The Lost Princess-Part One

Hey readers, it’s Lilac!  Pinkii asked me to post one of my stories, but I’m really shy, so constructive criticism is welcome, but no mean comments please!  Also, it’s only fair to warn you that this is not a werewolf story.  There’s been some confusion on that point, and guys I admit they can be really cool, but I just don’t want to write about them.

Preface

                Have you ever seen a wolf pack?  They’re fascinating creatures.  Their pack is a perfect example of a hierarchy.  Everyone has their place.  But every once in a blue moon, you find a wolf that doesn’t quite fit in; that doesn’t know where it’s ranked and how it should behave.  The other wolves let it stay, because it’s a strong hunter, but it is never completely accepted.  Somehow the other wolves know it’s not pack.  I’m that wolf: the one on the edge, that’s somehow known to be not quite normal.

I was adopted into the village of Ravenshead when I was seven years old with no memory of what my life was like before.  Ten years later, and I’m still the foreign child.

The Lost Princess

                Bang!  I try to catch the door, but it’s too late, the noise has already reverberated throughout our snug, little cottage.  I wince knowing I’m going to be in trouble.  However, I try to prolong the inevitable by sneaking off towards my room.  It doesn’t work; it actually never has.   Auntie, my adopted mother, is far too smart for that.

“Where are you going and why was it necessary to run in like you were fleeing from the fairies?”  she asks with a bemused smile.  “Weren’t you supposed to be at market?”

“I was, but I had to leave…quickly.”

“What’s happened now?  You haven’t upset Mistress Miller again, have you?”

“Not this time, but I hope to continue doing so.  The day I wear a corset and bat my eyelashes and pretend to be brainless in front of the young men is the day she approves of Snow.”

“She’s scared to death of Snow, not disapproving.  Don’t change the subject! What happened this time?”

“Farmer McAllen has raised the price on all his stock.  We can’t afford it, and he knows no one else can either.”

“The Duke’s raising taxes.  There’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s so criminal, but then again, so is everything else he does.  I had to leave, because I called Farmer McAllen an empty-headed trickster who didn’t care for anyone, but himself.  No one can pay.  The village is close to starving!”

“Aurelia Weaver!  Shouting will not help anyone, and I want you to take Snow and go apologize to Farmer McAllen.”

I run out of the house, as quickly as possible in my skirts, and head into town with Snow happily loping alongside me as she has every day for the past nine years.  I found her in the forest when she was a pup.  Her mother was dead in a trap, and Snow, a beautiful, pure white wolf pup, was just curled up beside her.  I took Snow home and cared for her, and ever since we have been inseparable.

I am jolted out of my musings by the sound of sharp whispers and a dull thud.  I peak around the corner and see two palace guards arguing with a man, who is a serf by the look of his clothes.  I see the man giving the guards a heavy looking pouch, stolen most likely, that clinked and rattled.  They all grinned lasciviously, and the guards produced a squawking chicken.  I was shocked.  No one, but the Duke has chickens now.  He had collected them all as taxes and made us pay for the eggs at a ridiculously high price.  I thought I knew what was happening, but couldn’t believe it.  They were all dead if anyone was to find out.  At that moment Snow caught the scent of juicy meat and barreled straight towards the trio.  The men looked up and caught sight of me.

“You, you there!”  What are you doing here?”  they shout while advancing towards me.

“Snow, run!”  I shout.  She wheels around, notices the strange men, and runs by snarling and snapping to protect me.

“You silly wolf, we need to run!”  I shout and drag her along with the men swiftly gaining behind us.  We run for what feel forever, but we manage to lose them, and I stumble into bed that night hoping everything will be forgotten in the morning.  But, just because life fears being called predictable, I was woken up to a scream.

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