Two hands on the knife in an overstrike, powered with all his rage the farmer stabbed down upon the boy, who smoothly dodged by stepping inside the striking arch. Small fingers dug into the farmer’s flesh to gain purchase, one set above the rib cage and the other at the crutch. Utilising the farmer’s momentum and inhuman strength the farmer’s body rose from the floor to be flung into the solid fortress like bedroom log wall. The farmer's body slid down the wall to the floor dead. The farmer's wife continued to lay still.

Gloringas’ warning shout a waste of breath, although the farmer’s charge trapped the boy between the side of the bed and the windowed wall, and the Elven Lord sprinted to take advantage of the innocent’s sacrifice. Two possible escape routes remained, over the bed or through the window and the boy chose the immediate egress, committing to breaking through the board which barred the wooden shutters. Gloringas steadfast, struck at the boy with all his skill, sword flickering, an extension of his arm, determine to smite the evil creature down. The breaking down of the closed window delayed the boy; Gloringas satisfied as the sword pierced flesh. The boy howled while crashing through the window, landing heavily outside, his leg incapacitated by a deep slash across the thigh. As Gloringas rushed to the window about to somersault through, hands placed upon the window ledge, he paused in astonishment, no blood escaped the wound, even though a slab of flesh flapped free.

After a moment Gloringas tumbled through the window to continue the pursuit. The boy’s hands buried deep in the ragged fur of a huge black wolf, his lower body dragging as the beast loped away. The boy’s howl a call to his wolf not an acknowledgement of pain! His small hands holding knots of fur trying to mount the wolf like a rider on a horse failing because his healthy leg, the lower of the two unable to be thrown over. Gloringas jogged to a stop, and stared after the escaping pair, diminishing in the distance down the path which eventually led to the nearby village. While certain they would turn off at some stage and needed to be followed, he sighed, an innocent mother and child needed urgent care first.

---

Standing over the farmer's wife Gloringas didn’t need to assay her life force instead reading the signs; slowing heartbeat, weak pulse and labouring breath. Congealed blood at her neck helpful although far too late considering the significant amount soaked into and radiating out upon the bed sheets. The unborn baby by contrast still healthy, a perfect child of a perfect father. Once more Gloringas haunted by failure, the Faerie magic emptied from within the child. Nevertheless, hope persisted as his progeny thrived matching their father’s features even if bereft of his gift of magic.

For years beyond counting Gloringas dutifully returned to collect the payment of the first child, disappointed by the lack of or minute portion only of remaining Faerie magic in the baby child. He took them in any case to continue the legend and discharge his duty, and yet their existence a torment, living proof of his failure and an everyday reminder. The only saving grace, given their lack of Faerie magic, their life expectancy short, slightly longer than a human and of course aging each year, a gift from their human mother. The aging a curse also, inflicting a melancholy upon their father observing his children grow old and wither to the point he rarely visited them to avoid attachment and the continual repeating pain of loss.

Lacking any other options, his curative magic ineffective on humans without preparation, Gloringas decided to save the unborn child. He prepared graves for the farmer and his wife, burying the farmer immediately intent on returning both bodies to the land. The preparation a distraction and a delay, to take the mother’s life, even to save the child an extreme moral dilemma, she an innocent, his hands trembling as a result. Gloringas couldn’t wait until daylight as the new seed for Birth Season sowing would be delivered after first light from the village grain house. He didn’t want to explain his presence and the deaths of the farmer and his wife, let alone reveal himself, a legend or myth come to life amongst ruin and tragedy.

Entering the farmhouse bedroom, hopeful and yet cursing his callousness, the farmer’s wife still clung to life. While nearer to death, the burial delay didn’t change the need for Gloringas to commit the inevitable. Taking a deep breath to steady himself and long slim dagger to hand, a blade older than him, always sharp and protected by craftsman magic not of this world he poised over the innocent he must by necessity be the instrument of her final moments of life.

Resting the edge of the blade upon the mother’s baby bump, the flesh beneath easily parted. Applying a light guiding touch an arc of flesh separated until Gloringas discerned the baby within its final protective sack. Nicking this low to release the fluid within, Gloringas then unwrapped the baby, slicing the umbilical cord and healing the wound closed with his magic, a father’s benefit.

Gloringas placed the baby upon the bed and wrapped her. The general lack of bleeding during the entire operation a consequence of previous blood loss and the mother's body trying to pump any remaining blood to her vital organs and the baby's placenta. The Elven Lord stitched the cut back together out of an abnormal guilt, wishing her to be whole again, hoping upon hope she would recover, although knowing full well the impossibility. As he finished, the mother took her last breath, heart failing in sympathy. Tears flowed, unrestrained and full of grief and sorrow. The bloodied bed, the dead farmer, dying mother and cutting free his daughter, new to him, such failure and heartbreak wrapped closely together a burden upon his soul and an anathema. His purpose, granting life, being the embodiment of life and the innocent death about him this night triggered a revolution within, evil must be confronted and destroyed at every opportunity.

Burying the farmer's wife and while ignorant of any prayers for human dead he managed a few words of kindness. For the farmers, Priests of Jury would need to attend to them and as victims of evil they both deserved the human rite of passing and yet impossible now and probably forever. When his children of times gone died, others simply buried the body to return the flesh and bone to the land. Those bodies containing Faerie Magic, dissolved and the magic within returned to the One Tree, the ultimate source of the Goddess’ blessing, to be recycled.

The sun rose as Gloringas finished, leaving the farmhouse and skimming light footed across the ploughed fields, glancing back the once, convinced he did all he could. Upon discovery the people of the once quiet valley would care for the farm and animals. Animals he knew by name and a farm as familiar to him as any part of the Faerie Forest he tended.

His duty now clear, his daughter's care and ensuring the protection of other sons and daughters of Faerie commenced before birth, perhaps in the final month. Their birthdate too late, the boy and the wolf evidence enough. The death of the farmer's wife also added to the mystery, the mothers always survived, why not this time? Interruption of the evil deed perhaps? Gloringas could only speculate and acknowledge the discomfort of swallowing more guilt this day.

Gloringas crossed the fields of prepared, ploughed soil in haste, his daughter held lovingly. Her small fingers and toes wriggled for freedom when wrapped for travel, blonde hair and blue eyes an expectation for newborn Faerie children. More importantly her facial features in perfect proportion and symmetry, skin flawless and while the Faerie magic now gone from within, the influence during gestation still touched her with the Goddess’ promised blessing.

The first rays of the morning sun warmed them. Gloringas intending to return to the Faerie Forest, by making their way there under the eaves of the ordinary forests of the world. The Elven Lords mission to spread Faerie magic to other forests a failure, none of their race knew why and appeals to the Goddess on the subject, unanswered. Even the trees of this world would not awaken to their Faerie magic.

The howling and baying of a wolf pack reached his ears and broke Gloringas from deep thought. No need to stop or turn to look, trouble beckoned. If alone, picking them off one by one the pack would eventually be discouraged. With a daughter to care for, the disadvantage too great, always needing to ensure her safety while he fought them off. He raced to reach the deep forest and taller, stronger trees, a place of safety before the pack nipped at his heels. The howling and baying grew louder, Gloringas doubling his efforts to sprint faster and to his horror beads of sweat! Running from battle didn’t sit well with him and working up a sweat running instead of in the heat of battle fired his soul. The beasts would pay for this ignominy, and as an immortal, time an ally and he will see to their future deaths.

At full sprint, he leapt and with one hand grasped a sturdy low branch, with momentum swinging up into the safety of the tree proper. The movement fluid, full of grace, artistry in motion and just in time. The Wolf Pack Leader desperately leaping, jaws failing to latch onto limb or life. Landing heavily the great beast recovered to spy his prey climb higher into the great tree. The Wolf Pack Leader eyed the trapped prey and waited with patience and benevolent intelligence upon the majority of the pack to join him and begin their duty as prison guards as commanded.

Gloringas observed them in turn, the Pack Leader sporting jet black from nose to tail, the coat pure without a single blemish or discolouration, truly unnatural. The rest of the pack would have been typical for wolves, except for their size, which rivalled that of a small, full-grown riding pony. To draw his bow required both arms. Therefore, his daughter would require a safe perch except none presented, except within those very same loving arms. All through the ordeal she rested quiet and settled as if knowing of their danger and feeling confident and safe with her father, which he became loathed to change.

The Pack waited with a patience unnatural. For what? Gloringas couldn’t stay in the tree forever, although travelling the world for days or months at a time he wouldn’t be missed and for two thousand years no Elven Lord or Prince died, therefore he would return when he returned.

Late afternoon a wolf howled in pain and then silence. Half the pack spread and circled in the direction of their dead pack member. They sniffed for a scent, failing to detect any before the wind conspired to distort and contaminate the spoor. With no trail they returned to guard duty and their Leader. When a second fell, they sprang into action spreading out further, widening the search, keen for revenge.

They continued to fall one by one as the widely spread searches offered up victims also, until only the Pack Leader and two others remained. They continued their guard duty within sight and scent of each other, alert for attack. Dusk approached and soon night, time definitely on their side.

The wolves' noses reached for the air, smelling the scent at last of their deadly attacker. With the confidence of knowing the two lessor wolves circled wide to chase their attacker into the jaws of their Pack Leader. Their attacker though studied the hunting tactics of wolves many times and knew them as well as they; ultimately using the knowledge against them. She circled wider and downwind, the afternoon breeze picked up pace like it always did this time of year, early Birth Season. She left her travelling pack, cloak and most of her clothes in place as a lure.

The plan called for the first of the two wolves to die silently, but fate would have it otherwise. Lacy only managing to finish the first kill before the second wolf sighted her, howling and thirsting for revenge. As the beast began to leap, to land high upon the body of the prey and thereby bare them to the ground, a pup-like yelp escaped mid-leap due to the prey’s metamorphosis and in response trying to twist and turn to avoid contact at all costs.

Lacy immediately dropped knife and bow to begin her shape change. As the wolf descended upon her, the leap only reached her waist, below her pregnant bump, although somewhat disguised after the transformation. An ugly, loathsome and most foul monster, twice the size and height replaced the former human prey. The only trace left of her humanity the intelligence behind her eyes. With brute strength she stood her ground and bore the weight of the wolf upon her. Two massive clawed paws grabbed and twisted the head of the wolf a large crack sounded as bones broke under the savage assault preventing the former hunter from escaping death. The body fell limp to the ground dead.

The Pack Leader bore witness and instinctively needed to kill for revenge, the unnatural beast’s raw cunning and intelligence though weighed the possible outcome, concluding the battle an even contest and therefore, repugnant. Even if won, would he still retain sufficient strength to imprison the prey, the ancient enemy of his master? No, far better to escape and guide the master to them during the dark and silence of night.

Lacy spied the Pack Leader skulking, pacing back and forth and issued a rumbling growl. The huge wolf glanced back once and in long loping strides disappeared deeper into the forest. A pain caused her to double over, the need to locate Gloringas now critical. The labour pains increasing in intensity and frequency, her shape change a likely trigger.

Gloringas waited patiently within the safety of the tree, protective of his daughter. From behind several trees their placement and size blocking his line of sight occasionally a semi-naked Lacy approached. She rested from time to time against a tree, struggling forward without secrecy or stealth and in fact her aim well off in danger of passing his tree entirely!

Leaping from his branch to a lower branch with his daughter safely in his arms, he swung down to lightly plant soft elven boots on the forest floor. Lacy looked up in his direction, the pain on her face plain, the pregnancy still full meaning her time must surely be close. Without any greeting Gloringas retrieved a pinch of herbal pain relief from his belt pouch and deftly placed the curative upon Lacy’s tongue, nodding and encouraging her to chew and swallow. The moment after, the strain and tightness on her face dissolved.

The herbal medicine especially effective to relieve the pain of childbirth, ease the birthing and or repair any damage from giving birth. Only ever created and carried when an Elf Prince needed to collect a fertility debt, the secret lay in the use of Prince’s blood in the preparation. As the father of the pregnancy, his Faerie magic, the source and catalyst of the new birth during creation and within the womb for nine months growing life protected the health of the mother. The medicine ideally prepared under a bright sun during Birth Season, the season most associated with new life and Lacy’s current condition.

Gloringas studied Lacy’s face to ensure the medicine effective, originally intended for the farmer’s wife, somehow assuming Lacy wouldn’t return to him and require such administrations, given the sharing of her secret after conception. Her face broke into a pleasant sun shining smile defeating the lingering dusk, vulnerable and endearing at the same time and in need of protection. A wonderful illusion created by the miracle of pregnancy, fully appreciated by the Elf Prince and motivating him to protect her beyond consideration for his own safety. A magic beyond magic.

"Thank-you, Gloringas, my birth time is close, and I fear closer than it would otherwise be as I had to shape change to deal with the last wolf."

"The Pack Leader?" questioned Gloringas.

"No, that one too smart, it only watched and after refusing my challenge, left for the shadows of the forest."

"You know as do I that they were waiting watch over me and mine, waiting for something or someone. It is time to go and with haste. We have to make the ford at Water Shallow."

"We need to take a little detour I am afraid." To Gloringas' questioning look Lacy continued. "You may not have noticed, but I don't usually go hunting half naked, no pack and no bow!"

"Oh!" replied Gloringas. In truth failing to notice; too concerned for her, his daughter and the need to escape. He knew an unknown enemy hunted them, the wolves forcing him to seek safety in a tree, a trap to await the arrival on another. Carrying his daughter, he would make good time, Lacy though, due to her condition, would be an unknown.

Fetching Lacy's pack, cloak and clothes, the short side trip quickly accomplished, in complete silence until Lacy finished dressing.

"Gloringas, I will manage, the medicine you have given me is very strong. I feel no pain and it has quieted the need to give birth." She rested her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes as he turned at her touch.

"I may be with child, but do not doubt I am strong, I am a mother protecting her unborn." She paused, eyes upon his daughter. "As well as my unborn child's half-sister, there is no thought of failure. Dusk is upon us and night not far off, we must go."

Hunters and trackers both they used their knowledge to leave as little or no trail as possible. The Birth Season breeze still present blew across their direction of travel, dispersing their scent thwarting any trying to follow and providing no warning to those ahead. While Water Shallow their chosen destination several equally suitable alternatives existed and Gloringas hopeful the enemy would try these first, feigned in their direction at times to further conceal their actual destination by not making a bee line towards the village. Only when speed served better than deception did they turn directly towards Water Shallow.

In this way they reached Water Shallow, safe although exhausted, Lacy more so than Gloringas. Gloringas dispensing the last of his medicine after arriving, deciding not to tell Lacy until he absolutely had to. Water Shallow a village of few buildings, no wall, a marker on the world to indicate where a reliable shallow water crossing of the Flying Fish River existed. The traffic using the crossing having declined in recent years as the settlements to the east failed, quietly and without protest. No one really knew why. East still considered an untamed wilderness and Flying Fish River marked the boundary of present civilisation.

Being dead of night, Gloringas and Lacy entered the outskirts of Water Shallow unnoticed, all the residents presumably fast asleep. The last time Gloringas visited Water Shallow, at least one hundred and fifty years ago the village then almost the size of a town, primarily existing as a staging point for the waggoneers and their families heading east for a new start. The importance of Water Shallow then, ensured the Priestesses of Saph erected a Shrine to Saph, Goddess of Travel, among other things, within the village. The starlight cast sufficient light for Gloringas to see clearly allowing him to hurry towards the river crossing searching, while bracing Lacy, her human eyes completely blind in the darkness.

When Gloringas found the Shrine, his disgust undisguised and said as much to Lacy. Overgrown and unkempt and he cursed all humans who didn’t tend to their gardens and look after their homes, instead allowing them to wander or decay with neglect. He estimated many bells of work would be required to clear and clean up the Shrine for use.

After entrusting Lacy with his daughter, he concealed them both within some nearby brush under the camouflage effect of his Elven Cloak and set to work clearing the Shrine. His Faerie magic allowed him to command the overgrown vegetation and convince it to retreat and grow elsewhere. The grime and dirt due to years of neglect required hard work having no magic to assist, although with the river close by he put to use a wet blanket.

The tallest section of the Shrine, the statue of the Goddess, her likeness near perfect he noted, he cleaned first and when done glanced over to where Lacy and his daughter hid, for reassurance. His glance changing to a stare to appreciate a sight worth remembering forever, amazed and joyful, witnessing his daughter suckle at Lacy's breast. More than food though in the giving, love, the true love of a devoted mother. Only able to provide his daughter water and little else in the way of food or comfort this past day a concern until now.

His joy turned quickly to anguish as his star light sight clearly picked up slow moving humanoids stumbling and shuffling directly towards Lacy and his daughter. Without hesitation he fetched them back to the Shrine. The humanoids corrected their direction slightly, so they once again targeted Lacy and his daughter, removing all doubt, the undead searched by sensing the presence of the living and no beacon glowed stronger than a newborn or pregnancy, especially so if fathered by an Elven Prince. An ancient enemy returned to haunt and hunt in the darkness of night.

He heard Lacy quietly call to him and turned towards her.

"To battle Gloringas, I cannot see them, but you can. I will clean as best I can while holding your daughter. There is only us."

Gloringas hurried to the river to wet the blanket once again before handing it to Lacy. He quickly strung his bow, nocked an arrow and aimed. After four or five arrows pin cushioned the humanoids, they continued their slow march forward, immune.

“They ignore my arrows Lacy, I will try nature,” said Gloringas.

The Elven Prince drew upon his Faerie magic calling to nature once again hailing brush, plants, weeds and the long grass to grasp at and try to hold the humanoids. A battle of wills and strength developed as undead struggled against nature.

The glow of a small flame drew his attention. As his eyes adjusted, Lacy tended a small fire and waved him towards her. When close she said, "This is a small jar of pitch, dip your arrows into it and then in the fire, the pitch will hold the flame. See if they can resist a cleansing flame my Elf Prince." Her eyes reflecting firelight, moisture glistening around them.

The outskirts of the village shortly after bathed in light, each humanoid afire burning candle like, pushing the darkness of night back. Gloringas couldn’t recognise many faces, although two stood out, the farmer and his wife, faces expressionless, blankly staring slowing burning to destruction. He observed this conversion many years ago, when still new to this world. The bodies of these humans corrupted by an evil to serve evil and cleansing fire the solution just as Lacy predicted.

Reflected in the light of these fires, two red piercing eyes he knew well. The Wolf Pack Leader paced, searching for an opening, trying to exploit a weakness or tiredness in his prey. On his back squatted the boy, his evil grin unmistakable trying to distract any willing to look.

Then Death Season returned; the cold of it, like a wave creeping towards father, mother and child. Gloringas shivered, as did Lacy, but not entirely because of the cold. Gloringas shivered because he knew of this evil coldness once before, long ago. His Goddess had ordered him and his to expand the Forests of Faerie to repel and reject this evil from their realm and create a final sanctuary, so this evil would never be felt again.

He handed his bow and quiver to Lacy for safekeeping and drew his long, sliver of a sword. The sword too sensed the ancient enemy and glowed with anticipation casting a pure light upon the battlefield. The sword remembered a blessing received long ago and knew how to fight the curse of the undead, unbind the evil from the physical body, to enable the body to be returned to good clean soil. The Elf Prince advanced towards the evil.

Words from the grave spoke to him. "Ah Elf Prince I see you are ready for battle," announced the Undead Lord in a voice as cold and as threatening as his presence. Gloringas could smell the cold death, decay and the dying as the Undead Lord spoke. Then the wave of cold malice hit him, a weariness and great tiredness afflicted him, never thinking he would ever feel such a weight again. The grass about and underneath the Undead Lord shrivelled black, burnt frozen at each step taken and radiating out from his footfalls.

Gloringas shut his eyes for an instant to recover and only woke in time to see, but not react to the huge black shape about to land upon him. At the last moment the black shape veered away from him, head and snapping jaws deflected, an arrow transfixing its bottom jaw to its top jaw and the arrowhead continuing on to piece its left eye. The Wolf Pack Leader writhed in silent agony. The boy nowhere to be seen.

While braced for the Wolf Pack Leader assault and distracted, Gloringas caught a glancing blow from the Undead Lord's cold iron sword while attempting to shift his body back, out of harm’s way. His right arm lay limp by his side, sword fallen from his grasp, the glow feeble. Gloringas continued dodging away, the pain almost unbearable, the numbness saving the worst, the cold affected the flesh at the boundary of the wound and this flesh screamed in pain. The Undead Lord took a moment to gloat and enjoy the hurt he inflicted, finally shifting across to prevent Gloringas reaching for his sword. A game developed, an opening to tempt the Elf Prince would be tantalisingly made available, the Undead Lord closing the chance trying to catch his wounded opponent. The evil dance delighted the Undead Lord, done to further dismay his foe. If flesh still dressed his skull the face would’ve smiled broadly and sneered.

To Gloringas a stalemate developed, he unwilling to overcommit, the Undead Lord hovering around his sword to continue the game, this meant the Undead Lord couldn’t advance upon any of his prey and Gloringas couldn’t attack without a weapon. Time passed and when Gloringas could check, the Wolf Pack Leader remained still without a growl.

For all Gloringas knew Lacy returned to cleaning the Shrine, positioning himself between the Shrine and the Undead Lord who would need to defeat the Elven Prince to do any harm. He needed to draw the Undead Lord away from his sword and hoped upon hope Lacy somehow knew his intent and recovered his sword. With the burden of her pregnancy and his child could he be asking too much?

Gloringas retreated slowly to the Shrine in search of his bow. The Undead Lord didn’t immediately follow, content to observe, guarding his prize. Gloringas found the bow and some loose arrows nearby. With his one good arm he reached into his belt pouch and drew out his last medicine.

A medicine he never thought he would have to use. It contained blood as all strong magic known by him did, specifically his blood, a measured sample taken when well rested, healthy and overly fed, the purity of the middle of the day sunlight upon him during high Growing Season, mixed as poultice with bark and leaf from the One Tree and bound by Faerie magic. He applied the medicine to his ruined arm and within heartbeats felt his strength return as life restored to flesh reborn and healed. The sun touched blood in the medicine reminding, recalling and forcing the cold blood in the wound to return the arm back to health.

As this unfolded the Undead Lord became enraged, his fine diversion and the resultant blow all for nothing. He sensed the life force return to the once limp arm and charged. Gloringas noticed all of his arrow heads covered in pitch and immediately dipped one into the small fire now at his feet and released. The pitch tried to catch the Undead Lord on fire, sputtering out near instantly as his radiating cold of undeath overcame the flame while still in approaching flight before the arrow hit. The force of the close-range release managed to baulk the Undead Lord's charge. This provided Gloringas with precious time to relocate.

He hadn’t spotted Lacy near the Shrine, so he used the construct to separate himself from the Undead Lord. He released another arrow, although ineffectual. While harassing Gloringas around the Shrine the Undead Lord didn’t give him enough advantage to enable him to cleanly break away to reach his sword, pick it up and defend the blow, certain to follow. Gloringas considered the possibility of the Undead Lord either reaching through the Shrine or simply destroying the Shrine between them and both options seemed far from the Undead Lord’s consideration, not once even feigning to do so for example.

The new stalemate broke when Lacy issued a challenge to the Undead Lord, shape changed once again and clumsily holding Gloringas' sword. The Undead Lord grinned at his new prey. This lumbering beast could not escape him, battle would be joined. Let the Elf Prince dance around his Shrine and watch on as the beast challenging him died under his cold iron sword.

The Undead Lord charged towards Lacy, an evil hunger growing with anticipation. Lacy shuffled backwards, the Undead Lord closing in for the kill. As in slow motion Lacy threw Gloringas' sword to him. The Undead Lord realised his error and determined to leave some pain behind before facing possible destruction, fearlessly followed through with his killing stroke.

In beast form, Lacy never nimble faced cold death stalwart and firm, about to die, as she couldn’t avoid the Undead Lord's blow. She could only retreat. Her shuffle stopped by a lump on the ground and she toppled backwards over it. As she fell, the cold iron blade of the Undead Lord passed over her chest, the trailing cold lingering, piercing her heart. The passing leaving frosted tuffs of hair or would it be called fur in its wake.

The Undead Lord didn’t have the opportunity for another blow as Gloringas caught his sword and swung in one motion to decapitate the evil spawn. The Undead Lord's head sailed off into the night, the body stood for a short time and then years upon years of decay caught up leaving a pillar of dust, slowly being blown away by the gentle seasonal breeze alive about them.

As Gloringas approached Lacy, he hesitated. At first, thinking her in pain from a blow by the Undead Lord and then observing her body pushing in an awkward position, realising the mother to be in labour, while still in beast form. Without medicine he knelt, contemplating how to help, the sight of Lacy’s beast form up close though igniting an internal moral conflict. Her body on one side he knew improper for delivery and as he attempted to turn her, Lacy ardently refused issuing a warning growl.

Perhaps the ground unsafe? Peering behind Lacy, Gloringas at first spied the quiver and then noticed his daughter strapped within and cut the straps holding the quiver, recovering the makeshift baby backpack. He quickly knotted the straps back together and carefully slung the quiver with his child snug and safe inside, on his back.

Lacy grunted, which attracted Gloringas to her plight. Comfortable now on her back, the labour began in earnest, body and mind collaborating at last with the baby now crowning between her furred legs. Gloringas, well-schooled in the skill of midwifery coached Lacy to a successful birth. The baby born a monster in every way, a complete miniature of Lacy's monstrous appearance and shape. Gloringas with great effort withstood his natural instinct to destroy the beast child he briefly held, instead, following years of technique; cradle the newborn, cut the umbilical cord, heal the cut closed, wipe the newborn clean and in this case only, pass his progeny to the mother. The next phase to ensure the mother expelled the placenta, which he then checked to ensure the afterbirth whole.

The birthing finished, Lacy returned to her elf-human shape and utterly exhausted slept. Gloringas now alone to care for two babies, one a perfect half-elf infant, the other a hideous monster infant. He reached for his daughter and placed her upon Lacy, the baby instinctively latching on to Lacy’s free breast competing with the monster infant also suckling.

Turning away from a sight which engendered conflicting strong emotions of delight and revolt he glimpsed the Wolf Pack Leader’s body shudder. Not a movement of life, on the contrary something struggling to be free of a dead weight. Peering over the wolf’s bulk, Gloringas shocked to discover the evil boy creature on his back, arms broken and twisted slowly succeeding to free himself after all this time.