Free Night of the Wolf by Alice Borchardt

red to humans, a blood red to the wolf.
    “We should keep that one for ourselves,” Des added. “Maybe hang it with the rest on the wall in here.”
    Indeed, the wolf noticed the small dwelling’s walls were decorated with brightly colored tapestries. They picked up the firelight and threw it back in glowing colors.
    Kat snapped at both of them. “What are you talking about, saving the damned thing for a decoration? We need every sesterce we can raise. You know those Romans will come wanting tribute again and that old fool, Mir, will have to pay them. What’s wrong with you? Imona, playing about for three days with that stupid loom, trying to warp it properly. Who cares any longer for the fancy stuff your mother taught you to weave? Make simple, sturdy cloth. It sells!”
    Both Imona and Des cringed back at the fury in her voice. Even the old woman shuddered and tried to huddle into a smaller shape at her daughter’s fury. Only Leon seemed unaffected by his sister’s tirade. He continued eating, eyes fixed on the middle distance, and ignored her.
    Des cleared his throat and tried to smile at Kat. “Beloved, even if we must sell it, fine weavings bring a better price than—”
    “A better price, a better price,” Kat replied, snarling. “Who, I ask you, has the money for luxuries now?”
    “Even so,” Imona spoke up hesitantly in her own defense, “it’s a valuable skill I have. Kat, at the next fair I might be able to attract a few pupils . . . They’d pay . . .”
    “Pay . . . pay . . . You talk about payment. How will you ever pay this household for what you’ve taken from us? All the cattle we sent to your father for you . . . and you never able to make a man-child. Two mewling girls . . . and all Leon got from the match when he went to help that brother of yours against the Romans was—”
    Then Kat screamed as Leon, who hadn’t even seemed to be listening, backhanded her hard across the face with his only good hand—the left one.
    Leon stood over his sister for a moment, then quietly, viciously spat on her prone, sobbing body. He turned, went through the door, and vanished into the evening’s gloom.
    Horrified, Imona hurried to a pitcher and wet a clean linen cloth. Kat sat up, sobbing. She pushed Imona away as the blond woman tried to press the cold cloth to her bleeding nose.
    “You,” she sobbed, “it’s all your fault. He wouldn’t have lost his hand if he hadn’t married you and gone to help that worthless brother of yours.” Then she turned to her husband. “You’re no man. You won’t even defend your own wife—”
    “Hush,” Imona crooned, and pressed the cloth to her sister-in-law’s nose.
    “By all that’s holy, Kat,” Des cried, “I can’t see that this is anyone’s fault. Imona didn’t cut off Leon’s hand, Caesar did, and no one poked a spear in Leon’s back and forced him to join in the revolt. He volunteered, hoping to get glory and loot. Well, he failed. As for the children, no one can predict how the dice will fall in that direction. As far as I can see, we’re all doing our best, and your screaming and clawing at us only makes things worse.”
    Imona tilted Kat’s head back to stop the bleeding.
    The wolf eased away from the house wall.
Well, wolves have their quarrels, also,
he thought,
but not so bitter and long lasting.
    He watched Leon wander through the fields surrounding the house and away into the trees. The dark forest wasn’t safe, not because of Maeniel’s people—the wolves—but because it was also the haunt of bear, lynx, and most savage of all, wild boar. Head up, ears erect, the gray wolf watched him depart.
He should be more careful, but then nothing will bother him,
he thought.
He carries an odor of the grave with him. I wouldn’t bother him, so why should any other?
    Far away, the pack rose and began their evening song. A silver glow from the rising moon crowned the snow-capped peaks. The voices recalled him to his