The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) by Christine Pope Page A
Authors: Christine Pope
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chicken and potatoes, an apple, a cup of warm cider. More than I would have gotten at home, most likely, where we would have been keeping a careful watch on what we consumed so as not to run out.
I wondered where the castle’s chicken coop was located. Out in the courtyard somewhere seemed the most logical placement, but I knew that, even protected by a coop, chickens would never be able to survive such a ferocious storm. Had the animals been brought inside so they might be housed safely within the castle’s walls?
That question brought an image of the scar-faced man-at-arms and his compatriots having to dodge a flock of cranky chickens wandering around their quarters, and I smiled, then took a healthy swallow of the warm spiced cider Master Merryk had provided. That cider did help to improve my mood, and I told myself that worrying would certainly not change anything, except possibly to keep me from sleeping as well as I might.
But perhaps it was because I had gotten rather more exercise that day than I normally did…or because after I had gotten myself ready to sleep, I took the history book with me into bed, thinking I would read a few more pages before I slipped into slumber…I did slide away into oblivion without even noticing, darkness enveloping me as my head fell against the pillows and the book dropped down onto the covers.
I had not dreamt much since coming to Harrow Hall, or at least, I did not recall anything of what I dreamed. That night, though, almost as soon as I shut my eyes, I found myself standing on a great white expanse, snow stretching pure and untouched in every direction, as if I had been dropped there rather than walking to reach my current position. I could see no sun overhead, but neither was the day cloudy. Instead, the sky was a vast expanse of smooth, uniform grey, as featureless as the snowy landscape on which I stood.
A great cloak of white fur covered me to my chin, and I felt nothing of the cold, although a brisk wind blew, pulling my hair free from the knot at the back of my head and whipping the loose strands around my face. I began to move forward, and realized I had a pair of snowshoes strapped to my feet, allowing me to move smoothly across the snowy ground. In my dream, I smiled, happy to be moving forward, even though I truly did not know where I was going. After all, I could see nothing around me, only what seemed to be miles of open land.
Out of the corner of my eye, however, I thought I glimpsed several dark shapes. I stopped and looked back over my shoulder, and the breath caught in my throat. They were moving swiftly, galloping over the snow as if it did not slow them down at all. As they came closer, I realized the shapes were three great grey wolves, all apparently intent on running me down.
At once I began to surge forward as quickly as I could. One of the snowshoes caught the edge of my heavy, dragging cloak, and impatiently I threw off the garment, even though in real life I would never have done something so foolish. Underneath the cloak, I wore the blue and silver gown that hung in my wardrobe, the one I had not yet been brave enough to wear in real life. Now it flowed behind me, its hem becoming increasingly heavy with snow and wet.
Although my dream-self moved far more swiftly than I would have been able to manage in the waking world, still the gap between the wolves and me closed with frightening speed. Eyes watering with fear, I kept going, and wouldn’t allow myself to look back yet another time, for doing so would only slow me down.
My hoarse breaths sounded loud as thunder. I pushed forward, knowing that to do anything else would end in certain death. But still the wolves grew closer. Now I could hear them panting, hear their padding footfalls against the powdery surface of the snow.
And then they were there, catching the hem of my dress in their teeth, so that I stumbled and fell face first into the snow. I pulled myself along, bare fingers digging
I wondered where the castle’s chicken coop was located. Out in the courtyard somewhere seemed the most logical placement, but I knew that, even protected by a coop, chickens would never be able to survive such a ferocious storm. Had the animals been brought inside so they might be housed safely within the castle’s walls?
That question brought an image of the scar-faced man-at-arms and his compatriots having to dodge a flock of cranky chickens wandering around their quarters, and I smiled, then took a healthy swallow of the warm spiced cider Master Merryk had provided. That cider did help to improve my mood, and I told myself that worrying would certainly not change anything, except possibly to keep me from sleeping as well as I might.
But perhaps it was because I had gotten rather more exercise that day than I normally did…or because after I had gotten myself ready to sleep, I took the history book with me into bed, thinking I would read a few more pages before I slipped into slumber…I did slide away into oblivion without even noticing, darkness enveloping me as my head fell against the pillows and the book dropped down onto the covers.
I had not dreamt much since coming to Harrow Hall, or at least, I did not recall anything of what I dreamed. That night, though, almost as soon as I shut my eyes, I found myself standing on a great white expanse, snow stretching pure and untouched in every direction, as if I had been dropped there rather than walking to reach my current position. I could see no sun overhead, but neither was the day cloudy. Instead, the sky was a vast expanse of smooth, uniform grey, as featureless as the snowy landscape on which I stood.
A great cloak of white fur covered me to my chin, and I felt nothing of the cold, although a brisk wind blew, pulling my hair free from the knot at the back of my head and whipping the loose strands around my face. I began to move forward, and realized I had a pair of snowshoes strapped to my feet, allowing me to move smoothly across the snowy ground. In my dream, I smiled, happy to be moving forward, even though I truly did not know where I was going. After all, I could see nothing around me, only what seemed to be miles of open land.
Out of the corner of my eye, however, I thought I glimpsed several dark shapes. I stopped and looked back over my shoulder, and the breath caught in my throat. They were moving swiftly, galloping over the snow as if it did not slow them down at all. As they came closer, I realized the shapes were three great grey wolves, all apparently intent on running me down.
At once I began to surge forward as quickly as I could. One of the snowshoes caught the edge of my heavy, dragging cloak, and impatiently I threw off the garment, even though in real life I would never have done something so foolish. Underneath the cloak, I wore the blue and silver gown that hung in my wardrobe, the one I had not yet been brave enough to wear in real life. Now it flowed behind me, its hem becoming increasingly heavy with snow and wet.
Although my dream-self moved far more swiftly than I would have been able to manage in the waking world, still the gap between the wolves and me closed with frightening speed. Eyes watering with fear, I kept going, and wouldn’t allow myself to look back yet another time, for doing so would only slow me down.
My hoarse breaths sounded loud as thunder. I pushed forward, knowing that to do anything else would end in certain death. But still the wolves grew closer. Now I could hear them panting, hear their padding footfalls against the powdery surface of the snow.
And then they were there, catching the hem of my dress in their teeth, so that I stumbled and fell face first into the snow. I pulled myself along, bare fingers digging
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