Once upon a time, there lived a witch on an island.

She was not a witch because she brewed potions (although she did) or because she cast spells (although she could. She was a witch first and foremost because of the way she spoke to animals. To the witch's ears, birdsong was as clear as conversation, and the meandering echoes of whales as thorough as a philosophical treatise. She spent her days wandering the island, speaking with sparrows and sheep, singing to the fish, and dancing with her beloved cat, Marta.

However, there was not very much to do on her island, and the witch, though she called it home, swiftly grew bored. Once she grew bored (and a witch in the throes of ennui is a terrible thing indeed,) she made a rash decision: she decided to leave her home and travel west, to an enormous country that reached from the frozen north to more temperate coasts. There she decided she would find an adventure. Home was a lovely thing, she reasoned, but new sights could only make it lovelier.

After saying goodbye to her village, the witch got in a boat of her own devising with her cat and set sail to the west, eventually arriving on the shores of the great country. The towns there had little appeal for her, and she instead opted to wander inland and to the north, into the great pine forests where she might go weeks without seeing another human face. It was deep in these woods that she crafted a hut for herself, a place she might sleep in peace while she wandered among the trees.

One day, however, Marta ran off into the woods and did not return for more than a day. This greatly worried the witch, who had little true companionship beyond her cat. Gathering her coat and sturdiest boots, the witch asked the birds for directions and set off to find her.

The trail the birds send her on was a winding one which the witch did not know well. She walked for hours, crashing through brush and scaling hills with little of her usual grace. The witch encountered few problems, however, before attempting to cross a stream. A single misstep sent her stumbling into the shallow, icy water, where she immediately sank to her knees in grasping mud. No matter how hard she tried to pull herself free, she only managed to entrench herself further.

It was then that she heard a wolf laughing at her.

Now, most people would be quite disconcerted to meet a wolf in the wild at all, let alone one brazen enough to laugh at someone stuck in the mud. However, the witch was no ordinary person. Putting her hands on her hips with a dignity she didn't feel, she glared at the wolf and angrily demanded: "And what is so funny?"

The wolf stopped laughing at that and looked at her with surprise. "How on earth did you know I was laughing at you?" It asked.

"How could I miss it?" The witch answered with her most witchy scowl. "You're right there. Is it polite in your country to laugh at people who have gotten stuck instead of helping them to higher ground?"

"In my family, we laugh at anyone silly enough to get lost and stuck in a bog," The wolf said. "Ordinarily I would leave you there until you sacrificed your boots to get out-- that would teach you to go wandering about the forest without a friend or helper. However, if you can speak to me you must be a witch, and therefore nothing within the ordinary. What do you need?"

"I need your help to get out," the witch said. "And if it isn't too much trouble, help finding my cat, Marta. She's gone missing and I'm quite worried about her."

"I am quite good at finding lost things," the wolf agreed. Then, to the witch's astonishment, he rose onto his hind legs--and turned into a young man with hair as white as the wolf's fur. A few minutes and a handy tree branch helped to extricate the now thoroughly muddy witch, and the man loped off into the woods without a word a moment later.

The witch decided to trust the wolf-man and made her way back to the little hut, where she scrubbed away the mud and waited as the day grew longer and the sun began to set. Shortly before dusk, the wolf-man returned, a filthy but purring Marta in his arms. He left Marta with the witch, and in lieu of thanks asked to be given dinner.

The witch learned in time the wolf-man's name (Lyle,) his father and mother's names (Arkan and Angela,) and his brother's name (Keegan.) She learned the wolf-man and his clan lived in the northern woods where nobody but hikers and loggers would go. The hikers they would laugh at for their clumsiness and guide to the safer paths; the loggers they would chase away with snarls and snapping. She learned the ills which could be soothed with witchcraft, and soon not only the wolf-man but the entire pack would arrive in her little clearing to hear her sing and present their pains for attention.

The wolf-man learned the witch's name (Elswyth,) the songs of the birds in her old country, and what fish think of the taste of shrimp. He learned what plants in the woods were the best for witchcraft, and the witch noticed harvested sprigs and seedlings appearing at the entrance of her hut. He learned the tongue of the witch's island, and shared his own language with her. After a time, they would run together in the woods, witch and wolf, and the distinction between the two began to blur.

After three happy years in the woods, however, the witch grew lonely for the smell of the sea and the company of humans. A mighty sorceress in the city to the south had called for aid; the witch knew then that she could stay in the woods no longer.

She made tearful goodbyes the wolf pack (a good deal more sincere than the ones she had made to her old village) and gathered what few items she could bring with her south. When she was finally ready to leave, however, she found a familiar white wolf waiting for her outside her hut.

"Why are you here?" The witch asked. "I must go south, and it may be a long while before I come here again. Did I not say goodbye to you earlier?"

"You did," said the wolf. "And you were mistaken."

"I was not mistaken," the witch replied crossly. "It is time for me to go south. The Foremost calls."

"I know it's time," said the wolf. "That is why I am here. I have decided that you are an adventure, and therefore I'll be going with you."

The witch shifted her packs. "I will be going very far from here," she warned.

"It would be a very boring adventure if I stayed home."

"I will be going places where wolves are not treated kindly," she tried again.

"I am not always a wolf," the wolf pointed out. To illustrate the point, he became once again the young man with white hair. The witch began to grow quite flustered.

"You will know nobody but me in the city. It will be very lonely for you."

The white haired man stepped forward and took one of her packs on his shoulders. He touched her hand. "You have taught me the songs of the birds and fish. I will never be lonely again."

With that, he scooped up Marta (who had never quite gotten used to living with a wolf pack, but made an exception for him.) The witch found that she had nothing else to say to that, and they left the hut together moving south.

Only two years later in the southern city, the witch looked into the cradles of her twin children: the girl named for the witch's beloved mother, the boy named for the wolf-man's beloved brother. On Cedar Street outside, the cars went past as the city bustled well into the night. It was entirely unlike her village, and the forest. It was also entirely where she belonged.

It was then she realized she was a true witch and had been right from the very beginning: fresh sights made home all the sweeter.