The Wolf & the Witch

This is a fairy tale. Oftentimes, in fairy tales, there are wolves and witches. They’re usually represented as terrible villains. But this story is not what you’d expect. Some of the elements are the same, but the way it goes—that is different. It begins like this:

An old woman walked through the forest, unperturbed by its darkness. She was a witch. Though, you wouldn’t know that just from looking at her. The old woman moved slowly as she made her way through the woods. The cool morning air felt pleasant, and the birds in the trees called out greetings to each other. The small woodland creatures scurried about in the underbrush, minding their own business. Whatever business small woodland creatures have, that is.

The old woman smiled at them as she walked, a faint look of amusement on her face. She was stooped with age, hunched over slightly. She leaned on the walking stick in her hand. The other arm was bent. A wicker basket filled with herbs and foraged plants from the forest hanging by its handle on the crook of her elbow.

Her dress was plain and simply made, woven from a coarse material. A faded, red shawl was wrapped around her frail shoulders. Her gray hair was in a tight bun, and her face was aged and weatherworn. There were lines on her skin, yet she wore them with pride and grace.

She shuffled slightly as she picked her way along the forest path, strewn with fallen leaves and branches. From time to time, she paused to nudge a fallen branch out of her path. Then, she gathered her strength and moved on.

These woods were the old woman’s—she owned the land, at least. It had been in her family name for generations. Most folk, aware of the rumors that surrounded the woods—that a witch lived within—kept their distance. This did not bother the old woman. In fact, she was pleased that most folk avoided her woods. However, she was of the mind that a forest couldn’t really belong to anyone. The forest silently agreed.

Apart from the small woodland creatures—who pointedly ignored the old woman—and the birds calling to each other in the trees, the forest was rather quiet. Thus, it came as a complete surprise to the old woman when—BANG! She heard a distant crack of a gunshot in the woods, as well as a pained yelp.

She paused and listened; head tilted to the side curiously. Minutes later, she heard something crashing through the underbrush. Farther down the forest path ahead, a dark creature burst through the foliage, sending leaves and twigs flying in all directions. Then, it took several more staggering steps and collapsed in the middle of the path.

The old woman was understandably startled, and she drew back cautiously. But as the seconds passed and the dark creature did not stir, she moved toward it. As she drew closer, she realized that the dark creature was a large wolf with fur as black as pitch. It lay on its side; its breathing was shallow and rapid.

The old woman showed no fear. She pursed her lips thinly and examined the wolf with a careful eye. There looked to be a wound on its side, dark with blood and wet with matted fur. The old woman tapped her walking stick several times on the forest floor, trying to see if the wolf would stir. No movement.

The old woman sighed and shook her head. Then, she nudged the injured creature with the butt of her walking stick, poking it in its injury. The wolf’s eyes snapped open; it snarled as it was awakened rather rudely, yelping in pain.

Then, something strange happened. There was a flash of light and the wound in the wolf’s side knit itself back together. The flesh closed up, and the skin became whole once more. The wolf blinked in confusion, no longer in pain.

Then, because this is a story, and animals often speak in stories, the wolf spoke up, surprised. “You’re the witch of the woods,” he stated, his voice low and raspy.

The old woman nodded. She was a witch for many reasons—one of them being that many old women in fairy tales are. Either that, or they’re fairy godmothers, and no one had ever asked this particular witch if she’d be interested in such a vocation. She might have even said yes to that sort of thing. But no one had, and so, she remained a witch.

“I am,” she responded, not at all surprised that the wolf had spoken to her, because, again, this is a story. Not to mention that being a witch, she had seen stranger things by far. “And you’re a wolf.”

The wolf climbed to his feet and shook his fur free of crushed leaves and twigs. “Why did you help me?” he asked warily. “Not that I’m not grateful,” he added hastily. “It’s just that witches aren’t exactly known for their kindness or for doing things out of the goodness of their hearts.”

The old woman stared at him for a moment and then laughed out loud. “Know many witches, do you, Mr. Wolf?” she asked wryly.

The wolf shook his head slowly. “No ma’am,” he answered apologetically. “It’s just what I’ve heard in stories, that’s all.”

The old woman leaned on her walking stick and smiled. “We’re often misrepresented in stories—as I’m sure you can understand, being a wolf and all.”

The wolf inclined his head. “Yes, it is rather unfortunate,” he agreed. “People think that just because I’m a wolf, I’ll gobble their children whole.”

The old woman chuckled. “And those same people think that just because I’m a witch, I’ll do the same.” She paused, a sad look on her face. “Because of that, they’ve driven me to live out here in the forest—all for fear of something I’d never even dream of doing. If they weren’t so terrified of me, or if they knew where I lived, they’d hunt me down for being a witch.”

“That’s sort of why I was running through the forest,” the wolf told the old woman. “I was hunting for my breakfast in the woods—a rabbit, mind you, not a child—when all of a sudden, BANG! A hunter shot me, trying to kill me. No reason for it, really, besides being a wolf. I managed to run away, but I should warn you—the hunter may still be after me.”

The old woman frowned and shook her head in disapproval. “I don’t care much for hunters in my woods,” she said thinly. “That will not do.”

She tapped the ground with her walking stick several times firmly, then began moving down the forest path. “You can travel with me if you’d like,” she called over her shoulder. “No harm will come to you.”

The wolf stood there, surprised for a moment, then began to trot alongside her down the path. They traveled in silence for a while. Then, the wolf spoke up hesitantly. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you helping me?”

The old woman was silent for a moment, shuffling slowly along the path. Then, she found her answer.

“Life is hard enough for wolves as is. And it isn’t all that difficult to show others kindness. Is that answer enough for you?”

The wolf thought about it for a while, padding alongside her, and then nodded. “Thank you for saving my life,” he told her.

The old woman smiled. “Of course. It was my pleasure.”

They hadn’t been walking along the forest path for too long when another figure emerged from the forest along the side of the path.

It was a hunter, dressed in furs and skins, with a large beard and a coonskin cap. He held a rifle in his hands as he crept forward. His wild eyes widened when he saw the wolf padding alongside the old woman. The rifle came up as he brought it to bear. The wolf snarled fiercely, hackles raised, teeth showing with his lips curled back in defiance.

“Get back, woman!” The hunter cried in alarm. “That’s a ravenous beast—he’ll devour you!”

The old woman stepped in between the hunter and the wolf, a frown of reproach on her face. She tapped her walking stick on the ground three times, and the rifle in the hunter’s hands went POOF! The rifle turned into three dozen moths that fluttered away.

The hunter yelled out and fell back, horrified. He scrambled backward, trying to put space between himself and the old woman. “You’re, you’re the witch of the woods!” he gasped; his face white with shock.

She simply smiled at him. “Yes, dearie, I am,” she said. “Though it isn’t nice to call people as such—it’s actually quite rude.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips thinly. “Now—I’m feeling in a good mood this morning, so I won’t turn you into anything particularly nasty for trespassing in my woods. You have five seconds to get out of my sight. And if I see you or anyone else in my woods again, well, I won’t be so nice.”

The hunter only needed three seconds. He scrambled to his feet and tore off through the underbrush, not even daring to look back.

The old woman watched him go and let out a little amused chuckle. Shaking her head and still laughing quietly to herself, she turned and began walking down the path again.

After a moment, the wolf followed her. “You wouldn’t have really turned him into something nasty, would you?” he asked curiously.

The old woman laughed. “Of course not. But he didn’t need to know that, now, did he?”

The wolf chuckled as well, which is a hard thing for a wolf to do, but not all that difficult since this is a story. “Still,” the wolf said, “I really am grateful to you. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

The old woman smiled and reached down, scratching the wolf’s ears. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Wolf. You should be safe now. That hunter shouldn’t be a problem for you anymore.”

The wolf hesitated, unsure of whether or not this was simply a gentle attempt on her part to send him on his way. Then, he asked, “Do you have a long way to travel yet?”

The old woman shook her head. “Not long, no. My home isn’t far from here.”

“I can make sure you get home safely, at least,” offered the wolf.

The old woman smiled again. “That’s very kind of you.”

It wasn’t long before the forest path between the trees opened up to a small clearing. In the small clearing sat a cottage built of wood and stone. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and flowers grew close to the cottage walls. This was the old woman’s cottage. It looked cheerful and homey—not at all how one might expect a witch’s cottage to look. But then again, witches are often unfairly represented in most stories, and so are their cottages, and this is a different kind of story.

The old woman turned to the wolf. “Well, thank you for seeing me safely home, Mr. Wolf.”

The wolf inclined his head. “It was the least I could do, all things considered. You did save my life, after all.” He looked at her cottage and the surrounding area carefully. “Do you live all alone?”

The old woman nodded as she shuffled closer to her cottage along the forest path. “Yes, but I have my plants to keep me company.”

“It must get lonely from time to time—even with your plants,” the wolf thought out loud.

“It can be,” agreed the old woman. The wolf heard the faintest hint of sadness in her voice as she added, “It’s hard being a witch sometimes.”

She turned and glanced at her canine companion. “Do you have a pack waiting for you?” she asked him curiously.

The wolf’s shoulders slumped, and he hesitated along the path. Then, he shook his head. “No, they’re all gone now,” was all he said. He knew a thing or two about being all alone.

The old woman’s face softened as she watched him from the corner of her eye. A thought occurred to her, and it surprised her. Not the thought itself, but that she, of all people, would have such a thought—that was surprising.

“You know,” she began hesitantly, “I’ve lived alone for a long time now—most of my life, in fact. It’s been good to have your company, Mr. Wolf. If you’d like, there’s a warm place in front of my fire that you’re always welcome to. I understand if you’d rather move on,” she added hastily, “but I thought I’d offer all the same.”

The wolf was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He was genuinely moved by her kindness. “You’ve done so much for me already,” he began carefully, “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

The old woman’s face fell, though she covered it quickly. The wolf wasn’t done, though.

“Maybe I will stay for a little while, though. At least, I’ll stay until I know that hunter won’t come back and be any trouble for you.”

The old woman smiled fondly. “I’d appreciate that. You wouldn’t be imposing at all, you know. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

They spoke no more of it, for there was no more to say about the matter.

Oftentimes, in fairy tales, there are wolves and witches. They’re usually represented as terrible villains. However, that is not the case for this particular story. It’s a different sort of fairy tale. But how the story ends—that hasn’t changed. It ends like this:

Once, there lived a wolf and a witch. They lived in a cottage in the woods, content with each other’s company and the friendship that had formed between the two of them. Years came and went, and they lived peacefully. The old woman tended to her garden, and the wolf kept her company. He never mentioned leaving again. No one bothered them or gave them any trouble at all. And, since this is a story, I can tell you that they lived happily ever after, and you can know that they did.

---