The Wolf King

Of a sudden, Minnette’s reminiscences were scattered when she heard a sound that was not native to the meadow. A whistled call of sorts—and definitely human.

Sitting up—for she had indeed relaxed to near sprawling in the grass while caught up in her reverie—Minnette frowned when the next sound to reach her was that of shouting—a man shouting.
Leaping to her feet, she looked to the tree line at the north border of the meadow in time to see a man come bursting from without the forest at a full run. He was tall—that much Minnette could distinguish from her distance—and he appeared in some sort of distress by the further look of him. His shirt, though white and bloused at the sleeves, hung open, and he wore no vest or coat about it. His breeches were black, but his legs were otherwise void of protection; he wore no boots nor shoes of any kind.

Again the man shouted, as if tribulation were hot at his heels, and Minnette gasped as she then saw that it was indeed so. For as the man sprinted further into the open meadow, a pack of enormous white wolves, numbering at least five in brood, raced from the tree line in pursuit of the man! The wolves almost instantly overtook their prey, forcing the man to the ground as they pounced upon him, snarling and gnashing their teeth.

Minnette took hold of her kirtle skirt and, without pause, raced into the meadow toward the spectacle. The man would be dead before she reached him—she was certain of it! Yet she must try! She must endeavor to help him—to attempt to ward off the pack of hungry predators before they literally tore the man apart!