going along the path that would lead me to the meadow of sleep flowers.
I realise I would not have trusted him in his wolf form, after being terrorised for three days by the pack, save for my encounters with the enigmatic black she-wolf. It was that, like her, he had not been grey as the wolves of the pack, which convinced me to go with him, even when he seemed to be leading me away from the safety of the ornate building behind its high wall. I am sobered to realise that, if not for my meeting with the black wolf, I would never have reached the Endgate before the last rays of the sun were extinguished by night. I would have fallen victim to the pack unless Ranulf had pitied me enough to transport me magically back to the mortal world, though I had failed him.
I slipped into a vivid dream of those last moments of my testing in the Wolfsgate Valley.
I was within sight of the gate which, like the Wolfsgate, was actually a solid door set into the wall, when I saw the grey pack leader burst from some bushes a little distance away, followed by several of his outrunners. I looked around for the golden wolf, but it had vanished.
Terror flooded me, and I broke into a headlong run, praying the gate would not be locked. Slamming into it, I grasped the handle, the hair on my neck standing on end as I imagined the pack leader’s fangs sinking into my neck or calf. But the handle turned. I shoved the door open, flung myself through it and slammed it behind me, then I sank to my knees, sobbing and trembling and gasping as the sun set and darkness fell over me like a cloak.
The next morning, when Cloud-Marie brings my tray, she is visibly unsettled to see me dressed and sitting by the fire. She gabbles a little as she dithers over where to set the tray and I sign for her to put it on the table beside me. I have no appetite but I do not want her to be troubled, poor soul. She makes me a coffee and brings it to me and I take it and smile at her. She does not return my smile, and when she gestures at the brush and comb sitting on the dresser, I nod, knowing it will soothe us both. I look into my bloodshot eyes in the mirror hung upon the wall beside my dresser and see how thick the shadows lie under them.
An hour passes and then two and I can restrain myself no longer. I set aside the tapestry I have been working at and rise. Cloud-Marie watches me, and grinds her teeth. Seeing her agitation, I cross to the window and sign her to bring me a hot chocolate, knowing that the making of it is a lengthy process. As soon as she has gone, I hasten across the room and draw aside the curtain that hides the tower-room stair. I make my way swiftly up to the chamber where the scrying bowl awaits me, kneel and plunge my hand in at once, only closing my eyes when I begin to stir.
I open my eyes and see that my son is moving again. I cannot tell where he is, save that the grass is long and dry and bleached blond, and there are no trees. He is in a part of the valley I have never seen before, which must mean his chosen is there, too. I have no idea what tests await her here but there is nothing gentle in the Wolfsgate Valley. I cannot see the girl, but he is clearly moving stealthily and carefully, stopping often to twitch his ears. I push away the thought that he is stalking her and take comfort in the absence of the grey wolves.
Then I remember the dog and wonder if he is wary of it.
‘Bring her to me, my son,’ I whisper, and the vision dissolves, but not before I see that he has left the high yellow grass for a stony foothill, on which rises what seems to be the ruin of a human dwelling.
Going back down to my chamber, I manage to sit in my chair before Cloud-Marie arrives and sip meekly at the chocolate she has made, though the sweetness makes me feel sick. I have drunk two-thirds before it occurs to me to check the petals carpeting