

And so Fern, at the tender age of ten, had not realized what night it was when she decided to go into the woods after dark.

All she knew was that her mother and father were fighting.

She tried to ignore them at first, humming to herself as she reorganized her collection of acorns, dried flowers, and lost buttons on her shelf.

Fern hummed louder to drown out the slurred yelling, the plates shattering, and the furniture scraping against the floor.

But when something banged loudly against her door, followed by shouts of money and drink, she realized humming wouldn’t be enough. And so, she slowly got out of bed, found her shawl, and slipped out of the window.

It was summer, the grass soft beneath her bare feet as she ran towards the barricade that surrounded the village. There was a log that had loosened from its post and could be pushed back to make room for a small child like Fern to squeeze her way through, and she was glad no one had thought to fix it yet.

She then made her way towards the river, towards her favorite spot in the world: Dragonstooth Keep.

It wasn’t really a “keep” but a large, hollow camphor tree with an opening that reminded her of a dragon’s mouth. Or at least, what she imagined a dragon’s mouth to look like.

Whenever they had the time, she and her best friend Netia would be there, lost in their own little worlds of fantasy, acting out grand stories of pretend. Netia would be the princess, whereas Fern would play the heroine. And the next day, they’d switch.

But when Netia couldn’t get away from home and Fern was on her own, she liked to decorate the space. She had taken broken things from around the house and her village—a shattered plate, a chair with a missing leg, or whatever no one else felt was worth fixing, and brought it there to mend in her own way.

Fern was not thinking of princesses or mending as she ran, though. Nor did she stop to question why it was so easy to navigate the darkness, the moonlight much brighter than she’d ever seen.

She also didn’t notice the dark drops on the ground leading towards the tree, dismissing the wetness on the soles of her feet as dew.

But she could not ignore the heaving mass of gray fur that took up the middle of her space, bleeding on the mat she had woven herself from straw.

Fern froze as their eyes met, and the wolfkin snapped once with a growl, saliva dripping from its great maw.

She closed her eyes, heart leaping all the way to her throat as she waited for death, finally realizing what she’d done. Which rule she’d broken.

But death didn’t come.

Instead, the great beast, perhaps having decided she was barely a meal, whined softly, its head falling to rest on its paws.

A cold sweat broke across her skin as she remained immobilized by fear, trying to decide what to do.

If she ran, would it chase?

Were there more waiting in the deeper woods?

When the wolfkin moved slightly, the moon illuminated the bite marks along its side.

She stepped closer, next noticing how small it was. Fern’s neighbor had a dog that she’d always thought might be part wolf itself due to its size, but this one was hardly larger than a goat.

Perhaps… perhaps it was young.

The wolfkin had given up its defensive snapping and snarling now, and closed its eyes, as though it wished to be left alone and succumb to its injuries in peace.

But if it was just a pup…