Weidenlied

Moon Madness frowned. Her steps faltered, her ears twitched. Next to her, Crescent whined low in his throat. “But you said…” “I know what I said,” Moon Madness replied absent-mindedly. She lifted her head, scenting the air. The wind carried a sweet, oily scent. She wrinkled her nose. “It’s just strange.” The flowers that usually bloomed in vibrant shades of purple looked sickly, their cloying smell heavy in the cool Newleaf air. Nosing around on the ground around the warm-cave, she found some brown remnants of lavender and chamomile. “Something’s not right.” The black wolf that was her spirit animal frowned. His head tilted to the side, he wondered aloud, “You mean, like with a spirit?” He looked around as if he expected to see Meelanik or Sivoganik to just suddenly appear and attack them. Moon Madness shook her head. “No, nothing like that,” she replied. “But JoKa usually takes care of his flowers, his plants. And these…” Her gaze swept over the empty or browned flower beds.

Moon Madness turned around, tail swishing at her hind legs. When she came to the see-through wall, she turned again and walked back to the other side of the small human cave. The air was damp and smelled of greenery. “Will you stop pacing!” Moon Madness stopped to look at JoKa. Her packmate looked towards the ceiling and exhaled on a loud sigh. “What’s wrong with you? Ever since you came back from Wind Place, you’ve been out of sorts.” He came closer, sniffing at her ear, then her mane. “You don’t smell sick.” “I’m fine,” Moon Madness replied distractedly. She was staring out of the see-through stone-like substance the humans used to be able to see outside their caves. Snow was piled high even where LElij had tried to clear out a path. Snow everywhere. Deep, heaping mounds of snow. An image flashed in her mind: A dead wolf, its eyes staring at nothing. She tried to dislodge the memory with a full-body shake, turned around and began walking again. JoKa watched her in concern.

It was a slow day, which was just as well. The summer rush was over, the tourists had left for the most part, and I could focus on what was important about my work. During the hottest months, the people who found their way to my place rarely looked for anything more exciting than, say, a pendant with a pretty stone in it. They came for talismans, lucky charms and the like. Nothing serious, nothing that required anything from me at all. Now, with September looming and the vacations over in almost the entire country, the regulars came back in. Mrs. Lobbington had ordered a new dream chaser with real bird feathers yesterday, and just three hours ago the old and rheumatic man known only by his nickname Ape had slapped three coins and a creepy old fetish on my desk. The curse on the fetish at least was interesting, and making dream catchers always relaxed me. There was just something soothing in choosing the right materials for whatever dreams were plaguing the poor clairvoyant, in adding