Of Wings and Wolves

Of Wings and Wolves - By SM Reine

prologue


Gwyneth Gresham stood in the doorway of the new world with an infant cradled in each arm. She had expected something monumental to mark her passage into an entirely different universe—choirs and trumpets, maybe, or some kind of alarm bells. But she was only greeted by an empty cave with a note written on the wall in chalk. It read, The nearest town is ten miles north. Follow the rising sun. Ask for me at the book shop.

She turned back to see where she had come from and found nothing but smooth wall. The door was gone. The babies’ mother was on the other side, just two steps away, yet utterly unreachable.

Gwyn’s heart gave a nauseous flip-flop, and she hugged the twins tighter. The boy squirmed. “It’s okay,” she whispered. It was only the first of a thousand lies she would have to tell, now that she was in the Haven.

She climbed the tunnel leading to the surface and stood on the brink of a wide wilderness. The trees sparkled with autumn, a cool breeze promised winter, and the ground was carpeted with rotting leaves. It might have looked like home if she hadn’t left behind a rainy spring evening on the other side of that door.

Ten miles, the note said. Heck of a walk.

Gwyn took off her shawl, wrapped it like a sling, and slid her grandniece into the side. The boy remained against her shoulder. One free arm would have to be good enough.

The girl sought out a breast and mewled in protest when she only found shirt. “Don’t fuss, babe. Your mama will be back soon,” Gwyn promised.

She glanced down the tunnel one more time, but it was empty.

Gwyn began to walk. The babies slept.

Their mother never followed.