MAN OF WAR

“There is a war brewing,” he heard his father say. Titus snuck under the table, hoping not to be seen.             “I do not wish you to go,” his mother said with such sadness. “Our son needs a father.”             “The call has gone out, Emily. I cannot ignore it. What sort of man would I be for our son then? A coward,” his father said softly, brushing her dark hair behind her ear. “I will write to you and the boy. This war cannot last long. It is a small rebellion. The Empire is strong; we will end this war quickly,” his father assured, trying to instill confidence in his young bride. “Is that not right, my boy?” He asked, looking under the table with a smile.             Titus groaned. He had been found out. He crawled out from under the table and jumped to his feet. “I will come with you, Father,” he said with a rueful smile. He drew the wooden sword his father had carved for him and pretended to lunge at an invisible enemy. “I am ready; I have been practicing. I can take those traitorous rebels.”             His father laughed, tussling Titus’ dark hair. “I am sure you can, my Son,” he said, squatting down to look his son in the eyes, “but someone must stay here and defend the homestead while I am at war. I need you to be the man of the house and protect your mother.”             Titus frowned and sheathed his wooden weapon. “Alright, Father.”             “Now, Son, run along and play. I wish to be alone with your mother before I leave,” his father said, taking him outside their small hut. “Be a good boy and go practice some more.”             Titus grinned and ran off, heading for the forest that surrounded their home. He burst through the trees pretending to be chased by the rebel forces. He hopped over a fallen log and landed with both feet. Titus drew his sword and fiercely attacked his imaginary foe. He was fighting off four… no, ten armed men. He barely beat them, but he won as two of the dastardly cowards ran off.             Titus chased them through the trees. They could not be allowed to get away, or they would bring reinforcements. Titus alone would have to save the day. He chased them through the dense brush and burst through bushes into a small marsh, both his feet landing in the shallow waters. “Ah-ha!” He yelled, slashing his sword through the air.             Titus was arrested where he stood by what he saw. Not fifteen feet away was a small girl. She could not be more than four or five years old with long black hair and bright amber coloured eyes. They were the most unusual eyes he had ever seen. Her dress was simple, peasant perhaps, but around her neck, she wore a red teardrop crystal. She was the prettiest little girl he had ever seen in his ten years, and she was alone in these woods. Was she lost?             Titus took a step toward her. The tiny thing began to panic, attempting to flee but could not move. She was ensnared, he realized, in a hunter’s trap. She pulled at her leg and whimpered in pain, trying to free her injured limb. Titus sheathed his wooden sword in his belt and slowly moved toward her; his hands held up to show her he meant her no harm. “I will not hurt you,” he moved closer, and she still struggled to get away. Titus knelt in the water and felt around to find the trap that held her. His hands reached around her leg in the swampy waters, and Titus found the trap that had snapped shut around her foot.             With all his might, he tried to pry the trap open, but it barely gave. It must have hurt so very much. Titus took out his wooden sword and wedged it as much as he could into the trap beside her foot. Holding on to the end, Titus put all his weight into it, and the trap slowly began to open. She pulled her leg from the iron teeth and fell backwards into the water. The trap snapped shut and broke his sword in half like it was a twig.             Titus fell over and landed beside the little girl. He scrambled onto his knees to see if she was ok. He bushed his wet hair out of his face and saw the little girl doing the same. “How badly are you hurt?” He asked, reaching for her foot. He lifted it from the water and pushed the hem of her skirt up to view her injured ankle. The flesh was torn and bloody; a big black bruise had formed around the wound. She would not be able to walk. He would have to carry her back, he thought, but then he saw something he could not believe.             The little girl looked at her ankle, and her amber eyes began to glow so bright they lit up the dark marsh like a lantern. Suddenly the torn flesh around her ankle began to repair itself, and the bruising healed before his eyes. Within seconds the wound was gone as if it had never been there at all. Some blood and muddy water were all that marred her soft skin. Titus dropped her foot and backed away, staring at the small child with awe. “How did you do that?” He demanded.             She did not speak as she climbed to her feet; her wet dress hung heavy. Titus heard the leaves around them rustle. He quickly realized he was surrounded by huge black wolves with bright amber eyes. Titus heard their deep growls as they bared their long white fangs. Titus held out his hand to the little girl as he slowly backed away. “Come with me,” he whispered. “I will protect you,” he promised, reaching for his wooden sword and remembering he had broken it.             She looked at him with confusion, completely unafraid of the vicious beasts emerging from the trees circling her. One huge wolf lunged at Titus and knocked him over. Titus went under the water, its huge paws on his chest. He barely had the chance to hold his breath. Titus shoved the beast and scrambled to get to his feet to flee. He moved just in time to miss the powerful bite of the beast mighty jaws. He tried to run, his feet sinking in the soft mud of the marsh. The beast swatted at him, his claws slicing across Titus’ back. He cried out in agony as he fell against the fallen tree, and with one arm over the trunk, he looked up to see the beast coming at him.             Suddenly the little girl threw her body over his as a shield, and the beast stopped short. She shook her head and looked at each animal, her tiny body wrapped defensively around his. Titus watched in amazement as each wolf stood down, sitting or laying down where they were. With the threat gone, the petite girl stepped back from Titus and offered him a little smile. He had helped her, and she had saved him.             A life for a life.             The little girl wrapped her tiny hand over the crystal around her neck, and her eyes began to glow once more. Titus watched as her midnight hair shortened and spread across her body. She twisted and contorted, dropping on to all fours. Before his very eyes, the child was gone and looking back at him with bright eyes was a jet black wolf cub. The cub c****d its head at him, and then the big beast that had attacked him stood once more.             The whole pack rose, and they disappeared into the woods, leaving Titus alone in the marsh. He was not sure what he had just seen. He had heard stories of creatures that could change shape at will. They were believed to be witches and warlocks with evil powers that were said to tempt and torment mortals, to steal their souls. He had always thought these creatures were a mere myth. Stories meant to frighten children. No one credible had ever seen one, but what else could she have been?             Titus climbed to his feet, and as quickly as he could, he made his way back through the woods to his family home. He moved as fast as his feet would carry him. The pain in his back was excruciating. He burst through the trees into the clearing where his family’s hut was. “Mother! Father!” He screamed as he ran to the door. His father came rushing out the door, stripped to his linen shorts with sword drawn, ready to defend his family. He looked concerned when he saw his son soaked and running toward him, his tunic torn.             His mother came rushing out in her white chemise gasping when she saw her son was injured. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him, her hands searching his body to assess his injury. “What happened, boy?” His father demanded.             “Sifters!” He said breathlessly. “They had to be. There was a girl, and then wolves with yellow eyes.”             “A wolf did this to you?” Emily asked.             “No,” he argued, “it was shifters. I am sure of it.”             “Son, shifters are a story,” she said, trying to calm him.             “No, they are not. They are real, with glowing yellow eyes. There was one in a hunter’s trap, and I broke my sword, getting her out. Then the wolf attacked me, but she stopped it and then she became a wolf,” he said, looking back and forth between his parents; they did not believe him. He pulled off his shredded tunic and turned around to show the gashes across his back. “See.”             “I believe your Son. Come on, let us clean and tend those wounds,” his father said, ushering him inside. “What a brave little warrior you have become.”