Page 10 of Omega's Flight
The story the pups wanted was actually called The Children of the Forest, and if it happened to be the only one I knew well enough to tell, it didn't matter. All I cared was that I had something I could do for my pups while we traded one life for what I hoped would be a much better one.
I settled myself against the plastic bag I'd been using as a backrest and pulled my girls over to rest against my chest. Henry clambered over to lie between my legs with his head propped on one thigh. I played with Ann's hair and began to tell the old, well-loved story. The parts of it I remembered, anyway. I wasn't a good storyteller, but I knew what the important parts were and I could fill in the in-betweens myself.
"Once upon a time in the old country, there was a famine. The crops had failed for the second year in a row, and the little town didn't know what to do. With winter approaching, it became clear that there would not be enough food to feed all the people who lived in the town, not by half. So they all came together one night as winter began to bare its teeth, and talked about what they should do.
"'We should send the old ones out into the forest to be eaten by wolves,' said some. But the old ones would not agree and argued of all the knowledge they held that would be lost to the little town, and so the old ones were spared."
"That's what I would have done," Pip interrupted.
"Shhh," Ann said with a small growl. "Papa's telling the story."
I waited until Pip settled back against my shoulder before I continued the tale, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "And the townspeople said, 'We should send those whose children are grown out into the woods, for they would have the best chance of surviving.' But those with grown children would not agree and they argued that their experience and their still strong bodies would be needed in the next planting season, if the gods saw fit to give them good weather. So they, too, were spared. And so it went, through those with children and those without and those just old enough to no longer be children. And each group had an excuse as to why they should not be sent out into the woods to fend for themselves.
"Which is how it was that they came to talk of the children, who being too young to speak in a meeting like this one, were home in their beds asleep. 'They're young, they contribute nothing to the town,' said one person. 'They are a drain on our resources,' said another. And a third, 'We can always have more, they can be replaced.'"
"You wouldn't replace us, would you?" Ann asked. She always did, and I always said the same thing back to her. "Never in a million moonlit nights. I'm not as silly as the townspeople." And then I kissed the top of her head and tightened my arms around my girls while all three giggled. "And so it was," I continued, "that, bright and early the next morning, the children of the town were fed their breakfast and dressed in their warmest clothes before being led out into the forest."
"Noooo, don't go!" Henry said in a low voice and we all cried, "Oh nooooo!" as quietly as we could and giggled. The pups had heard this story a million times—they knew what was coming.
I felt their little bodies begin to relax against me, the familiar rise and fall of the old fable easing their fears and uncertainty. "'Where are we going?' the children asked as they followed their parents out into the trees.
"'Someplace special,' their parents said and led them deeper into the trees.
"Finally, they came to a clearing in the middle of the woods, where the trees had grown so tall that the ground beneath them was clear of snow. 'You can stay here while we go prepare,' the townsfolk said and left their children in the middle of clearing with a bag of bread and another of apples.
"The children waited patiently for their parents to return, playing games as all children are wont to do. Soon it began to snow and shortly after that, small tummies began to rumble, wanting their lunches. They shared the bread and apples they'd been given, for they were good children, and made seats of the snow around the edges of the clearing. But soon the light began to fade and the children began to wonder where their parents were.
"'Maybe they got lost. We should go look for them,' said one boy, older than the rest.
"'No, you might get lost too. They'll find us,' said a girl of nearly the same age.
"So they waited and the sky grew dark. In the distance, forest creatures howled and barked and made strange screeching noises, and the children huddled together both for warmth and protection, but in their sheltered clearing, no beasts approached, and so the first night passed.
"'I'm hungry,' said one of the littlest ones.
"The girl searched through her pockets, for they had eaten all the apples and bread the day before, but all she could find was three hard old biscuits, so dry that when she tried to break them, they shivered into a dozen pieces each. 'Here, have this,' she said, and gave one piece to each of the other children, keeping nothing for herself.
"'I have something too,' said the boy, in a tone of surprise. 'I wonder where it came from.' He held out his hand, bearing three thick strips of meat, dried and cured. 'We can share this too.' And the boy and the girl twisted and pulled on the strips of meat until they had pieces of meat for all but two of their group. 'I can eat snow. Don't worry about me,' said the boy, and passed the pieces out to the children.
"'I know which roots are good,' said the girl. 'I will go look.'
"'I'll stay here and keep the children safe,' said the boy.
"And so the second day passed. They slept that night curled up together and the boy and the girl took it in turns to watch over them through the night, for the sounds of the forest beasts had grown closer.
"On the third day, the boy made a fire out of twigs and dried leaves so they could cook the roots gathered by the girl, and so they fed the children again, taking nothing for themselves. But while the children played happily in the snow after their meal, the boy and the girl drew themselves aside to make some plans.
"'They left us here,' the girl said.
"'We shall have to find our own way out of the wood,' the boy said.
"'We will need food. I will go again to search for roots to feed the children, and then tomorrow we will search for a new home.'
"And so they did as they had done the day before, the boy caring for the younger children while the girl searched for roots and other edible things for their journey. Having already harvested in the places closest to their camp, she found herself ranging farther afield, the snow growing deeper and the plants more difficult to find. The sky grew dark and the girl realized that she was lost. She looked at her bag of roots, so carefully harvested, and lamented, 'Oh, how shall I feed my children if I cannot find them?'
"'You are rather young for children,' said a woman's voice behind her. It was warm and loving and yet as wild as the wood itself and it made the girl feel safe despite the crowding trees and the fearsome sounds of the beasts around her.
"When the girl turned around, she gasped the beauty of the woman standing before her. She was tall and lovely, with long dark hair and blue eyes that shone like the sky at noon. She wore a long gown of white wool and a hooded cloak of gray wolf fur. 'My lady,' the girl said, 'I did not birth them, but sure as I stand before you, they are in my care now.'
