The Hunter and the Brightest Star

The Hunter and the Brightest Star

By Duston L. Justice

         Long ago, when prayers were still answered, there lived a poor son of a shepherd who sought the favor of a wealthy merchant's eldest daughter. She was very beautiful but haughty and proud. She would not deign herself to be courted by his like, and she mocked him at his every attempt to woo her. Nevertheless, he was persistent and determined to someday make her his wife.
         While the merchant's eldest daughter offered nothing but ridicule, the youngest daughter loved him with all her heart. However, she was not yet of marrying age, and so the young man ignored her. Nevertheless, she knew that someday she would be a woman and he would notice her and make her his wife.
         Now, there was a wandering hunter who often traded with the wealthy merchant and wintered in the village inn. The shepherd's son came to him while he was in town and said, "Greetings, sir hunter, I am the son of a shepherd, but my father is poor. I want more for myself, and I think I would make a great hunter. Would you teach me?"
         The hunter looked the boy over, and thought to himself that he looked more sheep than shepherd and certainly no wolf. Despite this, he saw no harm in teaching him the ways of the woodlands, and besides, he was quite lonely in his wanderings. So, he took the young man on as an apprentice.
         The young apprentice learned slowly but was very determined, and he worked hard to make up for his shortcomings. Eventually the time drew near when he would be tested and would lead the way on a hunt with the wandering hunter accompanying only to observe and protect him should there be danger. He came to the proud daughter of the merchant to boast and said where many could see and hear, "Tomorrow I will be a master of the woodlands, for I will slay a fearsome wolf and cut out its tongue for a trophy!"
         "May as well make it a bear! It makes no difference to me, for you will still be a boy and the son of a lowly shepherd," said she, laughing as she waved him away.
         At this the would-be hunter became angry, and cried, "You shall see! I will go alone, and when I return with the body of the dreadful beast, even the daughter of a peasant who just so happened to find fortune and a heavy purse will count herself cheated when I find another to make my wife!"
         The eldest daughter, with her back to him, continued walking and laughing, and those who could see and hear laughed as well. The youngest daughter was nearby watching this and she ran to the young man, clasped his hand and said, "Be you hunter or shepherd, I will gladly be your wife."
         This made him even more angry, for it made him feel even further from manhood when only a young girl would consider him for a husband. He looked down directly into her eyes, snatched his hand away, and walked away to escape his shame. Tears welled in the youngest daughter's eyes, and she ran home, her teardrops falling like rain.
         The young man came to the wandering hunter and said, "Tomorrow, I wish to go into the forest alone. I have learned well and wish to prove it."
         "Indeed you have learned very well and have grown stronger and more agile too, but it is not safe even for an experienced hunter to go alone in the woods," said the wanderer.
         "I have my bow, my long knife, my hatchet, and my cunning. What more than these things have you had with you in all of your wanderings?"
         "I have much experience and little to lose. You are young, have much to lose, and have little experience. Moreover, should anything happen to you I will have your father to answer to, and I should like to keep him as a friend," replied the hunter.
         "If you go with me I will have proven nothing and will simply be a boy who can hunt with no woman to make my wife," said the young man.
         At this the hunter hung his head and at last consented. Secretly, he planned to follow the boy on this hunt. So, they parted ways and the wandering hunter returned to his room at the inn.
         At dawn the next morning, the young apprentice left off towards the forest. He did not trust that the good hunter would truly leave him to do this alone, and he was looking over his shoulder the entire way there, but he could never see any trace that he was being watched or followed.
         He reached the edge of the wood, and he still could not see any trace of his master. He became glad that he would have this chance to win the heart of the object of his affection. After some time, he came upon the trail of a deer. He had no interest in killing a deer, but he knew that where he tracked his prey predators might also be onto the same trail, and so he followed the tracks.
         It did not take long for him to find traces of the wolves. By the tracks there were only two and not an entire pack. Both sets of tracks indicated that the wolves were exceedingly large. This pleased the young apprentice, and he continued on the trail.
         After some time he espied the site of the wolves' kill in a small clearing surrounded by linden trees. They had indeed brought down a small deer. However, he could only see one wolf, which seemed to be keeping watch over the carcass. The wolf was not quite so large as he had anticipated, but it was no runt either. Cautiously he approached, looking out for the other wolf, but he still did not see it.
         He could not believe his good luck, and, in his excitement, he threw caution to the wind, nocked his arrow, and fired. His aim was true, and he pierced the wolf through the eye, killing it instantly. He ran to the body of the dead beast, and noticed a cub beside it. A cuckoo perched upon a linden branch watched as he killed the cub and cut out both of the animals' tongues. The cub he tossed aside, planning to lie and say he did indeed kill two wolves, but could only carry one back with him. As he prepared to leave with his kill, he did not notice the other wolf approaching. While he daydreamed of how the eldest daughter would react to his valiant half-truth, he did not hear the she-wolf growling. As he unstrung his bow and sheathed his long knife, he did not see the mother of the cub he had killed leap into the air until it was almost too late.
         The young hunter turned just in time to put his arm in front of his face as the massive jaws locked on his forearm. What he saw was the largest wolf he had ever seen or heard of in tales. In his terror, he could have sworn that the eyes burned him to his very soul, and gleamed with something more than the eyes of a dumb beast.
         He reached for his long knife, but the she-wolf pushed forward and bore down on him with all her weight, stomping and raking at his guts with her hind-feet. He could feel the fangs sinking deeper into his forearm, could feel the bone beginning to crack, and he knew he would soon be dead.
         Suddenly, a club struck the she-wolf behind her head and she let go. The young hunter scurried away on all fours and did not even glance in the direction of the wanderer.
         "Run home, boy."
         The young hunter cries, "I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a master hunter now and a man!
         "I saw you needlessly kill the cub from a distance. You are neither hunter nor man. Run home, whelp!"          
         The shamed young hunter turned and ran, and now the wandering hunter faced the great beast alone. She was on her feet again and no longer dazed. They stood facing each other, their gazes locked. The she-wolf made for to run in pursuit of the boy, but the hunter threw down his club, drew his bow, and nocked an arrow with uncanny swiftness. The she-wolf stopped and bared her teeth. The cuckoo remained on the same branch, watching and listening to the ordeal like a judge.
         "Stand aside. You heard the boy. He is a man now. He will answer for himself," said the she-wolf.
         The hunter was shocked to hear a voice that sounded like a human woman come from the throat of the she-wolf. He dropped his guard for a moment and said, "You speak!?"
         "You may fire that arrow before I can be at your throat, but you will not stop me."
         "That may be true, but I cannot let you kill that boy. He is in my charge and I will punish him myself."
         "You will not punish him rightly. His young life and blood must go."
         "This cannot be. What will it take to make this right?"
         "Nothing that I can take from you suits me. I want my husband and daughter.
         "Nothing will bring them back now."
         "True, but the flowing of the boy's blood will quench the fire in my heart and the spirits of my family can rest."
         "For a time it may, but what is lost remains lost."
         "You are stalling my pursuit, and I grow weary of it. Brace yourself for I am coming!"
         The hunter fired his bow, but the arrow only grazed her shoulder, and she came on. The she-wolf went straight for his throat, but the hunter already had his long knife in hand with his arm up and the point ready to have her throat ran upon it. She went round the blade and slashed downward through his thigh. She leapt again, this time intent on disemboweling him, but he slashed her shoulder deep. The she-wolf latched onto the wanderer's forearm, but he kicked her hard in the ribs, knocking the wind out of her.
         As she stopped for a moment to gather her wits, the hunter said, "The boy has had ample time to get away from you. Let this be a stalemate and we shall go our separate ways."
         The she-wolf was silent for a moment. She knew he spoke the truth.
         "Very well. Today I will let him go, but my husband and daughter are dead. I will take the same from him if I can, and then I will take his life."
         "If the gods will it then I cannot stop you, but I will still try. Now, I go to shame the cruel child and make him a shepherd again. He will not go unpunished. Farewell, Mother-wolf."
         She watched him turn his back to her and walk away. She hated him for protecting the murderous fool, but she was glad she and the hunter both lived. He could have killed her with his bow, but he aimed wide at the last moment. She had called his bluff.
         She walked to where her husband lay, nuzzled him, laid down and wept.
         The hunter returned to the village and bound his wounds. He then came to the shepherd and told him that the boy was unfit for hunting and perhaps even shepherding, for he was cruel and thoughtless. The boy said nothing in his defense and the hunter soon left.
         All would have become quiet for a time, but fools do not learn quickly, and vengeance does not easily burn out.

*                    *                    *

         
         The wandering hunter had promised the shepherd not to shame his son before the entire village, despite his promise to the mother wolf. The shepherd would allow the hunter no peace until he agreed to let the thing lie. Nevertheless, the hunter was determined that the boy should not have the opportunity to enter the wood, and either be killed for the cruel and unnecessary death of the wolf and cub, or commit further misdeeds.
         The shepherd's son did not let this setback dissuade him from pursuing the love of the eldest merchant's daughter. While he did have his wounds dressed, he still had clearly been mauled near to death, and many in the village looked at him with newfound respect despite the truth, which no one but the boy, the hunter, and the mother wolf knew.
         He came to the eldest daughter, and when she saw him even she seemed to be impressed.
         "I have killed two great wolves and am now a master hunter and a man. I come to give you one last chance to accept my proposal, for there are others who would have me," said the shepherd's son.
         The youngest daughter looked on from within earshot with hope in her heart that her sister would remain proud.
         "It looks as though the wolves nearly had you instead. Could it be that you were attacked and the wanderer saved you?" said the proud daughter.
         "I had gone alone, and if he had made the kills himself, would I have the trophies?"
         The shepherd's son then presented to her the tongues of the father wolf and the cub. She found herself becoming enkindled. She had had many suitors of varying wealth, but none had been killers. She thought of the blood on the long knife and felt warmth and a need to stand where the spirits had left the slain.
         "I see that you speak true. When will you go to hunt again?"
         Stammering, he said, "I-I go now, but before I go I would like your answer."
         "I would be glad to give you an answer if you will but take me with you today."
         The young daughter bowed her head. She knew all was lost now. Her sister must finally see what she has seen all along.
         "Of course you may come with me. It is dangerous, but you will be safe with me!"
         The youth did not think of what might be awaiting him in the forest. If he had he might not have been quite so certain that he could protect her. All he knew was she might say yes and finally wanted to walk beside him. The wandering hunter saw them make for the forest and was angered to see the bow, long knife, and hatchet carried by the shepherd's son.
         They soon came to the forest and neither of them saw the she-wolf watching them from the thicket. She let them continue walking and followed from a distance.
         "Take me to where you killed the wolves," said the girl.
         The she-wolf had to stifle her growl, but she still bared her fangs in silence and continued to watch and listen.
         The youth was reluctant to agree for he knew the hunter had not taken the bodies of the wolf, the cub, or the deer, since he considered their flesh tainted by the shameful deed. The boy had killed not for food, survival, or for hide for winter-warmth, but for recognition and glory.
         "Of course, it is this way," said he.
         He intended to take her near to the kill site, but should he espy the carcasses from afar, would lead her away and claim some other place was where he had earned his trophies.
         The she-wolf followed. Having been cheated of her blood-vengeance in the heat of her passion, she had had time to dwell on it. She had dragged away the bodies of her husband and daughter, and hid them in the undergrowth so their bodies may not be molested further. She ate despite her sorrow, and buried what was left of the deer.
         She could have simply killed the boy, but now she thought that was too kind an end. This girl he had brought with him may be his young wife. She would watch and wait. When the time was right she would kill them both, but she would kill the girl first, so he could know that she had taken from him what he had taken from her. If there could be a child, she would kill it as well. She licked her muzzle at the thought.
         The boy and the merchant's daughter came near the kill site at last. He could not see the carcasses of the slain animals and so took her directly to the small clearing in the linden tree grove. All that remained was the stain of blood. This aroused the merchant's daughter anew and the shepherd's son could see it on her face.
         She began kissing him as the cuckoo watched on the same branch as before. As they lay together upon the heather, the she-wolf too watched them, and saw the redness about the mouth of the merchant's daughter, and thought of the time to come. The flowers were crushed and the grass was down-pressed before their passion quieted and they lay in silent embrace.
         "Do you see that little bird? Surely he won't tell and shame me," laughed the merchant's daughter.
         "No, I doubt he'd say a word," said the youth, "Does this mean you will be my wife?"
         "First, I will need something for our wedding. You must buy me a silver gown. Until I have it we shall not tell anyone of any wedding plans."
         The youth was disappointed, but was glad that he would have her to wife. He did not know how he could afford a gown of silver, but he would worry about this later.
         "Very well, I will go and buy you a silver gown."
         They made their way back to the village, and as soon as the youth had taken the merchant's daughter home, he turned and there was the wandering hunter.
         "Have you been hunting?" said the hunter.
         "No, I was only walking in the woods with she who I seek to wife."
         "I do not want to see you in the woods again. Do you hear?"
         "I'm a hunter now and am no longer apprenticed to you. I will do as I wish."
         The wanderer gave the youth the back of his hand. He fell down, whimpering.
         "I taught you better than your deeds would indicate. You killed a wolf cub to bed a woman who would not feed you gruel if you were starving. I taught you when and how to kill and you showed no respect for my lessons or for life, and so you will hunt in my woods no more."
         "How am I to make money to buy my bride's silver gown? I am no shepherd and have no other skills! What is your answer to that, True-heart!?" said the youth, mockingly.
         "I care not. A fool who chooses to insult a man for a heart that is true deserves no wife and no livelihood. You and I are done. Stay out of my woods, or I will shame you before the merchant's daughter, promise or no."
         The youngest daughter had been watching, and, as the wanderer walked away, she made her decision. She walked out the door and knelt beside the youth.
         "Do not worry about the hunter. You can do as he says and still have the silver gown."
         "How? I cannot even earn my own bread."
         "Stay here a moment. I will be back very soon," said the youngest daughter.
         She went into her father's house, packed provisions, and fetched her horse from the stables. She returned to where she had left the foolish youth, and had him get on the horse.
         "Travel through the forest to the city by the sea. My father often brought me there when he would trade. There you can find work and soon have the silver gown," said the young girl.
         "Why are you doing this for me?"
         "Because I love you and if it will please you to marry my sister I will help you find happiness."
         The youth smiled and reached for her and seated her behind him in the saddle.
         "I will need a guide, won't I? I have never been to the city by the sea."
         They rode away together under cover of night, but they soon grew weary and made camp in the forest. The young girl slept, and the youth saw that she was very beautiful. He watched over her for several hours, until she awoke so that he may sleep and she could watch.
         As the youth slept, an old woman wandered towards her and stumbled and fell beside the fire. The youth slept on, but the young girl ran to her side to help her.
         "Thank you, my child. I am lost and I am starving. Do you have anything to eat that you might spare? If I could just have some food I would ask for nothing more until my dying day!"
         The young girl had brought plenty and was glad to share some of it. She let the woman eat all that she would, but the woman ate and ate, until all their provisions were gone. The young girl said nothing, however, and was glad she could help the poor woman.
         The woman sat down and said, "Where are you both going? Have you not heard that this forest is enchanted?"
         "We are going to the city by the sea. I am guiding my sister's future husband so that he might find work and buy a silver gown for their wedding."
         "This place is dangerous. I will watch out for you both until morning. I am old and seldom sleep. Go on and rest and I will wake you in the morning," said the old woman.
         The young girl did so, and in the morning the old woman was gone. The young girl awoke first, only to find a silver gown hanging from the branch of a nearby linden tree, whereupon a cuckoo was perched! She shook the youth awake, showed him the gown, and he leapt for joy. The girl told him all that had happened last night, and they returned to the village.
         The youth returned to the eldest daughter and presented the silver gown.
         "I have your silver gown. We can become husband and wife now," said he.
         She did not at all expect him to return so soon with the silver gown, and was not at all ready to be a wife. She had to think of something fast, and she soon had it.
         "You would not have me at my wedding with a silver gown and common shoes like those I now wear, would you? You must go and bring me silver shoes."
         The youth's heart sank, but he agreed. That evening the youngest daughter came to the youth again and had him wait for her. She went to the kitchen, but the cupboard was locked, for her father had been shocked and worried when he had found her gone, for she was his favorite, and he hoped to prevent her leaving again.
         She was worried about what they would do for food, so she gathered some fine porcelain dishes to sell, packed them so they would not break, fetched her horse from the stables, and rode away with the youth.
         They soon grew weary, and stopped in the forest to rest. While the young girl slept, he noticed once more that she was very beautiful, and not quite so young as he thought, as quite some time had passed while he was the hunter's apprentice. As before, the young girl awoke and watched so the youth could sleep. This time an old man came stumbling into their camp and fell beside the fire. She ran to his side to help him.
         "Thank you, my child. I am lost and I am starving. Do you have any food to spare?" said the old man.
         "Would that I did, you could surely have eaten your fill, but I could not make away with any, and only managed to take some porcelain dishes. I had hoped to sell them and buy food when we could."
         "May I see them?" said the old man.
         "Of course," said the young girl, although she could not understand the use in this.
         She laid the dishes out and the old man said, "If these plates were filled with good things to eat, I would ask for nothing more until my dying day!"
         Miraculously, no sooner had the young girl blinked, that food appeared on all of the dishes. The old man ate his fill, which was a considerable amount, and the young girl ate what she wanted and stored some in their pack.
         "What wonderful dishes these are! May I take a few of them with me so that I shall never go hungry?" said the old man.
         The young girl had no problem with this, but wondered how her father had come into the possession of the magical dishes, and wondered too why she had never seen them used in this way before.
         "Yes, you may take as many as you like," said she.
         The old man took every last dish. The girl said nothing. She had brought them to buy food, and they now had plenty in the pack.
         The old man made himself comfortable and said, "Where are you both going? Have you not heard that this forest is enchanted?"
         "We are going to the city by the sea. I am guiding my sister's future husband so that he might find work and buy silver shoes for their wedding."
         "This place is dangerous. I will watch out for you both until morning. I am old and seldom sleep. Go on and rest and I will wake you in the morning," said the old man.
         The young girl did so, and, when she awoke, she saw silver shoes bound together with silver string hanging from the branch of a linden tree, whereupon a cuckoo was perched. She shook the youth awake, showed him the shoes, and he was glad. The girl told all that had happened last night, and they returned to the village.
         The youth returned to the eldest daughter and presented the silver shoes.
         "I have your silver shoes. We can become husband and wife now," said the youth.
         She did not at all expect him to return so soon with the silver shoes, and was not at all ready to be a wife. She had to think of something fast, and she soon had it.
         "You have forgotten one last thing. I cannot be a wife without a golden ring," said she.
         The youth expected this, but he was turned away to seek out what she demanded for a third time. That evening, the youngest daughter came to the youth again, and had him wait for her. She did not need to go to the cupboard, for she still had a full pack of food from the enchanted dishes. However, the stable was locked, and they would have to go on foot.
         Nevertheless, they made their way along the forest path and soon became weary and stopped to rest. Without a horse they had not made it quite so far as before. They had come to a small clearing in a linden tree grove.
         As the youngest daughter slept, the youth once again beheld her beauty. She was now of age to be married, he had learned, and he found himself hoping they would never find a golden ring, unless, when they did, he could give it to her instead. When he came to wake her, she sat up and looked into his eyes. He placed his hand on her cheek and tenderly kissed her.
         As they lay together upon the heather, two cuckoos watched them. Their passion did not quiet for many moments. When it at last abated, they lay in silent embrace.
         "Do you see the little birds? Surely they won't tell and shame me," said the young merchant's daughter.
         "No, I doubt they'll say a word," said the youth, "Besides, you've nothing to be ashamed of."
         The youth wanted to ask her to be his wife, but he had already asked her sister, and knew not what to do. The young girl wanted to ask him if he would keep her, but she knew he had asked her sister, and she also knew not what to do.
         The youth went to sleep, and the girl again got up for her turn to watch while he slept. Soon, both the old man and the old woman she had met on the previous nights stumbled into the camp.
         "We were just out for an evening walk in our sleeplessness and hoped it was you we would find," said the old man.
         "You are not far from our home, but it is still dangerous in this forest. Why have you come back?" said the old woman.
         "We are going to the city by the sea. I am guiding my sister's future husband," said the young girl, the words catching in her throat,
"So that he might find work and buy a golden ring for their wedding."
         The young girl could no longer hold back her tears, and she wept as quietly as she could.
         "Whatever is the matter, child?" said the old man.
         "I love him, and I want him to marry me instead, but he already asked my sister, and she said yes. I hoped we would never get a golden ring, but I want my sweet shepherd to be happy," she replied.
         The old couple looked at one another, and the old woman said, "My sweet child, you have been so very kind to us, take my wedding ring. It is pure gold. You may do with it as you wish, but I think you should know a thing or two first."
         "What do you mean?" said the youngest daughter.
         "I happen to know that your sister did not truly say yes when he asked for her hand," said the old man.
         "How do you know this?" said the young girl.
         The old couple glanced at each other knowingly, and the old woman said, "A little bird told me."
         "Aye, and it also told me that he now loves you instead, and you now carry with you the fruit of your love," said the old man.
         The young woman wanted this to be true more than anything she could imagine, but she soon became sorrowful again, because she knew that the youth took her sister's answer and demands for the silver gown, silver shoes, and golden ring as acceptance of his proposal.
         "Thank you both very much," said the young woman, and she offered them food, but they turned her down and said goodbye.
         The young woman sat up until dawn. She awoke the youth, showed him the golden ring, and told him what happened during the night. His face was downcast, but he smiled at her, and took the golden ring. As they prepared to leave, the young girl noticed the stain of blood on the grass where they had lain together. She was deeply troubled, and knew not what this could mean.
         They returned to the village, but, without a horse, they did not arrive until dusk, and the merchant's eldest daughter was gone. The young woman took the golden ring, and offered to call for the youth when her sister returned.
         The young woman went out into the village to search for her, and found her at the inn with a young man she had never seen before. He looked like someone of great wealth. She called her sister aside and told her that the shepherd's son had the golden ring and would come calling soon. The eldest daughter was deeply troubled. She excused herself from the fine young gentlemen, and returned home with her sister, not knowing what to else do but to soon be the wife of a lowly shepherd's son.
         The youngest daughter gathered the silver gown, silver shoes, and golden ring while her sister resigned herself to her fate in her own bedroom. The youngest daughter took the silver gown, silver shoes, and golden ring, put them on, and stood in front of a great mirror and pretended that it was she who would marry her sweet shepherd.
         As she danced in the front of the mirror smiling and laughing, the youth passed by her window and saw her. He much preferred her to be in the silver gown, silver shoes, and golden ring. He decided he had to marry her instead.
         So, he came to the merchant's home and greeted her father.
         "Sir, I have come to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage," said the youth.
         "Truly!? Why, my eldest left here earlier this evening with a fine young gentleman who had asked me the same thing, but, since I did not know him, I told him I had to think about it," said the merchant.
         The youth thought he would feel anger, but found he could not come up with any.
         "No, sir, not the eldest daughter. I know your other daughter only quite recently reached marrying age, but I love her and want her very much to be my wife."
         The merchant also thought he would feel anger when he learned where the young woman had been running away to at night, but found he could not come up with any. All he could do is smile, because he knew his favorite daughter wanted this more than anything else she could imagine.
         Now, the youngest daughter had heard the knock at the door, and had listened to the entire conversation. The eldest daughter was listening too, but, as soon as she heard her father refer to the eldest daughter, she ran back to her room and slammed the door, and so did not hear the rest of the conversation.
         The youngest daughter leapt for joy and ran to her room as well. She laid in bed and dreamt of what lay ahead until she was fast asleep.

*                    *                    *

         The next morning, the merchant's daughter awoke at dawn. She packed up the silver gown, the silver shoes, and put on the golden ring and made for the forest. Only the wandering hunter saw her go.
         She soon came to the familiar clearing near the linden grove, and saw the cuckoo perched upon the branch. She sat down to rest for a bit before continuing on. She did not notice the she-wolf approaching. While she thought of things to come, she did not hear the she-wolf growling. As she looked at the golden ring on her finger, dread gripped her, and she turned to face the great she-wolf. She became frozen in terror at the sight of it.
         The she-wolf bared her fangs, but did not leap or charge. She was savoring this moment. She had watched and waited and now at long last was the time for her vengeance.
         "Greetings, young lady," said the she-wolf.
         Trembling, the merchant's daughter said, "You speak!?"
         "Indeed, and also have jaws that bite," said the she-wolf.
         "Please, dear wolf, bite me not. In my pack I have a silver gown that I will give to you."
         "A silver gown suits me not. Your young life and blood must go."
         "Please, I beg of you, dear wolf, bite me not. In my pack I also have some silver shoes that I will give to you."
         "Silver shoes suit me not. Your young life and blood must go."
         "Please, I beseech you, dear wolf, bite me not. On my finger I have a golden ring that I will give to you."
         "A golden ring suits me not. Your young life and blood must go."
         The she-wolf took a step forward and made to leap for her throat. The merchant's daughter threw up her hands and said, "Wait!"
         The she-wolf remained still for a moment and felt pity for her.
         "I am sorry, because you had nothing to do with the cause for my sorrow, but my husband and daughter had nothing to do with any wrong done to that murderous wretch. For what he has done, and because you would be his wife and carry the fruit of love, your young life and blood must go."
         "How do you know I will be his wife?" said the terrified merchant's daughter.
         "I saw your passion in the clearing by the linden grove myself, where my husband and daughter were slain. In this same place will justice be done."
         "How do you know that I carry the fruit of love?" said the merchant's daughter," becoming almost mad with fear.
         The she-wolf bared her teeth as close to a smile as a wolf could manage and said, "A little bird told me."
         With that the she-wolf leapt for her throat, but the girl fell, causing the wolf to miss. The merchant's daughter scrambled for a nearby tree and started climbing. The she-wolf began tearing up the roots of the tree and before long, it leaned enough so that the she-wolf could climb.
         Back at the village, the youth had come to see his betrothed. The merchant sent for her, but she was not in her room. Strangely, neither was the eldest sister. No one knew where either had gone, but the youth only cared about one of them now, and fearful dread gripped him.
         He asked around town, and the fine young gentleman said he hadn't seen the eldest daughter either, but did see a woman from a distance heading towards the forest that he thought looked like her.
         The youth feared that his love had gone to seek out the old couple in the wood she had told him about. He did not know that she had heard him ask her father for her hand.
         The youth asked to take the horse that his beloved brought him to ride, and he made for the path they had traveled on when they were heading for the city by the sea.
         The horse was small, and still weary from the first two nights, but he pushed him hard and fast. He rode passed the clearing to where they had stopped before, but did not see the uprooted tree.
         When he found no trace of her, he rode back, but the horse fell, having been run to death, and he was thrown onto the ground. When he got up, he saw a bloody arm with the golden ring on the finger.
         He searched about and found the silver gown and silver shoes torn to tatters and stained with blood. Nearby, the she-wolf watched, her mouth red, showing the evidence of her recent passion.
         The youth looked in the she-wolf's direction, enraged at himself and the wolf both, and he knew not who to truly blame, for he had given up on what had driven him to kill for glory, and had hoped this had somehow partly redeemed him.
         The youth drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and said, "Gods comfort me and guide my hand. My beloved is gone and our horse is dead."
         The she-wolf simply stood there. She had her vengeance and she cared no more to live. He would kill her, and she would go to meet her family.
         As he held the bowstring, he heard from his left a man's voice say, "No!"
         This startled him, and he let loose the arrow. The wandering hunter leapt in front of the she-wolf, and the arrow pierced his shoulder, and he fell to the ground. The she-wolf ran to him, and stood over him as if to guard him. The hunter had brought the youngest daughter with him as well, and she ran to her sweet shepherd.
         "I thought it was you killed by the wolf!" said he.
         "No, my love. My sister thought she would be forced to marry you. Early this morning she took the silver gown, silver shoes, and golden ring and ran away. The cupboard and stables were still locked, so she had to go on foot with no food. I heard this, and also heard you had ridden into the forest, so I came to the wandering hunter to help me find you," said the young woman, tears in her eyes.
         "I am sorry for your sister, but I am so very glad it wasn't you. I only just knew I loved you and could not endure losing you."
         The she-wolf stepped forward. She thought she would feel anger for having been cheated true vengeance, for her family's murderer was happy despite what she had done, but she found she could not come up with any.
         A cuckoo flew down and began to speak in the voice of the old woman and said, "Mother Wolf, you did kill a mate of his who was carrying his child, but she was not true and found joy in the death of your family. The boy was young and misguided, but he thought he lost his true love today. He has lived to learn, and I ask that you let this be."
         The wandering hunter stroked the coat of the she-wolf and said, "Be still, Mother Wolf. It's all over, now. You took two lives in exchange for two lives. The linden trees see that this is just. Please, let it be."
         The she-wolf buried her head in his chest and whimpered like a cub, sounding quite like a human woman. He simply held her.
         The youth and the young woman went back to the village to fetch a surgeon to heal the hunter's arrow wound.
         Mother Wolf held her head up, looked into the hunter's eyes and said, "You saved my life, but I don't understand why."
         "Because we are kindred. I too lost someone a long time ago, but there is no vengeance to be had, because she simply disappeared. She may still live, but I fear she must dead."
         "Are you still searching?"
         "As long as my legs will carry me I will not stop searching. What will you do now, Mother Wolf."
         "Please, I am no one's mother anymore. I have a name. My father, who could speak as I do and taught me, called me Brightest Star. If you'll have me, I would go with you and help you find she whom you have lost, for now I am in your debt."
         So, they did, and if they still live they are wandering the dark wood together this very day.
         

The flax is spun,

This tale is done.