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Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in a village by the woods.
Though his family was not well-off, the boy was much loved. His mother, the village midwife, doted upon him and often called for him to gather herbs for her in the forest. His father, a hunter and woodcutter, took him along the trails which wound through the dark trees, teaching him to listen to the birds and read the tracks of the beasts.
And so the boy grew, knowing the woods as he did the back of his hand. But one day, and no one could later say why, he went into the woods and was lost.
As the sun fell into the horizon, the boy saw the familiar paths around him disappear one by one, twisting into danger and darkness. To and fro he ran, until he had not enough even the breath to scream. And so he collapsed, exhausted, at the base of a tree, and wept.
“Why do you cry, young one?”
The boy looked up to see a great black wolf with gold eyes watching him. Frightened, the boy scrambled back until he felt bark against his shoulders, his breath shuddering white in the cold air. “Don’t eat me, please!” the boy said, “I am lost and I cannot find my way home.”
The wolf cocked his head, and it seemed that he looked at the boy with sympathy. “I am the same,” he said, “And so I wish to spare you. But you must understand that I am sorely hungry.” A scrabbling sound came from the underbrush, and the wolf swung his head to the noise, his hackles rising. “And if it is not I who eats you, there are others who will.”
“Please,” the boy pleaded, “My father is a huntsman and he caught a brace of rabbits today. Spare my life and you can have them all.”
The wolf narrowed his eyes, “You better not lie to me, for I am well-weary of the lies of men.”
The boy shook his head mutely and the wolf padded closer, pushing his snout into the boy’s tear-stained face.
“Grab my fur,” the wolf said gruffly, “And do not look back.”
The boy did as he commanded, grabbing two fistfuls of thick, black fur and keeping his eyes to the ground as the wolf led him out from the woods. Though he had looked imposing in the gloom, the wolf was quite thin under his fur, his ribs bumping harshly against the boy’s knuckles and his fur feeling lank and lifeless. Time and time again, the boy heard the sounds of other animals in the underbrush, felt their eyes look hungrily upon him. But every time they came too close, the wolf would growl and snarl and frighten them away.
Finally, the tree line broke and the boy could see the glow of his cottage in the distance. With a joyful sound, he released the wolf’s fur and ran to the warmth and the light, his parents rushing outside when they heard his voice.
In the celebration, the boy all but forgot his promise, until he turned to see a pair of yellow, glowing eyes in the shadows of the trees.
“Papa,” the boy said breathlessly, “Please may I have the rabbits from today’s hunt?”
“Whatever for?” his father asked.
“Why, it is for the wolf that saved me,” the boy said.
“A wolf!” the father drew up angrily, clutching his axe. “I shall kill it!”
“No, no please,” the boy pleaded, but to no avail. His mother swept him inside as his father walked purposefully towards the woods. The boy would never see what happened that night, and later, he would all but forget the incident entirely.
--
Once upon a time, there was a boy who grew into a man in a village by the woods.
He grew up strong and kind and lively, made brown and freckled by the sun, a favorite among the village maidens. It seemed forgone that he would fall into the life so many had chosen before him, except … there was ever a restlessness in his eyes.
You see, as the boy grew, it seemed that the woods shrank. Each year, humans encroached further on what once was wild. Trees fell faster than they could be replaced, to appease the queen and her heavy taxes. The heavy responsibilities of adulthood turned what was once magical into the mundane.
Upon the sudden death of his father, the son was forced to take his mantle, hunting to provide for his blind and bed-ridden mother.
One morning, in the late days of fall, the huntsman kissed his mother good-bye and set off for the forest. It had been a lean few weeks, with his snares drawing empty and their stores still worryingly light as they drew closer to winter. The huntsman fretted as he walked the trails he knew well, searching for tracks to follow.
It was great luck that he found a fat rabbit in his first snare. Happier, the huntsman continued until he heard a low panting sound coming from the underbrush.
Upon parting the bushes, the huntsman saw a wolf with its foot caught in a cruel steel trap. It was not one of his traps. Lately, the queen had been offering bounties for wolf pelts, citing them as a danger to children. As a result, poachers had been increasingly active.
The thought of someone else hunting in his woods made the huntsman frown, but more distressing still was the state of the wolf, who was bleeding and splayed on the ground, his thin ribs rising and falling under his mottled fur. When he heard the huntsman approach, the wolf weakly attempted to draw his legs under himself, his lips curling back into a snarl.
The huntsman swallowed, one hand falling to his his axe. It would be a mercy to kill the wolf, to spare it the agony of starving to death in the cold.
The wolf’s breath rattled in his chest as he spoke, “Young one, I once gave you your life. Will you take mine in return?”
The huntsman’s eyes widened. Memories began to trickle in … what he once thought was a dream. He dropped to his knees, earning a startled snarl from the wolf. But the huntsman merely raised his empty palms, taking his axe from his side and dropping it out of reach. “Let me help you,” he said. Though the wolf eyed him with suspicion, he did not growl again as the huntsman reached for the trap.
The steel teeth of the trap were slippery with gore, but the huntsman was able to pull it apart with effort. Quickly, painfully, the wolf withdrew his foot as soon as the trap was opened, pulling it under himself and lapping his tongue over the wound.
“You are lucky,” the huntsman said, standing. “It doesn’t appear to have snapped the bone.”
The wolf continued staring at him suspiciously, staggering to his feet. “You are foolish,” the wolf rasped. “Now what will stop me from taking your life?”
“That would be ungrateful,” the huntsman frowned.
“Man is ever ungrateful,” the Wolf replied, “Ever cruel and untrustworthy. Why should I be different?”
The huntsman hesitated, then pulled the fat rabbit from his pack and threw it at the wolf’s feet. The wolf appeared surprised, sniffing at it warily before hunger overcame his forbearance and he ate it, bones and all, in a few greedy bites.
“It is likely your leg will heal badly,” the huntsman said, “Come with me. I have herbs at my home which will help.”
The wolf lowered his head, and when the huntsman turned to walk towards home he followed as biddable as a hound.
--
“What have you brought me today, dear son?” the huntsman’s mother asked when they arrived at the cottage door. The years had carved fine lines into her face, and made her eyes a milky grey, but she was still lovely, and her smile was soft as she lifted her hands to frame her son’s face.
“A poor mutt, in need of our help,” the huntsman said, kissing his mother’s hands before leading her back to her chair by the fire.
The wolf hesitated at the cottage door until he was ushered in by the huntsman. When he came close, the mother put her hand on his furred head.
“Ah,” the mother said, “What large ears he has.”
“The better to hear you with,” the huntsman said dryly, fetching tinctures and tonics which he mixed from his mother’s recipes.
The wolf submitted quietly to the mother’s gentle petting, the stiffness in his body easing as he sat by the fire. The hunter smiled to see that the wolf’s tail even began to limply wag as he dropped his head into her lap.
Outside, it began to snow.
--
And so it was that the wolf came to spend the better part of winter with the huntsman and his mother. If the huntsman had misgivings about leaving his mother alone with such a dangerous creature, they were dissipated by the wolf’s gentle nature.
Faithful as a hound, he would follow the mother’s footsteps, nudging her away from sharp corners and guiding her about the cottage. Each morning they would see off the huntsman as he left for his day’s work, and the sight of his mother with the wolf sitting at her feet, waving from the cottage door gave him more motivation to work hard.
For a while, the huntsman had luck. He dug squirrels from their barrows, fat from their fall takings. He shot deer as they picked their way across the thin-frozen pond. His cords of wood sold quickly on the market.
On those nights, they would have warm stew and fresh bread to share, tales the huntsman’s mother would tell as they sat at her feet, and the huntsman would sleep curled with the wolf before the coals of the fire, nestled in his warm fur.
But as the winter lingered, cold and bitter, their provisions ran low, then disappeared altogether. Storm winds raged, preventing the huntsman from leaving the cottage to even cut wood. The mother’s condition worsened, and she could no longer leave the bed.
The huntsman’s youthful face became wan with worry.
One day, the wolf came to him and pressed his muzzle into his hands and said, “You must kill me.”
The huntsman’s brows drew together, “What?”
“You must kill me,” the wolf said patiently, “And take my pelt to the queen. There, you will receive gold enough for your mother’s medicine.”
“I cannot …” the huntsman put his hand on the wolf’s head, “We can … we must find another way!” He began to weep and the wolf gently lapped away his tears.
“You have been kind to me … the only kindness I’ve known,” the wolf said. “Now let me do what I must.”
The huntsman wept, but he understood, and retrieved his axe. The wolf laid upon the floor as meek as any lamb, baring his throat.
Trembling, the huntsman pressed a kiss to the wolf’s muzzle, then stood, and swung the axe.
In that moment, a great flash of light filled the room, and the huntsman stumbled back, the axe falling from his fingers as he shielded his eyes.
When he next looked, the wolf had disappeared, and standing in his place was a darkly handsome man, with hair the color of his wolf’s fur, and eyes of amber hue.
The huntsman gaped, and the former wolf seemed just as surprised, looking at his human hands and fingers with an amazed expression.
“What … what are you?” the huntsman asked.
“In my former life, a prince,” the wolf said, “Cursed by a witch for my ungratefulness. I thought I would never again attain my human form.” With a wide smile, he pulled the huntsman into his arms, squeezing him tightly.
The huntsman flushed, realizing suddenly that the prince was unclothed. “You’re warm,” he mumbled into the prince’s shoulder. “And tall.”
“All the better to hold you with,” the prince said, and pulled him into a kiss.
--
After deposing the cruel queen, the wolf prince proved himself a fair and measured ruler, humbled by his years in the forest. The huntsman was made his consort, and his mother was given the best care the kingdom had to offer.
Together they lived long, and happily, ever after.