Granneth and the Nine Wolves
This tale is often recited near the end of Winter Vigil within Dovgarn, when the wind howls and the wolves are heard in the far dark. It is told in low voices, without interruption. No one howls when the story ends, for such a thing is taboo.
Granneth was born in shadow and silence, third-born to the bloodline of Dovgarn Hall, in a year when the mountain coughed smoke and the river would not freeze. Her mother was a stone-mender, her father a bone-hunter, and her two elder brothers had gone to die in wars for names now struck from memory. Granneth was small of frame but wide of sight, and her breath was often seen in places where no chill should live.
When she came of age, the winds howled differently. Elders spoke of a curse-borne winter, long promised and longer feared. The stars dimmed, and the wolves of the wilds began to move strangely—together, in spirals, never breaking formation, and always nine at a time.
One night, after her mother passed in sleep and her father did not return from the hunt, Granneth took up the cloak of her clan and wrapped her hearthstone in it. She left without feast, without chant, and walked into the forest.
She walked until she saw the Nine Wolves—white of coat, eyes like the brightest day's sky. They stood in a circle, unmoving. When she stepped into it, they did not attack. Instead, they circled her and spoke—not with words, but with the air behind them. Each one bore a name, but not their own. They spoke the nine names of sin, each a deed done by her people that had never been named aloud.
When the Nine Wolves formed their circle around her, Granneth did not raise her knife, nor did she plead. She stood in silence until they howled—once, together—and the snow stopped falling. Then the first of them stepped forward, its breath casting no mist, and whispered the first sin. One by one, the wolves spoke, and Granneth answered.
The First Name: Abandonment
The wolf's eyes were blind, but its nose knew the scent of forgotten kin. It howled the memory of Valthen, Granneth's cousin, who had twisted his leg in the crags during a storm. Granneth had fled ahead with the others and said nothing. She had never spoken of it since. She answered, voice barely a whisper: "He cried for help as the wind took his voice. I heard it, but I feared the cold more than his death. He died along in snow I should have walked." The Second Name: Silence
The second wolf circled her, baring its fangs. It carried the scent of poisoned ashbark, the same herb withheld from a dying elder named Harrek One-Hand. Granneth had watched the healer withhold it—resentful over an old fued—and said nothing. "I saw the ashbark dried in her pouch. I saw her hand refuse it. I said nothing, I sang no protest. I let Harrek die choking because I feared to challenge the healer's pride." The Third Name: Oathbreaking
The third wolf's fur was patchy, its flesh bearing old scars. It bore the weight of a sworn bond broken, an oath made in youth and discarded in convenience. "I swore to share my first hunt with Bryl, and to never leave her in the wood. But when I struck the stag alone, I claimed it in silence and left her none. She wept in hunger, and I said only that I saw no deer." The Fourth Name: Desecration
This wolf came dragging stone dust on its paws. It was the sin of damaging a glyph, unthinking or willful. "When I was ten winters, I scratched my name above that of my sister's on the family rune-stone. I wanted the stone to remember me more. She found it and cried, and my father recut it in silence. I have never asked forgiveness." The Fifth Name: Concealment
The fifth wolf's mouth dripped with black water, its breath thick with secrets. It whispered of a murder hidden. Not her own—but a killing she knew and buried. "Torv killed for jealousy, and I saw his hand stained before the snow could cover it. I helped him wash, and I never spoke of it. I told myself he repented, I told myself it wasn't mine to speak. But the cairn never held his name." The Sixth Name: Envy
This wolf was the smallest, but its voice the sharpest. It hissed the sin of desiring what was not hers, of coveting name, title, and strength. "I watched my brother ascent the trial before me. I watched him be chosen for the lore-seat. I smiled, but inside I burned. I wished he failed, so I might rise. I offered them praise with a coiled tongue." The Seventh Name: Betrayal
The seventh wolf bled from its flank, trailing a wound that would not close. It carried the scent of trust broken in quiet moments. "When the southerners came to trade and poison us with gifts, I told them what I should not have. I spoke of where the mountain paths grew thin. I said nothing when they took the pass and left traps in their wake. I thought I was helping us grow, but I was wrong." The Eighth Name: Cowardice
The eighth wolf limped on a hind leg, but did not bow. Its sin was fleeing when one should have stood fast. "When the forge caught fire, I ran. I left my uncle within, though I heard his shout. I told them I could not reach him, but I never tried. My feet moved before my hands could grasp courage." The Ninth Name: Forgetting
The final wolf was silent. It did not speak with breath, wind, or howl. It merely stared, and in that stare, Granneth felt the weight of her greatest sin. "My grandmother told me the story of Rala, her sister, who died alone in the low caves. I said I would remember her name, carry her memory with honor. But I forgot. Until now." When Granneth had finished, the wolves did not devour her. Instead, they lay around her in a ring and slept. When she woke, only a single white fang remained, carved with a spiral rune she had never seen. Granneth did not return to her lands immediately, and sought the wilderness for many years alone. When she did return, she returned wearing a cloak stitched with nine pale fangs, the largest bearing a spiral rune, which she added over the years, each earned in silence. She never claimed a husband, never took a student, and never sought a hall of her own. But when people vanished in the wilds, she brought them home. When names were missing from cairns, she spoke them aloud. And when liars stood before the longhouse council, she simply looked at them, and they confessed. At her death, her cloak was burned in silence, save for the nine fangs. These were buried at the four winds and five passes of the woods she had disappeared into for so many years. It is said that any who finds one will be compelled to confess the sin they've never named—and if their truth is pure, a white wolf will watch over them that winter.
The wolf's eyes were blind, but its nose knew the scent of forgotten kin. It howled the memory of Valthen, Granneth's cousin, who had twisted his leg in the crags during a storm. Granneth had fled ahead with the others and said nothing. She had never spoken of it since. She answered, voice barely a whisper: "He cried for help as the wind took his voice. I heard it, but I feared the cold more than his death. He died along in snow I should have walked." The Second Name: Silence
The second wolf circled her, baring its fangs. It carried the scent of poisoned ashbark, the same herb withheld from a dying elder named Harrek One-Hand. Granneth had watched the healer withhold it—resentful over an old fued—and said nothing. "I saw the ashbark dried in her pouch. I saw her hand refuse it. I said nothing, I sang no protest. I let Harrek die choking because I feared to challenge the healer's pride." The Third Name: Oathbreaking
The third wolf's fur was patchy, its flesh bearing old scars. It bore the weight of a sworn bond broken, an oath made in youth and discarded in convenience. "I swore to share my first hunt with Bryl, and to never leave her in the wood. But when I struck the stag alone, I claimed it in silence and left her none. She wept in hunger, and I said only that I saw no deer." The Fourth Name: Desecration
This wolf came dragging stone dust on its paws. It was the sin of damaging a glyph, unthinking or willful. "When I was ten winters, I scratched my name above that of my sister's on the family rune-stone. I wanted the stone to remember me more. She found it and cried, and my father recut it in silence. I have never asked forgiveness." The Fifth Name: Concealment
The fifth wolf's mouth dripped with black water, its breath thick with secrets. It whispered of a murder hidden. Not her own—but a killing she knew and buried. "Torv killed for jealousy, and I saw his hand stained before the snow could cover it. I helped him wash, and I never spoke of it. I told myself he repented, I told myself it wasn't mine to speak. But the cairn never held his name." The Sixth Name: Envy
This wolf was the smallest, but its voice the sharpest. It hissed the sin of desiring what was not hers, of coveting name, title, and strength. "I watched my brother ascent the trial before me. I watched him be chosen for the lore-seat. I smiled, but inside I burned. I wished he failed, so I might rise. I offered them praise with a coiled tongue." The Seventh Name: Betrayal
The seventh wolf bled from its flank, trailing a wound that would not close. It carried the scent of trust broken in quiet moments. "When the southerners came to trade and poison us with gifts, I told them what I should not have. I spoke of where the mountain paths grew thin. I said nothing when they took the pass and left traps in their wake. I thought I was helping us grow, but I was wrong." The Eighth Name: Cowardice
The eighth wolf limped on a hind leg, but did not bow. Its sin was fleeing when one should have stood fast. "When the forge caught fire, I ran. I left my uncle within, though I heard his shout. I told them I could not reach him, but I never tried. My feet moved before my hands could grasp courage." The Ninth Name: Forgetting
The final wolf was silent. It did not speak with breath, wind, or howl. It merely stared, and in that stare, Granneth felt the weight of her greatest sin. "My grandmother told me the story of Rala, her sister, who died alone in the low caves. I said I would remember her name, carry her memory with honor. But I forgot. Until now." When Granneth had finished, the wolves did not devour her. Instead, they lay around her in a ring and slept. When she woke, only a single white fang remained, carved with a spiral rune she had never seen. Granneth did not return to her lands immediately, and sought the wilderness for many years alone. When she did return, she returned wearing a cloak stitched with nine pale fangs, the largest bearing a spiral rune, which she added over the years, each earned in silence. She never claimed a husband, never took a student, and never sought a hall of her own. But when people vanished in the wilds, she brought them home. When names were missing from cairns, she spoke them aloud. And when liars stood before the longhouse council, she simply looked at them, and they confessed. At her death, her cloak was burned in silence, save for the nine fangs. These were buried at the four winds and five passes of the woods she had disappeared into for so many years. It is said that any who finds one will be compelled to confess the sin they've never named—and if their truth is pure, a white wolf will watch over them that winter.
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Date of First Recording
111 CR
Date of Setting
102-113 CR
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