I remember the days that followed. My mother went to the MotherTree daily to argue with First Mother and the others. She’d return while HoPa was preparing dinner or sometimes even later.

  We followed her one day, my brothers and I. They held each other’s hands and we trailed behind her. Dressed as a warrior, her dark leather stuck out against the thousand hues the clan wore. Blues and reds and pinks and oranges and yellows and purples. No matter what color they wore, they turned to watch my mother coming, then turned away, walking out of her vicinity.

  Then she jogged, but we walked. Even though we knew she wouldn’t hear us, we remained silent.

  The words of the clan battered against us.

  I was still so young. I’ll never forget that. Adults I would come to know spoke of me as if I were trash. Little wolfwitch. Demonfucker. Bitch of the Edge. Wildling. All these words—they knew I heard. More than that, they wanted me to hear. Wanted me to be afraid of them because they feared us.

  But we kept our eyes ahead, ignoring these words. These verbal assaults. These attempts to tears us down. Rip us from our mother. Shrink her in our eyes.

  It makes me sick to think about it. How petty and awful these people could be.

  The closer we got to MotherTree, the fewer people we saw. They weren’t at their homes. We moved slowly, following Medis. He led us up the inner circle of hillhomes. Their gardens rich with flowers and shrubbery. It made it easier to go unseen.

  At MotherTree, we saw them all. First Mother stood on MotherTree’s roots. Other adults dressed colorfully, more prepared for a celebration than a war council, which is what my mother intended to make it. First Mother stared down at my mother. I couldn’t see her face from that distance, but I imagine she scowled, sighed, rolled her eyes. Before her, the rest of the adults of status stood. The Flower Families, and the shaved shamans who lived in the yurts. No other warriors were present. And all these people stared at my mother who stood beneath them. Standing alone. Standing with her head held high. Sword strapped to her back.

  “Can’t hear anything,” Akmuo said.

  Medis only shushed him and cupped his ears to hear better.

  It was useless. Few words reached us, so we focused on the body language. The many bodies who stood together. They swayed and laughed, and flailed their arms, breaking into smaller circles, muttering, sometimes laughing.

  But my mother stood before them like an island in a storm. Where they were in constant motion, she was stillness. She was silence. Her silence weighed on them, so they talked more and more. Ignoring her. Or pretending to. Pretending like they were discussing something of their choosing, rather than addressing the threat my mother posed.

  I didn’t realize it back then, but this was a very real rift my mother was forcing open. First Mother and many of her supporters wanted to leave MotherTree, but my mother wanted to stay. She wasn’t alone, I came to learn later. The warriors of the clan wanted to stay and fight. Wanted to beat back this dragon.

  But only my mother went to fight. And when she spoke, it shook them. All of them. Her voice silenced their laughter, their chattering. Her voice bellowed, and we heard.

  “Vandu,” loud gasps accompanied the use of First Mother’s birth name, “you coward.” Voices rose then to silence my mother, but her voice carried over theirs, and a crowd began to form as she spoke. A crowd of people outside the inner circle. A crowd of people who may have been tired of leaving their choice in the hands of others. “MotherTree has stood since before time began. Since before the forest sprouted. Before the wolves ran and humans crawled. Since living beneath Her shade, the Wolf Clan has never left. Not even for a day. We’ve suffered war, disease, starvation, drought, floods—all manner of cursed days, but we never abandoned our Mother. We never left to live in the forest like animals.

  “What is a dragon to us? You were there the last time the Wolf Clan ate the Dragon! When my mother—our First Mother—destroyed the Dragon Clan, till not a one survived to fight. Yet here you cower beneath the ageless and powerful.

  “Who can stop MotherTree? Who can take us from MotherTree? A dragon? A big lizard with wings from old stories?” Mother spit in the direction of First Mother. “We are the Wolf Clan!” She howled, alone. “We don’t run. We fight.

  “I will fight!” She howled again. Then a third time. At this third time, several others joined in. Those standing in front of MotherTree began to panic. Their bodies grouping together and speaking in low voices. But the crowd behind my mother grew as she pulled out her sword. “I traveled far away. I traveled for many seasons, and I’ve killed many. Demons and monsters included. I will fear nothing. I will give nothing!” She howled and more howled with her.

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  My heart raced but I was breathless. My brothers held hands and I held onto them. I felt their hearts, their held breaths.

  “MotherTree will protect us from any dragon. MotherTree will destroy any threat. Whether it be another clan or the Goddess Herself! If MotherTree wanted, She could keep the Walkers away. She could close up the forest so not even a single fly could buzz near Her shadow. And you want us to fear a dragon? No, not even a dragon. Only the rumor of a dragon.”

  First Mother’s warbling voice cut through the air, “Enough! Enough, Vilka!”

  Mother howled over her, joined by even more voices. Chills ran through my spine and every limb. My skin vibrating, every hair standing straight. Mother’s voice rose, “I will kill the dragon. Tuck your tail, if you must, and I will kill this fucking god. I will cut out its heart and bathe in its blood. Then I will wash in the leaves of MotherTree, and bury that fucking dragon beneath Her roots, where it will disappear and become nothing but food for the only god that matters. The god who feeds but never needs. The god of the wolves themselves.”

  She howled and many now howled with her.

  Proud doesn’t capture it. I was overflowing with emotion for her. For my mother. Cast aside for so long, she rose to take her clan back. To make us the clan that her mother had made us into.

  A people of war. A hard people. A strong people.

  “Vilka,” First Mother spoke in a harsh whisper, silencing the howls, chilling the air. She shook her head and paced as she spoke. “Vilka, Vilka, Vilka. You want a war, go to the dragon. Fight it alone. Kill it and drag its carcass back here. Do it alone or do it with your many howlers that’ve come to gather here. Kill us this god of fire and wind and lay it down as sacrifice to the MotherTree,” she ran a hand over Her bark. “Do this, and we will stay. We will bring you back from the Edge. You will sleep beside MotherTree as Her greatest defender. The greatest warrior to ever inhabit this forest. Do this, and we will stay. Your honor will be eternal. Your name will never die.

  “But until then, give us peace. We must prepare to flee from the wrath of an unknown god. For you’re right. We have never left MotherTree’s shade, and I am loathe to do it now.” She turned back towards mother, her voice rising and full of power, “But do not lecture us on courage and pride! The gods don’t perform on our behalf. Even the gods we worship. The MotherTree will never die, true. This dragon can do nothing to Her. It won’t be able to singe even a single leaf. But we are not gods. It will melt us. It will turn us to nothing but ash and smoke. If we remain, our final sacrifice to our god who feeds but never needs will be our own incinerated corpses.

  “Go, Vilka, dragonslayer. Go and bring MotherTree a dragon. Go on with her, howlers and taunters. Kill that god of fire and wind and you will live forever in songs and stories of our clan and all clans of this forest. I promise you that.”

  With that, First Mother turned away and walked to her yurt.

  Mother stood still, but the crowd dispersed. All those who howled with her, slumped their shoulders and walked away. Those who stood with First Mother laughed and wandered off together.

  Deflated, like the wind had been sucked from the world.

  We watched mother standing alone before MotherTree. We watched her until she turned and began to walk home.

  We ran ahead of her, to beat her back to dinner. Medis had tears in his eyes and Akmuo made no jokes. When we passed the Meadow, taunts rained down on us.

  “Vilka the dragoneater! Vilka the dragoneater! Where will you run, wolfwitch, when your demon lover won’t come to save you?”

  We turned to a group of girls mocking us. They pulled out sticks and swung them round like swords, laughing as they hit them together.

  Before Akmuo could even speak, Medis ran at them. He launched his body onto the girl who sang loudest, grabbing her by the neck and bringing her to the ground. He pinned her arms down under his knees and brought a stick down on her head before taking a stick to the face. Akmuo was with him then, trying to pull him away, but the sticks came as a torrent.

  I shouted and screamed, and a girl with red hair laughed at me, then kicked me over. I got up and ran to save my brothers, who writhed on the ground. Kicked and struck with sticks, I ran to pull them free. But a powerful hand gripped my arm. I turned to see mother, her eyes on fire.

  “Little girls,” her voice caustic, shattering through them. They stopped and when they saw my mother, they ran back into the meadow. Many of them laughing.

  Mother walked to my brothers and helped them up. She wiped the blood from Medis’ face, shaking her head slightly.

  My brothers limped home, each one holding one of mother’s hands. I was on her shoulders, my face in her hair. I wept but didn’t want them to know.

  I was shattered by it. By the struggle of the day. By the beating my brothers and I took. By my mother’s fury. By the laughter.

  When we arrived back at the fire, bruised and bleeding, mother only sat down.

  “What happened?” LoPa ran to us.

  Mother shook her head, and LoPa stopped for a moment. Then he took me from mother’s shoulders and sat beside her with me on his lap.

  Mother unsheathed her sword and sharpened it.

  For a long time, that was the only sound besides the fire crackling. Then LoPa and HoPa cared for my brother’s cuts and sent them to bed. I sat beside my mother, listening to her heart. Feeling it inside my own chest.

  It ached. Was beaten, just like my brothers.

  She sighed, put a hand on my shoulder. Smiling down at me, her eyes far away and hooded, she said, “I will always keep you safe.”

  I pushed myself into her and cried, clinging to her. Letting her heartbeat teach mine how to be strong so I could give my strength back to her.