Edea glanced up as the sparks from the fire caught the new log in a golden grip,
around her young ones slept or cowered in a mound of blankets as the haunting call of nature echoed past the rattling windows and doors.
“Wolves …” Edea whispered.
Cowering children inched closer with wide eyes on the door as if the woodland creature would enter at the call of its name.
“Matron, will it get in?” a young girl asked through the safety of her protective patchwork cocoon.
Edea, affectionately called Matron by the little ones, drew the shaking child closer and hushed her worries patiently. “No, child.
The Wolves can’t get inside the house,” she reached into the blanket and pulled out their intertwined fingers with a playful smile “Because they have no hands!”
The child’s trembling paused and her Matron planted a soft kiss on her forehead as she tucked her in securely. “You’re sure, Matron, you promise it can’t get in?” she fretted.
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