The Wolf’s Daughter

Stepping out into the light of day, Phaedra had to stop and stare for a moment.

It had been well over a hundred years since she’d been here last, at the time she’d been human and there had been all manner of different creatures here.

The homes were practically grown out of the ground, hollowed out trees with simple doors. The staircase she’d come up was hewn into the back of the great cave that covered half of the town, with the other half of the town spreading out past the cave’s walls. A great wall of trees formed a barrier in front of the town, seemingly grown so tightly together they were practically one very long tree.

The homes themselves were thick, but short trees that had been partially hollowed out. They were far less roomy than they would first appear, primarily because so much of the tree still remained, allowing it to live and even grow. Some of the dryads who lived here even had their own personal tree as their home, although most supposedly had grown in the forest below.

The most shocking thing of all was just how little the town had changed. While the thin streets between the homes were now practically empty and a few homes near the wall appeared damaged, nothing seemed to have truly changed. In well over a hundred years, the biggest change really seemed to be that a few of the homes had grown a little.

In fact, she suspected if she tried really hard to remember, she’d be able to identify some of the owners of these homes. Would they have changed at all?

She tried not to think about it. The idea of talking to someone who had barely changed at all in the last hundred years, who she had known, but couldn’t begin to even suspect who she truly was, sent chills down her spine. Instead, she searched the road until she found her target.

Don Quixote was walking towards the wall and Zenodotus was almost upon him.

Phaedra started lightly jogging after them, trying to limit how much she bounced when she ran. As much as she hated to admit it, they weren’t wrong. She was hurt, very hurt. But she could still fight, even with one less arm. She’d been more hurt than this in the past. All she needed was a powerful enough heart and she’d be entirely fine before she knew it. Heck, considering how fearful they were of what was coming, perhaps some of those here would offer their--

THAT idea made her freeze in place and lift her good hand up, covering her mouth. No. NO. She was NOT going to think that, ever. That was a horrible, monstrous, vile thing to think. Devouring the hearts of the people here just to give herself more strength? It was one thing to kill the people who were fighting her, but to kill the helpless and scared?

Was it because she was tired? Hurt? Was it part of being a demon, the urge to recover her power by any means necessary? What would her father have…

Actually, she imagined her father would have told her to do it, anyone should feel honored to be devoured by her, she was the bestest lamb of slaughter, all of that. Ugh. He was definitely not the person she wanted to ask about that.

Besides, what if he didn’t have those urges himself? What if it was just her?

For all the advantages her memories of the past and her body of a demon gave her, it was times like this she loathed having the weaknesses of never being entirely sure which was which.

Or perhaps she was just overthinking it. She really hoped she was overthinking it.

She started walking quickly towards the pair, suppressing the urge to full run.

Phaedra paused for a moment when she saw Zenodotus finally catch up, grab him by the back of his tunic and tug. The goblin didn’t even slow down.

“Come… on…” Zenodotus said through gritted teeth, her little wings fluttering furiously.

“What’s going on?” Phaedra asked.

“None… of your… business…” Zenodotus said.

“Don Quixote?” Phaedra asked. It felt… very strange even saying that. So very, very strange.

“I’m fine,” he said, waving her off as he made his way towards the wall, leaping up onto the steps and then climbing up the ramp so he was overlooking the area outside.

“Stop stop stop!” Zenodotus said, still tugging on his tunic, only to let out a startled yelp when he just leaped off the wall, dragging her along.

Something strange was definitely going on.

Phaedra leaped off the side as well, landing on her hooves and the vibrations giving her a rather firm, vicious reminder that her arm was currently mangled. It took almost all of her force of will to not start screaming and clutching the arm. She swore she saw flashes of white in the corners of her vision and it took a few deep, pained breathes before she could see again properly.

She then noticed that Zenodotus was on the ground, lightly dazed and holding her head. Phaedra blinked before kneeling down and offering a hand. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh… I hate when he does this…” Zenodotus said before shoving the hand away. “I don’t need your help!”

“I never said you did,” Phaedra said. “But I’m still offering it, if that’s okay.”

Zenodotus blinked a few times before sighing, and then reaching out to grip one of her fingers. She pulled the pixie into the air with ease. “… Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with embarrassment.

“So… what’s going on? Didn’t the town just get attacked?” Phaedra asked. “Should he be going out like that?”

“Yes, it did, and no, he shouldn’t,” Zenodotus said, her wings flapping slowly while she watched the goblin walking away. “He’ll be back, he always is. It’s part of his name.”

“How is him running off part of his name?” Phaedra asked, cocking her head to the side. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s part of the name. It gives him a lot of power, in return it does… that,” Zenodotus said. “Every so often he just has to go.”

“Should… we follow him?” Phaedra asked.

“Probably not,” Zenodotus said.

“But what if the harpies find him?” Phaedra asked.

“They’d be having a terrible day,” Zenodotus said. “He’s practically unstoppable like this. If you’d grabbed him, you’d have been dragged away as well.”

Phaedra cocked her head to the side, trying to suppress her confusion. It couldn’t really be THAT bad, could it? “So… at times like this he’s a lot stronger, then?”

“Incredibly,” Zenodotus said. “And before you ask, it’s not a curse. It’s part of the cost. It just means we’ll need to get used to him not being around for a little bit, that’s all. Come on.” She flew up and over the wall. “Can you get up here yourself?”

“Uhhhh…” Phaedra said before glancing down at her arm. “Admittedly… not… well.”

“… I’ll get the gate. Then come on,” Zenodotus said. “You might just get your wish after all. Depending on when the next attack comes, we may need all the bodies we can get.”

“Yayyyy,” Phaedra said with mock enthusiasm. She couldn’t help but glance towards Don Quixote’s disappearing form. She really, really wished she could ask Yroth about it. She’d never heard of any name doing something like that. Was this where the idea of ‘cursed names’ came from? Or was it something else?

------

Phaedra felt a new worry wash over her when she finally saw just how many ‘protectors’ the town had. There weren’t even a dozen dryads. Zenodotus was easily the most senior member of their defensive forces and losing Don Quixote had put a real dent in the forces they had available to fend off whatever came. No wonder all of their energy and power was being focused on forming a barrier, rather than fighting back.

“Where are the rest of their forces?” Phaedra asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “There have to be more than this. There’s no way that… err…” They didn’t even look offended. Most of the dryads here barely even shrugged.

“Houdini,” Zenodotus said. “Most of them were captured in the first few attacks, before they even realized what was happening. By the time we got here, well…” She gestured towards the defenders. “Melas has seen more action than them.”

“And how many have been lost since coming here?” Phaedra asked.

“That’s not important,” Zenodotus said. “Until help arrives, we just need to keep holding out. That means the barrier. Until Don Quixote gets back, well…”

“Well?” Phaedra asked.

“Until he gets back, we’re just going to have to try and make it work,” Zenodotus said. “Can you do any magic?”

“It’s kind of what I’m best at,” Phaedra said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.

“Oh, good,” Zenodotus said. “Well, in that case, you can help us on the wall.”

“But you said—”

“It’s dangerous,” Zenodotus said. “If you want to try and get caught, that’s where you’re most likely going to have it happen. And if you want to try and get yourself killed doing it, then that’s where you’ll need to go to do it. However, there’s one thing I want you to keep in mind. We don’t have defenders, we don’t have fighters. We have a wall that requires all of us to try and maintain, even when they try to break it down. We could use your help on maintaining the wall. And if you get caught? You’d best make sure that you can do whatever it is you want to do. Because we could really, really use your help right now. And you could do a lot more to help us with that wall, than getting yourself killed doing… whatever stupid thing you’re intending to do.”

Phaedra opened her mouth to object, but stifled it quickly. The fact Zenodotus was leading this discussion at all, rather than any of the dryads who lived in this town, told her a lot. In fact two of their already meager forces had gotten up and left in the middle of it. They didn’t have warriors or fighters, they likely didn’t even have hunters now. They just had bodies and some people who could use some magic. If she could stop the harpies by herself, then that’d be great. But if she failed, she’d have just ended up causing them more problems and using up more of their resources.

She wondered if this was why it had been Melas and Zenodotus who’d come to save her once she’d triggered the alert in the woods. Had they not been able to spare anyone else, or had those two been the only ones who could?

“I’ll do what I can to help with the wall,” Phaedra said softly. “But… if I’m going to be using a bunch of magic, I’m going to need something to eat.”

“Again?” Zenodotus asked. “Are all sheep this ravenous?”

“Only when we’re wounded,” Phaedra said. “Just be grateful, some demons can eat as much as a small army, when they’re hurt enough. My father used to…” She trailed off, before shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Zenodotus stared at her for a moment before nodding. “I understand. Food, at least, is something we have in heavy supply.”

“Yeah, dryads have the greenest thumb of green thumbs,” Phaedra said.

The joke was met with a few confused stares.

“I… I guess? Some of them do?” Zenodotus said. “I’m not sure what that has to do with food.”

“It… it’s nothing,” Phaedra said.

“Some of them have brown thumbs, some have yellow thumbs,” Zenodotus said.

“Please, just forget I said anything,” Phaedra said.

“You have a black thumb,” Zenodotus said.

“I’m sorry, please stop,” Phaedra said.

“My thumbs are red,” Zenodotus said.

“Please, please, please stop,” Phaedra said.

“Melas—”

Phaedra just got to her hooves and walked off, shaking her head. She really needed to stop making jokes from her world, they really didn’t seem to work. Especially in situations like this. She was just going to watch the wall.

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