Chapter 1
A man closed the doors to a barn beside a quiet cove. Dusk faded from the air over Hantle. He walked past the nearby docks and piles of freshly hewn logs to a cobblestone street. As he followed it south, he was accompanied by a wind that stirred the water’s surface and brought waves to shore. The stirring air picked up and tossed his brown, loosely-curled hair. From the middle of this road rose streetlamps on simple bronze stems. He ran his hand along each lamp as he passed by. Flames above danced atop thick wicks and the nearby forest rustled and groaned.
The man looked to his right, to children running amid tall grasses in a field that sat west of the street. His two boys were a part of the group. Wildflowers caught the light from the burning lamps and speckled the night with muted colors. The day’s leftover heat kept Hantle warm against the wind. The children’s play sent up shouts and laughter that carried over the town, which lay just south of the field.
Hantle reached Founsel’s border as another father walked out to his porch and shouted for his children to come in for dinner. Hantle turned back and said, “You’ve got two minutes, boys.” Other parents followed suit and calls went up as Hantle stepped through his front door.
Back in the field, Hantle’s two sons ignored their mother’s follow-up calls and continued playing tag after the other dirt-streaked kids had stomped off. An inky forest bordered the meadow. Just within its trees, two golden dots reflected the street’s lights. They disappeared briefly as the wolf blinked. Both boys threw handfuls of grass at the other, oblivious to the shadow a few yards away. The wolf bared his teeth and licked his canines with a black and pink tongue.
Five minutes later, Lorenca stepped past Hantle to exit their house. She walked up the street where the lamps accented her long, rust-colored hair. At the edge of the meadow, with a dishcloth flung over her shoulder, she called into the deepening night. No response. She yelled more loudly so her voice would carry into the forest. Nothing. She stomped back home and wrung the dishcloth with a small frame that belied her strength.
The boys’ father burst out the door with a lantern in hand. He walked from house to house, asking whether his boys had been by. When the last family told him no, Hantle clenched his wide jaw and made his way to the meadow. The children played there daily and his sons were likely hiding nearby. With lantern held high, he scoured first the meadow and then the surrounding woods. But the meadow was empty and the woods gave no trail to follow.
The father stopped his search, feeling frustrated, and, once back in the meadow, shouted promises of spankings toward the trees. Only after did he realize threats would not draw his sons from their hiding spots. The lantern swung low at his side as he went back home. On the porch, he hung the lantern on a hook next to the door, then continued inside. He shut the heavy door but left it unlocked.
The man consoled his wife. “Remember, Lorenca, the boys are older now. They’re likely hiding in the trees, and, at this very moment, congratulating one another for being exceedingly sneaky.”
Lorenca looked at him with worry in her eyes. “They won’t think they’re so clever once they’re grounded.”
Hantle ran his hand through her hair then walked into the kitchen. “Boys have no foresight. I can’t tell you how many times I did something like this in my childhood.”
Glasses clinked as he poured two drinks. She took the glass and he motioned for her to resume her painting. He sat nearby and sipped the liquor before he picked up the knife’s handle he’d just begun whittling.
“Soon enough,” he reassured her, “they will tire of the game and come back for a hot meal.”