As moonlight filtered through the leaves of the forest, a howl was carried on the breeze towards Zalia. A flicker of a smile passed over her face as she soundlessly ran through the woods towards it. She could see the wolves now, large, rippling muscles, sharp fangs, glowing eyes. A branch caught her attention, and Zalia grabbed it, swinging herself up onto it. A single piece of bark fell, but she quickly snatched it up before it could make a sound. She stilled, watching the moon-gray pelt stalk beneath her. The rustling of bushes sounded as the slight breeze blew again.

Not now, not now, not now, Zalia silently begged. Every wolf-hunter knew that breezes were bad, even the apprentices. Winds, no matter how small, sent your smell hurtling towards the wolves, who could smell it and get away. And I can't have that, Zalia thought to herself. I've never had a wolf get away, nor a deer, nor a bear. A single mistake could make me lose my position. She remembered all the months she had struggled to prove herself. Poor orphaned child, the stewards had whispered, trying to become a wolf-hunter. Zalia had proved them wrong, by becoming the best of the best.

The wolf growled, making Zalia nearly jump. Moon-head, she cursed herself, never lose attention. She drew her bow slowly, quietly, waiting for the perfect moment. The goose feather arrow was nocked right as the wolf caught something was wrong. It turned to flee, but the black arrow was already speeding towards it. A solid thump a second later told Zalia she had been successful. She leapt off the tree, landing beside the wolf. "Another male," she mused, running her hand along the shining flank.

She reached down, picking up the limp corpse after pulling the arrow out. She spread the leaves out again, making it seem as if nothing had happened before turning back towards the east. The castle lay there, beckoning, against the brightening sky. With a heft of the carcass, Zalia ran through the forest, back home, back to where she would add another tally to her wolveskilled and skin the male.

Zalia dropped the corpse on her shed table and left the room to make her report to the king. As she approached the throne room, the guards stilled, half afraid and half disdainful. Wolf-hunters usually were both feared and distrusted, as they were shadowy and quiet. Some joked (or at least they said they were) that wolf-hunters would make excellent assassins.

Zalia had to agree.

She strolled forward, her tightly braided shadow-black hair swinging beneath her hood. She let her wolf-skin suit rustle slightly to prove that she wasn't a wraith as people believed. The door was pushed open without a word from the guards, who knew exactly why she'd come and what she wanted.

Zalia strode through the bustling room, which quieted as people noticed her. As she approached the throne dais, she knelt in respect and waited.

"Wolf-hunter," the king said after a long time.

Zalia raised her head, letting her posture self-correct into an almost defiant position. "High King," she returned, keeping her tone level.

"I assume," High King Luptas spoke leisurely, eyeing the large moonstone in his palm, "that your presence means another wolf has been killed?"

Zalia nodded. "Yes, my lord, a male wolf."

The King half-smiled, nodding slowly. "How many have you killed this moon-cycle?" he asked, leaning forward. He was a tall man, broad and strong, not fat as many previous kings had been. His hair, a startling red, had not declined in color as his years gathered. A thick cloak of white and black ermine was draped over his shoulders, fastened by a large gold chain around the front. His robe was a dark blue, embroidered with gold thread in the pattern of deer and hounds.

Zalia hesitated, briefly wondering how to respond. After a moment, she replied truthfully, "forty or more, my lord." She added, after a heartbeat, "twenty-two males and much more than that for females."

The king nodded, once, as a sign that she was dismissed. However, as she started to walk down along the rowan wood floors, the king added, "wolf-hunter?" Zalia turned, expectant. "Catch," laughed the king, tossing the large moonstone he had been eyeing.

Zalia caught it deftly, turned it over, and bowed deeply before turning and leaving the room.

Upon returning to her cottage and shed between the river by the castle and the forest, she lit a candle and began skinning the wolf. After laying the pelt out to dry for tanning later, she chopped up the meat, disposed of the bones, and made a rich stew. Sitting down and sipping her broth, she turned the moonstone over. It was a cloak pin, carved as a snarling wolf.

Moonstones had been the symbol of wolf-hunters for years, ever since the High King Luptas had decreed that all wolves were to be hunted and killed. Legend said that the moonstones held the strength of whatever the bearer killed, and that they were formed by starlight and lightning. Some said that moonstones could give wings to the wearer, or powers. When the wolf-hunters had taken them as their symbol, the rumors became darker. They said that if the stone were washed in wolf blood on a new moon, the hunter could kill anyone anywhere with a thought. They said that the stones gave wolf-hunters dark powers, of which could make them invisible.

None of which was actually true, of course. But still, the moonstone was a pretty symbol.

Zalia went out and washed her bowl in the stream as the daylight started to flicker it. Zalia usually slept from before noon to sunset, which allowed plenty of time to sleep and get things done before she had to hunt wolves. She did hunt other things, of course, such as deer, bears, fish, rabbits, anything with an edible meat and a useful pelt. Her most common pelts were wolf pelts, which she used for blankets, insulation for when the weather turned cold, rugs, and as a source of income for when she needed it.

She also used the pelts for her wolf-hunter garb. She wore a suit of wolf-leather, sleeveless, but with long glove-sleeves which covered her entire hand except for the fingers and went all the way to her shoulders. She also had a cape and hood made of the same material for when the nights turned cold or when she needed to maintain her wolf-hunter mystique. As for Zalia herself, she was tall and lithe, with long night-black hair that was usually braided and tied with strips of silver wolf-leather, skin that was gray-bronze from her nights in the forest and her days mending, practicing, fixing her home, skinning, and so forth. Her main pride and joy were her eyes, which were like the midnight sky: deep blue but with what almost looked like silver specks like stars. Besides her clothes and hair, she also wore silver armbands which looked like Celtic braids around her biceps.

Silver was the official metal of wolf-hunters and woodsmen. All trades had an official metal: Gold for the jewelry makers, gem sellers, seamstresses, hairdressers, and perfumers. Silver was for the woodsmen, wolf-hunters, and anyone who relied on the forest for support. Copper was for the cooks, restaurant owners, inns, and all who used culinary arts as a mean for income. Iron, likewise, was for all the craftsmen. Woodworkers, metalworkers, blacksmiths, liveries, stoneworkers, all other crafts.

Zalia moved on from cleaning her dishes to her cottage-work. She worked a bit more on the stone wall surrounding her cottage, patched a hole in her shed, and tanned the wolf hide from that night. It was one of the finer ones, all silvery and gray. Usually, the finest things of each trade went to the High King as a sort of tribute, but if the object was of the color of the trade, the craftsman was allowed to keep it. Zalia took the hide and laid it out in the sun to dry, wondering what exactly she should do with it.

Just before Zalia prepared to sleep until the evening, a knock sounded at the door. Grumbling, the wolf-hunter unlatched the rowan wood door and opened it. Standing before her was an overweight man with a receding hair line.

"Eh, um," the man stammered, recognizing Zalia's wolf-leather clothes, moonstone brooch, and silver armbands. "You-you are the High King's wolf-hunter, correct?"

Zalia nodded, already bored. "Yes, and what of it?" The man bowed. "I bring news. A wolf-pack has been spotted outside of Meadport. They said to get the High King's hunter, so really you should g-" Zalia didn't hear the rest. She had her hood and cloak on in a flash, her knives strapped to her waist, and her bow and quiver on her back, her fatigue gone.

Zalia knew that taking a carriage would take too long, so she decided to travel on foot through the forest. The outer bands were thick, the middle band a little thinner, but the middle was the densest of them all. Zalia decided to take the shortcut of going straight through the middle layer and out the other side. However, even being thinner than the other layers, the forest would've been virtually impassable to a non-wolf-hunter. Zalia hurtled a log, heading along the trails invisible to all but her and anyone who knew the forest. She leapt up, grabbed a vine, and swung over a creek. Immediately, she had to dodge a strangler vine, narrowly missing a tree trunk. The ground turned muddy, and every step threatened to take Zalia's boots.

The sun rose and fell through the sky as Zalia ran without stopping. When she finally cleared the forest, she was amazingly tired and sweating like a fountain. The people cleared a way as she passed. Zalia turned to the nearest hunter. "I am the High King's wolf-hunter. I heard you had a pack of wolves?"

The hunter nodded. "Meadport forest, just beyond that last ship," he pointed to a tall white ship, "near the heart of it. Be careful, those woods are dangerous."

Zalia nodded, thanked the man, and ran along the cobblestone pathways towards the dark line of trees. They were a collection of oaks and pines about the length and breadth of High King Luptas's castle and surrounding amenities, but Zalia could see that it was denser than one of Mary Loo's bog bread. Vines were draped across every available surface as Zalia stepped in, half of them strangler vines. Zalia glanced up, eyeing the vines above as well. After a long moment, she pushed off of the ground and climbed the vine hand over hand until she reached the top. Here, the majority of the vines were harmless, and they were dense enough to where Zalia could swing from one to the next without worrying about not being able to grab one.

Finally, Zalia could see the vines beneath her thinning out, and she swung herself to the ground with a muffled thud. She slipped along, eyes constantly moving. She knew that she had to keep her adrenaline up or sleep would overtake her. A faint howl sounded to her right, and she spun and slid into a shadow under a wall.

Within a few seconds, several wolves with golden-white fur leapt by. Zalia reached back and grabbed a black feathered arrow. She calmed her breathing, steadied her aim, and fired.