She wondered how she had gotten herself into this, so far from her intended studies, but Serena found herself engrossed in a child’s fairytale book. The leather cover was cracked at the corners, the gilding on the title long faded. She had meant to look for economic records, perhaps something on past ambassadorial duties but instead... here she was, cross-legged before the low table with a book that smelled faintly of lavender and smoke.
The book felt oddly familiar. She brought it closer to her face and inspected it. It reminded her of her father.
Her fingertips brushed the curling edge of the last page she turned. No, this was not an Ironshade tale, she was sure of it now. The cadence was different, the metaphors more direct, the prose still carrying the sharp tang of Eastern tongue. A Crimsonclaw story, without question.
She turned the page again, slower this time, letting the ink and memory drift up to her nose like she was there when the book was written. The story was simply titled The Wolf Who Gave Away His Teeth.
It told of a great and proud wolf who had once ruled the forests of the East. His fangs were strong, sharper than any blade, and no creature dared challenge him. But the wolf grew tired. Not weary from age, but tired of the fight, the growl, the endless hunger. He wanted peace. So he went to the Mountain Witch and asked her to take his teeth, so that he might live in harmony with the other creatures of the wood.
The Mountain Witch warned him: "If you give away your teeth, you will also give away your voice. What is a wolf, without his fangs or his growl?"
But the ferocious wolf insisted. So she granted his wish. His teeth were buried beneath a tree that bore no fruit. His growl was placed inside a lark that flew away and never returned. The wolf returned to the forest, soft of speech, unable to fight and no longer thirsting for blood. For a time, he was at peace.
But then the storm came. Creatures from the North swept through the woods and tore through the forest. The wolf could not fight. He could not call for help. He watched the trees fall. He watched his den be overrun.
And the story ended with a single line:"It is no shame to want peace, but even the gentlest wolf must know where his teeth are buried."
Serena sat back slowly.
The book rested in her lap now, the weight of its pages felt like a stone. She did not know why it struck her so deeply. Perhaps it was the simplicity. Perhaps it was the quiet truth tucked into the folds of it. She had heard variations of this tale before, once from her father, she thought though his version ended with the wolf digging up his teeth when the storm came, choosing to protect what he loved rather than regret his peace.
It was... symbolic, perhaps. Or perhaps just something close to home. She scratched the back of her head and sighed. So many stories from her childhood. Sometimes she felt as though her father had raised her and Theodore like he knew he was going to die soon. Maybe he gave away his teeth.
But had she not given away her own fangs? Not in the literal sense, no, but certainly in how she moved through this world now. She was careful and quiet. She had learned to be soft. To survive, she had to be.
But part of her still knew where her teeth were buried. That ritual, it seemed—the one everyone seemed to gloss over.
She closed the book gently and held it to her chest. The lantern beside her had long since burned low, casting flickering shadows across the edge of the room. A chill slid through the air and coiled around her spine.
Serena decided she was not going to push herself tonight and would read herself to sleep. Her body still remembered the ache of sleeping slumped over parchment, the faint embarrassment of waking to someone watching her. No, tonight she would return to her room like someone with sense in her head.
Serena rose slowly, her limbs stiff, and placed the book back where she found it, halfway between a stack of bardic poems and a collection of ceremonial oaths. It felt out of place there, but then again, so did she.
She moved through the dim corridors of the library, her footfalls muffled against the stone. The stillness of the keep at this hour was different. It felt less menacing. As though it, too, had taken off its armour and gone to rest.
The halls outside were just as quiet. The braziers glowed soft and red, their embers curling like lazy snakes. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and walked. She did not encounter anyone. Not a servant, not a guard. The whole keep seemed suspended in some quiet dream.
When she finally reached her door, Serena paused with her hand on the latch. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Just take one day at a time. That was the only thing she could offer herself.
She opened the door, stepped inside the room, and closed it gently behind her. The fire in the hearth had been left low, the sheets on her bed neatly turned down.
Serena pulled the shawl from her shoulders and folded it over the chair, then slipped beneath the sheets, curling on her side and staring into the flickering shadow light on the wall. She sighed and then buried her head beneath the soft pillows.
Her eyes fluttered shut, though she still thought about the book. Such a small book, in an unsuspecting place, and it had found its way into her hands. She wondered if it was fate, or if her mind was playing tricks on her once again, even the dream she had... and her father who had been in it.
"I am so lost. Please guide me, Father," she murmured in the dark.
It was about her teeth, she thought, still buried deep somewhere in her heart. She remembered where they were.And when the storm came again, she would not watch in silence.