full
Excerpt from “Wolf of Withervale” by Joaquín Baldwin (read by Solomon Harries, part 1 of 2)
An excerpt from the start of a fantasy, an epic and queer tale of transformation, by Joaquín Baldwin.
Today’s story is the first of two parts of an excerpt from “Wolf of Withervale” by Joaquín Baldwin, known for his work at Disney in films like Zootopia and currently writing his own fantasy series called the Noss Saga. This excerpt of Wolf of Withervale features the first few chapters of the story, but you can get the full novel on Joaquín’s website.
Read by Solomon Harries, Cuddly Badger Dad.
thevoice.dog | Apple podcasts | Spotify | Google Podcasts
If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with us.
https://thevoice.dog/episode/excerpt-from-wolf-of-withervale-by-joaquin-baldwin-part-1-of-2
Transcript
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,
Speaker:and Today’s story is the first of two parts
Speaker:of an excerpt from “Wolf of Withervale”
Speaker:by Joaquín Baldwin,
Speaker:known for his work at Disney in films like Zootopia
Speaker:and currently writing his own fantasy series called the Noss Saga.
Speaker:This excerpt of Wolf of Withervale features the first few chapters of the story,
Speaker:but you can get the full novel
Speaker:on Joaquín’s website.
Speaker:Read by Solomon Harries,
Speaker:the Cuddly Badger Dad.
Speaker:Please enjoy “Wolf of Withervale”
Speaker:by Joaquín Baldwin,
Speaker:Part 1 of 2 The gray fox fled through the forest, her paws quiet as an owl’s shadow,
Speaker:her whiskers bending like grasses fighting a storm.
Speaker:She glided beneath ferns and wriggled her tired body into a hollow log.
Speaker:Thwump. Thwump. Thwack! Three arrows narrowly missed their target,
Speaker:lodging themselves into the dirt and the splintered wood.
Speaker:The fox snaked out and sprinted away.
Speaker:Downhill she sped toward the oak groves,
Speaker:hearing the howl of the foxhounds behind her
Speaker:and the tchtchtchwick of the crossbows reloading.
Speaker:The smell of glacier waters from a nearby creek flooded her with determination.
Speaker:With her heart in her throat, she unflinchingly pressed on.
Speaker:Fwip. Fwip. Thud! Two arrows missed,
Speaker:but the third hit the skin above her shoulder blades,
Speaker:sliced through it,
Speaker:and exited on the opposite side in a spray of blood.
Speaker:Despite the tearing pain, she did not slow.
Speaker:The smell of iron permeated the air,
Speaker:rendering the cries of the hounds more ecstatic.
Speaker:Unless the fox found a place to hide,
Speaker:she would run out of breath,
Speaker:out of muscle. Out of sense.
Speaker:Whap! Another arrow scraped by her abdomen,
Speaker:tearing a clean cut on her belly.
Speaker:She cried out a whimpering wail,
Speaker:yet still, she did not falter.
Speaker:She had seen her tribe murdered and enslaved, had cried in despair as she witnessed the light extinguished from her daughter’s eyes.
Speaker:Her task was too important for her to fail.
Speaker:She would push through to the very end
Speaker:and protect the ancient artifact.
Speaker:She felt the energy of the forest around her,
Speaker:like electricity tingling her gray, orange, and white fur.
Speaker:Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion,
Speaker:but she could see without seeing.
Speaker:The path ahead was clear to her,
Speaker:as if the connections to every organism in the forest
Speaker:—from the smallest mite to the tallest tree
Speaker:—shared her pain and urged her forward.
Speaker:Down a loose pebble trail lay a ramshackle old cabin. The gray fox sensed a sympathetic presence in front of it.
Speaker:A boy. She rushed toward him,
Speaker:leaving a red trail behind her.
Speaker:The hounds howled.
Speaker:Lago’s curly hair was caked with mud,
Speaker:his blue shirt now brown with splattered dirt and blood
Speaker:—but he knew most of the blood wasn’t his own,
Speaker:so he kept his proud, cocky smirk.
Speaker:He seemed unfazed that he’d gotten in trouble at school.
Speaker:Again. Professor Crysta Holt wiped a wet rag on Lago’s forearm,
Speaker:revealing tender, pink skin.
Speaker:“Just why in Takh’s two names do you need to go so rough on them?”
Speaker:she asked. Lago flinched,
Speaker:gritting his teeth.
Speaker:“They started it! I was just defending myself.
Speaker:They got what—what they deserved!”
Speaker:he said, a bit too righteously.
Speaker:“If I don’t do nothing about it,
Speaker:then I end up in the mud anyway.
Speaker:Might as well have them taste some of it.”
Speaker:Crysta tilted her head in a motherly gesture.
Speaker:With a muddy finger she pushed a strand of auburn hair away from her eyes;
Speaker:it had been let loose again,
Speaker:instead of tied in the customary bun the female scholars wore.
Speaker:“I know you didn’t start it.
Speaker:All I’m saying is that you get a bit too carried away.”
Speaker:She deflated in a sigh.
Speaker:“I’ll talk to Borris’s and Wailen’s parents after class,
Speaker:but I won’t be able to defend your actions unless you manage some level of self-control.”
Speaker:She wrapped a gauze around his elbow and pulled the filthy sleeve over it.
Speaker:“I cleaned up what I can,
Speaker:but there’s nothing I can do about your muddy rags.
Speaker:Why don’t you go home and wash up?”
Speaker:“But it’s not even lunch time yet.”
Speaker:“You are not dragging that mud into the classroom.
Speaker:I’ll see you back in class next week.”
Speaker:She reached for his oversized leather bag to hand it to him.
Speaker:Lago abruptly pulled the bag from her hands, not wanting her peeking into his private business.
Speaker:“Thank you, Crysta,”
Speaker:he said. Most students called her Professor Holt,
Speaker:but Lago felt he could be a bit more personal with her,
Speaker:at least when his classmates weren’t around.
Speaker:Crysta tweaked the corner of her lips into a forced smile.
Speaker:She was somewhere in her late thirties,
Speaker:and aside from her biting and judging stares,
Speaker:she did not look exactly professorial;
Speaker:the coat over her blouse was of the wrong size and matched neither the color of her skirt nor her chaotically disorganized satchel.
Speaker:“I’ll go clean up,”
Speaker:Lago said, “and I promise I’ll bring the book back on Moonday, or Khuday at the latest.
Speaker:I’m almost done.” “Take your time with it.
Speaker:And enjoy your weekend.”
Speaker:She ruffled Lago’s dark curls and pulled back a dirty hand.
Speaker:She wiped the mud on the one clean spot on his blue shirt.
Speaker:“Here, I believe this is yours.”
Speaker:Lago swung the bag over his shoulder,
Speaker:slid off the stone wall,
Speaker:and rushed from the school grounds, waving goodbye without looking back.
Speaker:Lago had lived all of his twelve years in the Withervale Mesa,
Speaker:a quaint city built on a sandstone outcrop that extended northward from the granitic Stelm Ca’éli, stretching in an uphill slant like the prow of a proud ship.
Speaker:He thought the Withervale Mesa looked much better than Withervale proper,
Speaker:not only because of the impressive formation of the mesa itself,
Speaker:but because the city was built over the foundations of a civilization from before the Downfall.
Speaker:The treacherous bridges, gloomy passageways, and rune-carved archways reeked of ghost stories
Speaker:and the promise of ancient treasures.
Speaker:The old treasures were all gone by now,
Speaker:but that couldn’t stop a child’s imagination.
Speaker:Lago’s school was on the East Flank,
Speaker:hundreds of feet below the main grounds of the mesa.
Speaker:He took the stairs carved directly into the sandstone prominence,
Speaker:running his curious fingertips over the textured sediments and feeling them change,
Speaker:layer by layer, exploring the time compressed within them as if flipping through the pages
Speaker:of a most ancient book.
Speaker:His hands were the same color as the sandstone after a light Summer rain.
Speaker:To avoid the stomping traffic of muskoxen, caribou, and bison on Runestone Lane, Lago balanced himself on a drainage canal,
Speaker:then climbed to a stone bridge that gave him a bird’s-eye view of the East Flank
Speaker:and a clear line of sight to the distant Anglass Dome,
Speaker:stretching greener and taller than any of the mountains around him.
Speaker:Lago hopped onto a retaining wall,
Speaker:tiptoeing around planters,
Speaker:scaring off somnolent doves and prowling cats.
Speaker:“Hey Lago!” a merchant yelled,
Speaker:driving his cart toward the marketplace.
Speaker:“Could you ask Theo to stop by the tent in the morrow?
Speaker:Got all them silks he asked
Speaker:for months ago!”
Speaker:“I’ll let Dad know. Thanks, Lorr Tuam,”
Speaker:Lago politely replied,
Speaker:then hurried home.
Speaker:He knew he would get in deep trouble
Speaker:—maybe even get a fresh beating
Speaker:—if his father found him in such filthy clothes.
Speaker:Luckily, it was only midmorning, so he had time to wash his garments,
Speaker:hang them to dry,
Speaker:and maybe find a way to cover up a few of his bruises before his father returned.
Speaker:Lago preferred to avoid any sort of confrontation with his volatile father,
Speaker:so he did what any kid in his place would do and lied
Speaker:—or hid the truth
Speaker:—often. He turned the corner of Ashlar Street and saw a caribou-pulled cart tied to the old, crooked maple in front of his rust-colored home.
Speaker:He’s home early, he thought,
Speaker:as he creeped to the sandstone wall.
Speaker:He must’ve gotten a new delivery.
Speaker:He carefully peeked through the open window. Arr rooff, rrowff!
Speaker:Bear said. Bear was Lago’s mostly mutt,
Speaker:barely shepherd dog.
Speaker:The three-month-old pup popped his head up to the window,
Speaker:sensing Lago was home.
Speaker:Bear was energetic and as easily excitable as, well, a pup.
Speaker:His coat was brown, with uneven white splotches that gave his fur a textured, coarse look,
Speaker:like fresh graupel on a muddy road.
Speaker:Lago had never seen a real bear.
Speaker:He heard they only lived in the Stelm Wujann,
Speaker:or farther in the northern wastes,
Speaker:but he knew they were sizable and ferocious.
Speaker:He hoped his Bear would grow up to be that way.
Speaker:“Bear, down!” came the voice of Theo Vaari,
Speaker:Lago’s father. Bear tried to claw his way out, but Theo snatched him by the tail,
Speaker:dragged him in, and slammed the shutters. Lago flattened to the wall,
Speaker:his heart kicking like a trapped animal.
Speaker:When the next wagon passed by, he snuck behind it,
Speaker:escaping without being seen.
Speaker:Well, at least it’s still early,
Speaker:he thought. He knew exactly where he could go to clean himself and his clothes:
Speaker:he would go to his Diamond Cave.
Speaker:It was a bit of a hike to his secret hideout, but Lago could be back by eventide and pretend he had just returned from a long day at school
Speaker:—his father would be none the wiser.
Speaker:As he waited for his chance to cross Runestone Lane,
Speaker:Lago looked north,
Speaker:toward the highest point of the mesa,
Speaker:where the octagonal tower of the Mesa Observatory rose.
Speaker:This was where Crysta worked after school every day,
Speaker:often late into the night.
Speaker:“Ye crossing or what?!”
Speaker:a gaunt-faced woman squawked,
Speaker:bumping Lago’s shoulder.
Speaker:He had been lost in thought and was holding up traffic.
Speaker:He hastened across.
Speaker:He reached the edge of the mesa and began his descent,
Speaker:hopping down three steps at a time.
Speaker:He peered toward the western face of the mesa:
Speaker:the steep cliffside looked as if it had been slashed by a giant sword.
Speaker:The bottom strata had formed from compressed volcanic ash,
Speaker:carved by wind and rain into hundreds of pockets over millions of years.
Speaker:This neighborhood was known as the Hollows,
Speaker:where miners made their crude homes inside any large-enough holes,
Speaker:accessing them by precarious rope ladders and eroded sandstone platforms.
Speaker:Trails of black soot smeared upward from the holes,
Speaker:built up from centuries of cooking and heating smoke.
Speaker:The whole formation looked like the hives of an alien wasp with an exquisitely perturbed sense of geometry.
Speaker:Lago thought it looked magical,
Speaker:particularly at night, when the holes glowed like a fiery constellation.
Speaker:In one of these holes lived Lago’s best friend, Alaia.
Speaker:He considered stopping by,
Speaker:but it was only Onguday,
Speaker:so she would be working at the mines.
Speaker:Lago continued through the shantytown west of the mesa,
Speaker:where the coal mines were located,
Speaker:spilling mounds of tailings that dirtied up Ore Creek.
Speaker:He couldn’t wash his clothes in those ochre-colored waters;
Speaker:he was just passing by.
Speaker:He sauntered farther west beyond the coal mines, hopped over the perimeter fence, and strolled toward the mountain footpath.
Speaker:The loose pebble trail ascended toward the oak groves,
Speaker:a mountain path that was always picturesque, no matter the season.
Speaker:It was mid-Autumn,
Speaker:only the fifth day of the month of Fireleaf,
Speaker:yet the oak forest was already littered with acorns,
Speaker:and the leaves were fully changing colors.
Speaker:Though it was a bit chilly out,
Speaker:the biting sun burst through the orange leaves and warmed up the heart and soul just enough,
Speaker:with a promise of a deeper Autumn to come. Lago reached a field of scattered remains of ancient cabins,
Speaker:most of them nothing more than a few slabs of wood marooned on flimsy foundations.
Speaker:This was the site of a logging town,
Speaker:abandoned generations before Lago was born,
Speaker:where skeletons of dilapidated buildings protected themselves from mischievous children by flashing their splinters and rusty nails.
Speaker:A bit off the pebble path, past a heavily flowing glacial creek,
Speaker:were a few more derelict shacks.
Speaker:Lago skipped on the usual rocks to cross the clear stream and approached the remains of a forsaken cabin hiding under an old oak tree.
Speaker:The structure had no roof other than the browning oak leaves,
Speaker:a scant memory of window frames,
Speaker:and a door that served no purpose other than to indicate where the entrance used to be,
Speaker:given that the walls on either side of it had toppled down long ago.
Speaker:Only the back wall of the shack was still mostly intact, supported by an enormous boulder.
Speaker:This was where, two years ago,
Speaker:Lago and Alaia found their Diamond Cave.
Speaker:Two years earlier…
Speaker:“This one’s not so splintery,”
Speaker:Alaia said, dragging a tree stump into their ‘living quarters,’ to serve as a table, or chair, or whatever it needed to be.
Speaker:They both liked the old shack way up by the creek, because the oak’s canopy gave it a semblance of a roof,
Speaker:and the nearby boulders an air of privacy.
Speaker:They built their fortress there,
Speaker:hanging torn rags as banners of their imagined coats of arms,
Speaker:decorating the broken foundations with multi-colored pebbles
Speaker:rescued from the creek,
Speaker:painting the still-standing walls with mud,
Speaker:and hanging glittering shards of glass from the oak’s branches.
Speaker:“There’s a heavy one by the creek,”
Speaker:Alaia said, dropping her stump with a thump.
Speaker:“Care to help me with it, Gwoli?” Gwoli was the word for younger brother in Alaia’s Oldrin tongue.
Speaker:She was two years older than Lago,
Speaker:and two fingerbreadths taller,
Speaker:and liked to tease him a bit.
Speaker:The Oldrin were a race from the far east of the Jerjan Continent,
Speaker:in lands where the White Desert flowed into the shores of the Tumultuous Ocean.
Speaker:They had the unfortunate trait of growing bony protuberances on their bodies, which they called spurs.
Speaker:Sometimes spurs grew out of their elbows, sometimes their knuckle bones poked outward,
Speaker:or they would sprout horn-like bumps on their skulls, knees, ankles, or shoulders.
Speaker:It was just the way they were,
Speaker:but other races felt uncomfortable with their uniqueness,
Speaker:thinking the spurs might be contagious,
Speaker:cursed, or worse. Alaia had two spurs.
Speaker:The first was a ridge of thirteen bones protruding from her spine,
Speaker:starting between her shoulder blades and extending to the small of her back;
Speaker:she called them her ‘thirteen sisters.’
Speaker:The second was a rounded, horn-like spur only two fingerbreadths high,
Speaker:poking out from the right side of her forehead,
Speaker:just below her hairline;
Speaker:she called that one her ‘nub.’
Speaker:Most Oldrin did everything possible to hide their external bones,
Speaker:and although Alaia kept the ridge at her back beneath her overalls,
Speaker:the spur on her head she displayed in a way that made it unquestionably beautiful:
Speaker:she would braid her hair in complex patterns radiating from it,
Speaker:adorning her braids with flecks of mica or iridescent feathers,
Speaker:as if an explosion of sparkles was spreading from her little nub.
Speaker:Unlike the bronze and olive complexions of most Oldrin who worked at the coal mines,
Speaker:Alaia’s skin was gorgeously dark,
Speaker:often darkened even more after she was done with her shifts.
Speaker:Nearly all the mine workers were Oldrin,
Speaker:who started to work as soon as they were old enough to lift a lamp, a pick, or carry bundles of coal on their backs.
Speaker:They weren’t exactly slaves in the Zovarian Union,
Speaker:but with how underpaid and overworked they were,
Speaker:they might as well have been.
Speaker:Alaia had arrived with a refugee caravan when she was only two years old.
Speaker:Not remembering her parents nor homeland, all she knew was the life at the mines and the adventures of being a kid growing in freedom and poverty.
Speaker:She was optimistic,
Speaker:opportunistic, and could make the best out of any situation.
Speaker:She put her working gloves back on,
Speaker:fixed the straps on her miner’s overalls and said,
Speaker:“Grab it from that branch, fewer splinters.”
Speaker:Together, they lifted the bulky log.
Speaker:“From your legs! Don’t lift from your back, you nubhead!”
Speaker:she corrected Lago,
Speaker:using the insult he had once used on her,
Speaker:one she was still jokingly mad about.
Speaker:Lago fixed his posture and picked up his end of the log.
Speaker:It was an exhausting struggle uphill, but they managed to carry the chunk of wood into their fortress.
Speaker:“Where do we put it?”
Speaker:he asked. “On top of the stump, like a pedestal?”
Speaker:she suggested, leading the way.
Speaker:She directed her side of the log down and helped Lago push his end up until the log was vertical.
Speaker:“Outstanding construction skills!
Speaker:We’ll be done building this palace before the mists of Umbra arrive.”
Speaker:And with that said, the precariously balanced log tipped over, smashing loudly against the back wall of the shack.
Speaker:A square portion of the wall suddenly swung inward,
Speaker:taunting with an intriguing creak.
Speaker:The wooden panel was mounted on hidden hinges,
Speaker:as if there was a shutter leading right into the face of the granitic boulder.
Speaker:“Why would they put a window against a rock?” Lago asked.
Speaker:He reached forward and pulled at the panel.
Speaker:The old hinges protested, but the panel swung open in full.
Speaker:Carved into the face of the rock was a perfectly round tunnel,
Speaker:just wide enough for a child to crawl in on their knees,
Speaker:or for an adult to squeeze in on their belly.
Speaker:Four feet into the tunnel was a round, stained cedar door.
Speaker:“Gwoli, what is that…?”
Speaker:Alaia muttered nearly soundlessly.
Speaker:“It’s like a secret tunnel.”
Speaker:“Maybe forest sprites live there.”
Speaker:“Or a giant snake.”
Speaker:“How would a snake turn a doorknob?”
Speaker:“Dunno. Go in and ask your sprites.”
Speaker:“Hey, you found it, you go in first,” she said,
Speaker:pushing Lago toward the hole.
Speaker:“You let the log drop—”
Speaker:“It fell on your side, I was—”
Speaker:“—don’t push—” Alaia pushed harder and Lago practically fell into the hole.
Speaker:“Okay, fine, give me a hand then.”
Speaker:He brushed aside a dusty spiderweb and climbed in,
Speaker:inching forward on his knees until he reached the corroded, copper doorknob;
Speaker:it was round, cold as ice,
Speaker:and had a sharp, electric smell.
Speaker:He turned it carefully,
Speaker:feeling the teal patina flake off beneath his fingertips.
Speaker:He was afraid the doorknob would break,
Speaker:but with a satisfying click the door unlocked, and inward it squeaked open.
Speaker:“It’s unlocked!” he said.
Speaker:A musky scent wafted out,
Speaker:ancient, dry, forgotten.
Speaker:“What’s in there?” Alaia asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
Speaker:Lago squinted as he let his eyes adjust.
Speaker:“Hold on,” he said, “I think I see the floor. Stay put, I’ll go in.”
Speaker:That was harder to do than he had expected,
Speaker:going head first.
Speaker:He lowered his arms until they touched the sandy ground,
Speaker:then pulled his legs through like a frog, then stood proudly.
Speaker:“Shit!” he cried, scraping his head on the low ceiling.
Speaker:“What is it?” “Bumped my head,
Speaker:all fine.” The cave suddenly darkened.
Speaker:Alaia was crawling in,
Speaker:blocking the scarce light.
Speaker:She dropped in a bit too hastily and toppled in a clumsy roll.
Speaker:She stood fast to compensate, also hitting her head in the process. “Shit!” she blurted,
Speaker:but she was too intrigued to be embarrassed.
Speaker:“It’s really cold in here,”
Speaker:she observed. It was more than cold,
Speaker:it was frigid. Lago wrapped his arms around himself and peered above him.
Speaker:“Look at the ceiling. It curves.
Speaker:Maybe it’s like one of the homes at the Hollows?”
Speaker:Their eyes were adjusting,
Speaker:but they still couldn’t see much.
Speaker:At this time in the afternoon, Sunnokh’s rays weren’t falling directly on their fortress,
Speaker:so they found themselves in shadow.
Speaker:“Get your lamp,” Lago urged Alaia.
Speaker:She wormed out like a graceless ferret,
Speaker:then came creeping back in with a metal lamp in front of her
Speaker:—part of her everyday mining tools.
Speaker:Lago took it and lifted it up to reveal the most wonderful sight his eyes had ever seen.
Speaker:We found the night sky trapped inside a rock, he thought.
Speaker:He was staring up at a dome of shining stars,
Speaker:at sparkling constellations just beyond the reach of his hands.
Speaker:The stars were simple calcium-rich crystals built up over the ages.
Speaker:They wouldn’t look like anything more than grains of light-colored sand in normal circumstances,
Speaker:but when Lago held the lamp exactly in front of him,
Speaker:the crystals reflected the light in a shimmering, nearly supernatural sparkle.
Speaker:As long as he held the lamp in the same relative position to his head,
Speaker:the reflective light effect followed.
Speaker:“Are you alright?”
Speaker:Alaia whispered. “You look more empty-headed than usual.”
Speaker:“Can’t you see this?” he replied in a nearly reverential tone.
Speaker:“It’s nice but I—” and then the light angled just right for her to catch the effect.
Speaker:“Whoa, it all lit up!”
Speaker:“It’s like diamonds! We found a diamond cave!” Lago exulted.
Speaker:The cave wasn’t made of diamonds, but that didn’t matter.
Speaker:It was an ancient dwelling, carved by a civilization
Speaker:from before the Downfall.
Speaker:Thousands of years later, the dwelling was found by the people who built the now defunct logging town,
Speaker:who repurposed the dome-shaped space into a cellar.
Speaker:Debris left by the previous owners littered the ground:
Speaker:planks of wood that must’ve been a shelf in a previous life,
Speaker:iron utensils rusted beyond recognition,
Speaker:thick shards of shattered glass,
Speaker:and one half-buried jar stuffed with what at some point might’ve passed for pickled root vegetables,
Speaker:but by now was closer to an amniotic fluid
Speaker:gestating an ominous specimen.
Speaker:“It looks like a dead baby,”
Speaker:Lago pointed out,
Speaker:letting the lamplight shine through the turbid liquid.
Speaker:“We should make a bread roll with it and give it to Borris.
Speaker:He’ll eat anything.” “What do you think they did here?”
Speaker:Alaia asked, dabbing a finger at the salty crystals on the ceiling, then tasting them.
Speaker:“It’s like a cellar? I think?”
Speaker:Lago guessed. “To keep food fresh.
Speaker:Must be the water from the creek that keeps it so cold.”
Speaker:“Well, it’s our cellar now,”
Speaker:Alaia said, waving her arms in an inelegant spin.
Speaker:“And it sure could use some decorating.”
Speaker:Every weekend, the two of them brought in rocks, bottles, and whatever they could find to embellish their secret hideout.
Speaker:Lago took the left side, where he built a miniature fort with sandstone bricks and slabs of wood.
Speaker:He littered the ground with protective pinecones and painted his name on the wall in bold, white letters: Lago Vaari. Alaia pitched a tent with a moth-eaten blanket suspended in an armature of pine branches
Speaker:and decorated her side with the bones of squirrels, foxes, and hares she’d found drying around the forest.
Speaker:The two of them made up games, shared the town’s gossip, and even lit a bonfire once,
Speaker:though the smoke got so dense that they never tried that again.
Speaker:It was perfection.
Speaker:In their Diamond Cave, they could be as loud and obnoxious as any kid ever dreamed of being,
Speaker:alone in their private cosmos.
Speaker:This was the first of two parts of “Wolf of Withervale”
Speaker:by Joaquín Baldwin,
Speaker:read for you by Solomon Harries, the Cuddly Badger Dad.
Speaker:Tune in next time,
Speaker:when Lago encounters the old shapeshifter
Speaker:and learns about the magical, wolf-like mask
Speaker:the rest of the novel will center around. As always, you can find more stories on the web
Speaker:at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Thank you for listening
Speaker:to The Voice of Dog.
