Young Writers Society

“I don’t hate my brothers,” Tristian admitted. “I love them much, even if I’ve never told them directly. Sometimes I hate the way they treat me, or I hate what they do, but I never hated them. They are just people and people are complicated.”

His father looked at him gravely. “Do you know what I call people who threaten me with violence?”

Tristian grimaced. “What?”

“Enemies,” his father replied.

Tristian winced. “They are my brothers, not my enemies.”

“If you say so.” His father sighed and rubbed his head.

Tristian swallowed nervously. “What do you think of me?”

The king shrugged. “I have told you what I thought of you. You are your mother’s son.”

“Then you think that I am weak?”

His father glared at him. “Your mother was not weak. She was the strongest woman that I’ve ever met. Most men were not as strong as her. When her kingdom fell, there were many men dead around her. But she was a survivor. I found her in the wreckage. She was one of the only things alive.”

“The fever killed her,” Tristian said blandly.

“Yes, the fever killed her,” the king said grimly. “It killed many of its victims. It was a cruel disease. Instead of killing the elderly, it killed the young and the strong. Still, while the fever may have killed her, it did not kill you.”

Tristian looked up hopefully. “So you think I am strong?”

“I think you can rise to the challenge,” the king said. “She rose to the challenge many times. But she was always afraid to take the first step. And I think you’re the same the way. You are also scared to take the first step. But I think you can rise to the challenge, if you need to.”

Tristian shuddered and stared moodily ahead. “I don’t think that I am not ready to be king.”

The king suddenly laughed. “Good, because I am not ready to die! That path, fortunately, is not open to you now, nor will be opening anytime soon, if I have my way. However, another path has been opened up. The golden bird has come! And perhaps through this bird, you will rise up and become what you need to become.”

I sort of feel like I'm regurgitating Cyrus's complaints at the beginning of Book 4. It's like, "Oh! Traveling on a horse through a forest when winter is fast approaching is a Bad Idea. Huh, who would have ever guessed that???"

But like. Cyrus's story is slightly better written, in my opinion, for some reason... not sure why. Maybe because Cyrus is a far more developed character than Prince Tristian? Maybe because I gloss over it more? Or maybe because Cyrus has companions that he can complain to, whereas Tristian only has his horse, and seeing a character ranting and raving to a horse that he legitimately hates because it is the Worst Horse Ever might not be fun... actually, that sounds hilarious now that I write it out. Maybe I should do that...

When he first saw the wolf, Tristian only stared at him. And then he got mad. Everything had gone so disastrously wrong so far that he felt as if he was part of a divine comedy and that God was laughing at him. Next to him, the horse still neighed pitifully while the wolf came out of the forest with his teeth bared. It was so ridiculous that Tristian almost thought it was part of a dream.

Still, Tristian was resolved to face the wolf courageously, just as any hero would do. After all, if this were to be his last moments, he might as well end them with courage.

No one had ever taught him how to confront a giant wolf. However, he knew a little bit of dueling etiquette, as well as the witty ripostes that accompanied said dueling. And so, he stood up and faced the wolf, as if it were a man that he were about to duel. Then he drew his sword at his side and waggled the blade threateningly to the wolf. “Do you think I care about you, you miserable beast? I do not! You may look scary, but look! My name is Prince Tristian and I come armed! If you attack me, you will regret it!”

The wolf blinked. Then the wolf said, “Forgive me, my dear prince, I did not realize who you were. I will not attack you. However, may I please eat your horse? He looks deliciously fat and I am so hungry.”

At the words, Tristian sprang back, confused. “You are a wolf?”

It was the first words that came to his mind, though as soon as he said them he realized how stupid they sounded. A better question would have been, “Did you talk?” Or maybe, “How did you talk?” Or maybe even, “How it possible that you, a wolf, could possibly talk to me?” Or, better yet, “What magic enables you to talk?” All of those questions would have been better than asking a talking wolf — who was clearly a wolf! — if he was a wolf. But Tristian wasn’t thinking clearly. Everything was happening too fast and he felt frazzled as a result.

At the question, the wolf yawned, looking irritated. “Clearly, I am a wolf,” said the wolf. “What did you think I was? A chicken?”

Tristian blushed at the sarcasm, but tried to stand up taller and look unbothered. “And you speak?” he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that was happening.”

“Clearly.” The wolf curled his lips back and flattened his ears. “Did you think I was a dumb brute? If so, why did you speak to me?”

Tristian blushed more, suddenly realizing that it probably would be very silly to admit that he didn’t know that the wolf could speak. What could he say? That he was terrified that the wolf would kill him and so pretended that the wolf was an opponent for a duel? So he quickly said, “Never mind that! I spoke to you and you answered me and that’s all that matters. Tell me, what is it that you want?”

“Your horse, of course,” said the wolf. Then he paused and wagged his tail. “That rhymed.”

Tristian squinted at the wolf. “Are you the sorcerer that my father sent me to find?”

At the mention of the sorcerer, all the wolf’s hackles went up “Why, what a silly question!” the wolf said, his fur bristling.

“It is not a silly question!” Tristian insisted. “You just told me that the sorcerer had been bewitched and disappeared! What if the sorceress turned the sorcerer into a giant talking wolf?”

The wolf growled. “Are you trying to insinuate that the sorceress turned the sorcerer into a wolf because she thought the sorcerer was making inappropriate advances to her when he whistled at her when he saw her for the first time and didn’t realize that she was a sorceress who was in a bad mood and thought his whistle was a wolf whistle and thus permanently changed him into a wolf? Because that is quite an insinuation to make! And very rude as well.”

Tristian blinked at the wolf and suddenly felt even more uncertain. “That was an oddly specific story.”

“It could have happened to anyone!” the wolf growled again, his hackles still bristling. “Now, pack up and prepare to ride before I change my mind!”

The wolf growled. “That inn is too fancy. They’ll probably only let me into that place if I have a bath!”

Tristian snorted. “Good! A bath will do you good.”

The wolf only growled. “We should go to the other inn. It’ll be more comfortable for me. And there will be less obnoxious poodles running around. Why, judging from all the fancy carriages around, I can only assume that the whole place is infested with poodles. Or, even worse, pugs! We should go to the other inn instead. It might not look the nicest, but I'm sure the company will be better.”

“No, let’s go to the nice inn.”

Tristian tried to step forward again, but the wolf blocked him once more and glowered at him. “I will howl obnoxiously if you try to bring me in,” the wolf warned. “And I’ll bite anyone who tries to give me a bath!”

“You a prince?” the innkeeper said, looking at Tristian’s mud-stained outfit. Immediately, Tristian felt uncomfortable.

“Maybe I am,” Tristian snapped, suddenly thankful that the wolf was sitting at his side. With the wolf at his side, he probably wouldn’t get robbed, or worse, murdered in his sleep by the dubious looking patrons who eyed him curiously. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, just curious,” the innkeeper said. Then he added, “I don’t see many princes coming along this way. Not since the new inn opened up.”

Tristian grimaced and decided not to explain that he had almost went there, and, were it not for his mangy companion, he would be there staying in luxury and drinking wine. Instead, he nodded and said, “Must be tough to have so much competition with the other inn. It looks like a big party is over there. I imagine most princes would want to stay there.”

“The tavern brings in good enough business with the locals,” the innkeeper said serenely. “Enough to keep the inn anyway. Besides, not everyone can afford the sorceress’s rates.”

Tristian suddenly paled. “The sorceress’s rates? A sorceress runs that place?”

The innkeeper nodded. “A sorceress started a business there as an inn several months ago. It’s been a very popular place, especially since two princes came to join them. They have parties every night. Everyone who goes there forgets who he is and simply enjoys their time as a guest. Until she eats them, of course.”

Tristian stepped back, alarmed. “What?”

“Her guests eventually turn into pigs,” the innkeeper said apologetically. “She’s no cannibal! Everything is perfectly legal.”

“But her guests turn into pigs and then are slaughtered?” Tristian asked, staring at the innkeeper in horror.

The innkeeper shrugged. “As I said before, not everybody can afford her rates.”

LOL the talking wolf is hilarious XD (and toootally not the sorcerer >.>) love the banter between the wolf and Tristian =P
great job so far, Snoink!!

Tristian frowned. “This plan seems too easy. There must be a catch!”

“There isn’t a catch,” the wolf said. “That’s all you need to do. It is an easy task.”

Tristian frowned more. “Then why hasn’t anyone done it before?”

“Because humans are ridiculous and like to complicate everything, especially if it’s easy!” the wolf growled. “Now, stop asking questions and try your magic flute! Let’s hear what it sounds like.”

Tristian frowned at the bundled reeds that he made. Then he glanced up at the wolf, who looked at him eagerly with his ears perked up. “I suppose I just blow into it, right?" he asked uncertainly. Then he puffed his cheeks and blew into the reeds.

An atrocious squawk came out.

The noise startled Tristian so badly that he dropped the flute and sprang away in surprise. But when the wolf heard it, he wagged his tail happily. “Beautiful!” he cried. “That will put them right to sleep!”

Tristian stared at the wolf in disbelief. At first, he thought that the wolf must have said those words sarcastically. Then, as he watched the wolf’s tail wagging and realized that the wolf was serious, he grew angry. “Do you really think that sound will make them sleep?” he snapped, his face growing red. “Why, it sounded like a dying duck!”

“I can think of no fonder sound,” the wolf said, sighing wistfully and wagging his tail more. “Dying ducks remind me of duck dinners, and what can be more satisfying than that? Imagine falling asleep with a belly full of oily duck flesh. Can you think of anything better? I wouldn’t mind a duck dinner myself right now. It sounds glorious.”

Tristian stared at the wolf. Then he held up the reeds in anger. “Why, if I played my flute — if you can even call it that! — it would wake the whole castle up! They will think that they are being invaded by an army of deranged ducks and they will wake up in a panic! Then they would see me, quacking like an imbecile on my reeds and throw me in prison for causing mass panic to them all!”

The wolf looked at Tristian quizzically and tilted his head. “Are humans really that scared of ducks?”