The Merchant and the Wolf
In a bustling town by the river, a young woman named Lillian owned a humble bakery. Every morning, she rose before dawn, kneading dough by candlelight, filling the streets with the scent of fresh bread. Her shop was small, but it was hers, and the townspeople loved her for her kindness and her skill.
One evening, as the last embers of sunlight faded, a man draped in a wolf’s shadow entered her bakery. His name was Voss, the head of a ruthless guild that ruled the town from the dark corners. He set a single gold coin on her counter and smiled.
“This is a gift,” he said. “A token of my goodwill. But next week, I’ll return for more. A small price for your safety, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lillian’s heart pounded. She knew the stories—those who refused Voss found their shops mysteriously burned or their families vanished like morning mist.
“I have little to give,” she said cautiously.
Voss tilted his head. “Then find a way.”
When he left, the walls of her bakery seemed to close in on her. She had no one to turn to—until a traveler, clad in a heavy cloak, arrived at her doorstep. He called himself Garrick, and he had the air of one who had seen many battles.
“I’ve heard your troubles,” he said. “I can rid you of this wolf. But protection isn’t free.”
Hope flared in Lillian’s chest. “I will pay what I can.”
Garrick did not wait for her full agreement. That night, he stood in the shadows, and when Voss returned, Garrick struck him down with a swift, brutal efficiency. The wolf of the town was gone, and for the first time in days, Lillian could breathe.
But as she turned to thank her savior, Garrick’s face was dark.
“You hesitate,” he said. “I have done what you could not. Should I not be repaid?”
Lillian blinked, uncertain. “I—yes, of course. I am grateful. But I have little to give.”
Garrick stepped closer. “Then find a way.”
A chill ran down her spine. The wolf was gone, but the hunter remained.
And in the end, what was the difference?
Calm Journey 