It did not matter how far the walk was, or for how long they had to stay in the most squalid of conditions, Foghlaidh was a wolf with a mission.  He limped as he walked, his footsteps crunching the leaves of the forest floor of Forleigh Holt; leaves which had fallen two seasons ago, yet remained part of the woodlands as if it was their home.  He felt a connection with them, in an odd sense.  He had been stepped on, and now he had a very precious prize, soon no one was going to keep him out of the home he rightfully deserved.  The home from which he had been evicted.

Three sets of crunches followed his own as three wolves, smaller than himself in both height and age, followed close behind him.  All the figures were cloaked in long cloaks that dragged along the ground, the hoods pulled over their heads so that only the tips of their muzzles protruded.  They walked behind their leader in order of their rank, which was based on their age.  

The youngest of the three, almost an adult in his own right, walked at the back of the pack with a lighter step than the others.  A trace of a smile could be seen written upon his lips, with a hint of white fur running from his nose to the cover of the cloak, and anonymity.  He seemed to be very pleased with himself about something.  The other two were keeping quiet as they walked, apart from the noise of their heavy footsteps.  The eldest, and highest ranking follower, was gathered deep in his cloak, as if he was freezing cold on the warm spring’s day.  He was also the only one not to droop his tail so the cloak he was wearing could drop down over his body correctly.  While nothing was exposed, a large lump in his back gave the impression that the wolf was a hunchback, albeit in his lower back instead of up near the shoulders.  

“Put your tail down,” hissed the middle of the three followers in a whisper just loud enough for his brother to hear, but not loud enough to alert the attention of the leader.  “You look like an idiot.”  An angry flick of the hunch was the reply.  The second wolf took a deep breath to steady his own temper before continuing the one-sided and whispered conversation.  “How is anyone going to believe that we’re just monks if you can’t even wear a simple cloak?”  Again, a flick of the bulge was how his brother saw fit to answer him.  

Looking round to make sure that no eyes were looking at him from others in the forest, the whispering wolf drew a sword from under his cloak and, after a spot of careful aiming, spiked the wolf ahead of him hard in the tail with the tip of the blade.  With a yell of pain and surprise, the oldest follower turned, his own sword drawn, and faced down his brother.

“What the dawn blazes did you do that for?” he screamed.  His face was contorted with rage, and his lips were curled so far that his gums as well as teeth were barred.  His sword was pointed at the younger wolf’s chest, as if ready to run him through at any moment, barely registering the blade pointing at the exact same spot on his own chest.  The fight was over before it could begin, however, as the business end of a wooden staff impacted the side of his skull, stunning him for a moment before he collapsed in a heap on the ground, clutching his head.  The second wolf quickly dropped his weapon before the alpha of the group had the idea to give him the same punishment.

“Would someone like to explain to me why I just had to do that?” Foghlaidh’s voice was quiet, with a dangerous sound of someone on the very edge of exploding but trying very hard to remain composed.  The gritted teeth of the alpha also served as a clue that he was very angry.

“Marrok stabbed me,” the wolf on the ground groaned.  He was checking his head to see if there was any blood.  He was glad when he found he was bruised, but not bleeding.  With his head still spinning a little, he rose to his feet and staggered back in to position.

“Only because you wouldn’t stash your stupid tail, Foley,” Marrok growled, bending down to pick his sword back up.  “Having it raised up in the air like that, I ask you.  Do you want us to draw too much attention to ourselves?”

“I’m going to say this once more,” the alpha said.  His breathing was heavy and his words were slow as he fought the urge to beat both wolves black and blue.  “We are monks.  We have walked around half a day’s distance from Windrush to spend some time at Forleigh’s monastery. If we can, we would like to get a couple of nights in comfortable beds and a few nice meals in our bellies before continuing our pilgrimage to Sovereign Hill,” he opened his robe to lock the staff back against his leg, making him limp once more.  “This means we have to look the part with our costumes, remember our story when talking with the monks, and stay in character when in public.  It’s the only thing keeping you two idiots safe from me at this very moment.  Now you three are going to follow me in complete silence until we get to the monk den.  Do I make myself clear?”  All three wolves nodded, keeping their lips shut tight.  As they fell back into line and continued the walk, Marrok noticed that this time Foley had clamped his tail between his legs.  It had been a hard lesson to learn, but the wolf had suddenly become a very quick learner.

***

Forleigh’s monastery was the only clue that the nondescript borough had been entered to those unfamiliar with walking through the route from Windrush to Sovereign Hill.  The large stone wall surrounding the monastic gardens and buildings formed an impassable barrier in the middle of Forleigh Holt, and the well-worn dirt path split in two directions upon reaching the blockage, each path going in a different direction around the wall but unifying again around the back.  It was as if someone had built the monastery in the middle of the path and just rerouted it around the premises.

Tall wooden doors held up by wide metal hinges and reinforced with thick metallic strips sat behind the split in the path, offering a third direction of travel.  These were guarded by two dogs up on the top of the wall, looking over the path for wayward travellers or folk in need of help.  The monks of Forleigh were well known for providing a resting spot for the tired, and their ability to accommodate for someone who just wanted a quick rest as well as those looking to stay for a couple of nights had made them popular and well respected.

The four wolves soon saw the tall walls looming through the trees.  The sight of their destination picked Foley’s spirits up.  He was tired and sore, and he now also had a headache.  The four wolves had been walking since before dawn, though progress had been slow thanks to their disguise.  Marrok was more hungry than sore, but he knew better than to make his grievance heard.  Foghlaidh was not the most receptive when it came to listening to the complaints of his followers.  Without trying to make it look too obvious to any onlookers, the party of wolves increased their pace until they arrived at the giant doors that stood before them.  Raising a fist, Foghlaidh knocked three times, and stood back to await the reply.

“Who goes there?” came down a shout from a dalmatian guard, looking down at the party from his post.

“I am Abbot Rion,” the lead wolf called up, as if announcing his arrival to royalty.  “Formally from the monastery outside the village of Souford, now on a pilgrimage to Sovereign Hill.”

“What is the nature of your visit, Abbot Rion?”

“I humbly request the use of your hospitality for myself and my monks for the duration of two nights,” Foghlaidh bellowed.  “We have travelled for a good number of days and we are in need of a proper rest before we reach our destination.”  The dalmatian nodded and hollered down the instruction to open the door.  The sound of chains clanking filled the air, as the doors opened inward, allowing passage to the four wolves.  As they stepped through the opening doors, they were greeted by a large bulldog and a Great Dane.  Both dogs were dressed in robes not too dissimilar to the robes worn by the wolves.  They bowed in greeting to the new arrivals.

“Welcome to Forleigh monastery,” the Great Dane said, pulling down his hood and revealing his black and white splotched face.  “My name is Hosteller Cabal, and beside me is Abbot Hodain.  We are a peaceful lot, so if you would please follow me, I will take you to the armoury where your weapons can be stowed during your visit here.”

“Armoury?” Marrok said, a little surprised.  “We are but simple monks, why would we be armed?”

“Because,” the abbot replied with a wry grin, “our gatekeeper, Brother Durward, is a refugee from the monastery near Souford after Lord Blacktooth’s recent attack on the village.  We know that the abbot there is dead, so you can not be who you claim to be.  Therefore, you are more than likely armed.  We, however, will not judge you, nor deprive you of rest, so long as you treat our home with respect, and come in peace.”

“Sounds fair to me,” the youngest wolf said with a brisk nod.

“Shut up, Rience,” Marrok snapped.

“My apologies, father,” Foghlaidh said, his face scowling at the wolves behind him.  “We shall gladly surrender any armaments we currently carry.”

“Good,” the abbot replied as he began to walk towards the armoury, flanked by the Great Dane on his left.  “Please, follow me.”

The monastery appeared to be larger on the inside than it looked from the outside.  Four identical stone buildings were built in a cross formation, with the far walls of each building pointing towards a corner of the boundaries.  A diamond shaped courtyard kept the four structures apart, and a circular fountain took pride of place in the centre of the yard.  The garden area near the far wall housed an orchard filled with trees containing soon-to-be-picked summer fruits while the garden to the left of the far wall featured a large pond.  A couple of ducks were swimming upon its surface, talking between themselves and not appearing to not pay any attention to the four wolves being escorted to the place to dispose of their weapons.  

The armoury was located at the courtyard end of the building nearest the orchard.  A simple wooden door, kept unlocked, was the only entrance and exit to the room, which was far smaller than the wolves had expected.  Behind a short desk sat a doberman, and an old looking book was placed open in front of him.  An old quill pen was clasped firmly in his right paw and he looked up at the wolves with a mixture of disdain and disinterest.

“Weapons please,” he said, patting the little empty place on the desk, indicating where he would like the arms to be placed.  With a grunt, Foghlaidh unhooked the staff from his leg brace and handed it over to the monk.  Foley, Marrok, and Rience handed over their swords, making a pile of blades on the table.  The four were about to walk out when the doberman coughed.  It was not the kind of cough that cleared the throat, but the kind of cough that someone would use to get someone else’s attention.  The wolves turned back and looked at him.

“Yes?” the lead wolf asked.

“You’re not handing the rest over?” came the reply.

“Rest?”

“Yes,” the doberman sighed.  “The ankle knives your three friends are wearing, the slings you all have currently stuffed into the pockets of your cloaks, and the ammunition for these slings you have hanging in pouches around the back of your belts.  I would also like the wrist blade you currently have under your sleeve, as well as the twine your smallest party member has, with which I assume he intends to fashion a crude bow as soon as he can find a suitable switch.”  He gave a satisfied grin and a small nod.  “Yes, that should just about cover it.”

There were general mutterings of complaint from the three older wolves, but the youngest wolf looked at the doberman, astounded.

“How did you know about the other weapons? He asked, giving up his killing tools and signing the records book.  The dog looked back at him, this time with a smile in his eye, as if pleased about the wolf’s fascination.

“When you’ve done this job as long as I have, pup,” he replied, “you see a lot of folk.  Some good, others with less than noble intentions.  Still, you soon learn all the tricks of concealment and what to look out for.”  He waited until the other three wolves had left before adding quietly to the smaller wolf, “a little guesswork also comes into play, though.”  

Rience gave a smirk before heading out to join his family.