How Bright Eye Became Sky-Wulf

In Lisnafaer lived a besotted wulf named Bright Eye. He dared to court the grand Ladies of the Sky: Great Grian the Gold who shines by day and her younger sister Good Gealach the Silver who lights the night. So keen was he to see them rise in the sky, so hungry for their light, he pursued them day and night. His eyes shone like the first star to appear at eventide.

In their beams his grey fur turned white. Against the drifted snows of winter all but his bright eyes and black nose disappeared. Come the green summer, his brilliant white coat dazzled all who looked upon him. Instead of chasing deer or beavers and wild hares, he sang to Grian. Being unable to choose whom he loved best, he serenaded Gealach as well.

Annoyed, the wulves told him, “If you won’t hunt, shut your mouth and roll in some dirt.”

He laughed and kept on calling.

He followed Grian from the moment she appeared over the Wulf Jaw Mountains in the east until she dipped down behind the Guardian Mountains on the west coast. When her slanting golden rays splashed the jagged eastern slopes of Wulf Tongue Pass, he called for her to stop.

“Just wait awhile,” he pleaded. “Why such a hurry? Stay to shine your light through the tall timbers and on all the green beneath.”

Grian answered, “No, Bright Eye, I must cross the sea and settle into my island bower for the night. I must not tarry. But ye may. Stay put for once. Or follow the deer. Take care to cull the old and the ill so that the trees stay hardy and your pack thrives.”

He bristled and roared. The raccoons and owls who sleep during the day in dens under green leaved shrubs or in the tree tops complained to Grian. She called to him, “Hush, Bright Eye. Go find your pack. Curl that fine white tail around your noisy jaws and sleep. Ye’ll be better fit for a night hunt. Make your moans to Gealach. She will light your way to a meal.”

But he could not bear losing sight of Grian. He climbed to the very top of Wulf Tongue Pass to watch her settle behind the cobalt-hued island mountains in the West Sea. In her light billowing orange-tinged crimson clouds caressed the mountain tops. Anguished sobs poured forth from Bright Eye’s lovelorn heart.

Gulls, flitting through salt sea sprays that misted the rugged coast, cried in mocking screeches.
“Who ever heard, heard, heard?
Of a wulf so daft, daft, daft?
To woo Grian, Grian, Grian?”

Grian’s voice crackled like pine sap popping in a fire. “Go east harebrained wulf. The gold of day is no more. Forsake this folly. Be quiet. Hunt the silent deer.” She pulled the last trailing treads of golden light within her bower.

Bright Eye refused to give up his most lamentable howls that crossed the sea and returned to land, carried on evening breezes. Knowing the deer would protest as they foraged wildflower meadows at dusk and again at dawn, Grian tossed and turned. Storms blew over her island retreat.

Had Bright Eye stayed with his pack, they would have warned him, “Do not rile Great Grian the Gold.”

When the near sky over Lisnafaer bloomed black as a wulf’s nose, faint glints of light salted the far off ebon sky. Bright Eye turned tail and raced east toward the towering Wulf Jaw Mountains. Every so often he paused, his lungs heaving. He caught his breath and then wailed—angry at Grian, angry at the dark, angry that he could not find Gealach. His fierce keens made the squirrels whine and bears grumble, “It is night. We want to sleep.”

Their cries reached Gealach just as she was climbing over Marcus, the mountain north of Mount Barra where the giants live. Her silver white light poured over the snow-capped peaks, setting them aglow. This was not the first time that pleas from disgruntled beasts under her special care, ones who needed to rest under cover of night, had reached Gealach as she flew across Lisnafaer. Their harsh cries, on top of the pesky wulf’s howls, distracted her. She grew cross. It was Tree Month Holly, the night before the Summer Solstice. She had hoped to spot the Holly King’s return to Lisnafaer. Maybe this year she would spy him before her golden sister. “Shush, foolish wulf. Not all beasts hunt at night—as ye should. Be quiet!”

Ah, when Bright Eye saw her silver face in the lonesome sky, his happy howl sounded like water sliding over rounded rocks into a glistening pool. From one mountain top to another, from forested hills and lush glens with grasses showing silvery-black in Gealach’s light, wulves on the hunt called for him to stop disrupting their attempts to fill their empty bellies. “Go home. Do some good for a change.”

Deaf to their cries, Bright Eye kept following Gealach on her trip across the sky. He did not care that his paws were bleeding and his belly rumbled like an avalanche. Night after night it was the same. Soon all of Lisnafaer was in an uproar. Indeed, all the wulves chewed their paws and tails. Ravens never ceased their scolding. Then the madness spread to the deer who ran amok and bellowed out of season. No one could sleep. All were bad-tempered. Worse, the lovesick wulf threatened the Balance Green.

The light-loving Solas and dark-loving Dorcha Faer Ones who tended the garden fortress they named Lisnafaer debated the crisis.

The Solas said, “All life in Lisnafaer depends upon the Ladies of the Sky completing their light-giving journeys.”

The Dorcha said, “They dare not stop to requite the love of a wulf.”

All agreed. “Yes, something must be done.”

And yet the Faer Ones, thinking surely Bright Eye would tire of his folly, hesitated to interfere with a lone, crazed wulf.

But day and night Bright Eye chased them from one mountain range to the next, back and forth. He refused to cease his amorous cries, joyful at first sighting, woeful when they vanished in the West Sea. His flesh withered; his beautiful white fur turned dull. He looked like a shaggy skeleton with eyes that glittered like heat lightning.

Finally the Sea spoke up. “All who swim in the vast waters fear Gealach will falter and disrupt the tides. Then who knows what other dreadful calamities might follow? What if Grian fails to rise and shine?”

Their worst fears seemed to come true when, in the daily dance of the heavenly sisters, Gealach chanced to hover directly in front of Grian. Grian disappeared. Lisnafaer fell under Gealach’s shadow. The day sky turned dark. High tides flooded the land. A distraught Bright Eye ran helter-skelter but never stopped wailing.

Lady Light and Lord Green, the guardian High Faer Ones of Lisnafaer, conferred. The Lady dressed in a summer green gown. Star-silver clasps and emeralds, matching her eyes, decorated her snowy tresses. Around her the murky air glowed like a halo embracing a flame. Holly covered Lord Green, including the glossy crown binding his luxuriant green hair.

Taking his hand, Lady Light called to Grian and Gealach. “Hear me, my High Kin. We beseech ye. Restore order to Lisnafaer. But do no harm to the wulf, he who seeks the light, a noble quest.”

From out of the gloom Grian chastised Bright Eye.

“Your incessant howling disrupts all Lisnafaer. Your greed for our light is all out of measure. Enough of this unseemly stalking! Ye shall be sent to the black abyss, out beyond There from whence came the Faer Ones—the proper Lords of Light.

Head lowered to the ground, Bright Eye cowered. With his tail hanging like a weeping willow branch, he cried out in little cat whimpers.

Bright Eye choked and failed to breathe.

Time stood still. Darkness prevailed.

Gealach took pity on him. “Sister,” she said. “The high-grasping wulf sought our light out of love and longing. His heart is pure—if foolish. We can do better for such a suitor.”

She moved the width of a gnat’s eyelash. Nonetheless, Bright Eye felt it and, gazing up, saw the faintest suggestion of an aura embracing Gealach, all the darker now that this golden corona had appeared. His heart leaped. Gealach moved again. The halo grew.

Grian spoke. “The kindhearted counsel of my sister and Lady Light proves wise. For your loyalty, I grant that a reward is meet and right. Ye shall stand guard in the night high over Lisnafaer, there always to see me and my sister. How like you that, Bright Eye?”

The wulf dared to lift his head. Gealach had moved on. Though still dark to his eyes, she remained a felt presence in his tender heart.

Grian revealed her full majesty. Light, like honey to the bear, fell upon the white wulf.

He gave one joyous yelp.

“Silence,” said Gealach. “We weary of all the beasts crying for quiet and order.”

“Yes, impulsive wulf,” continued Grian. “Ye must pay the price for your heart’s desire. Ye may view blessed Lisnafaer, but never leave your appointed post. Never shall ye roam the good green below.”

When Bright Eye attempted to answer, Grian flared. Heat washed over the not quite contrite wulf, scorching his whiskers. She declared, “And ye shall be silent.”

Bright Eye’s heart sank. His tail swept the ground. At last, he nodded his agreement.

Grian recognized the goodness of the wulf. She offered him a boon. “Ye shall be our champion. It is fitting that ye be given a new name. From now on ye shall be known as Sky-Wulf.”

Gealach added, “From Tree Month to Tree Month, as Lisnafaer turns from green to white and then green once more, our light shall nourish you, fond wulf.”

Sky-Wulf obeyed. Though his heart pounded, he uttered not one sound, but his eyes beamed gratitude and love.

Grian had the last word. “Sky-Wulf, your bright eye shall be a portal to the Otherworld. At times of great danger, ye may speak of what we may fail to see in the completion of our daily rounds. We pray that ye be silent until the second Great Crossing from Here back to There.”

To this day, many ages after Bright Eye ascended to the heavens, all wulves of Lisnafaer know him as Sky-Wulf. If you listen, you will hear them call out to the Wulf Star to guard them on the hunt.

L. N. Passmore

 

L. N. Passmore bids you to come visit Lisnafaer and her other green worlds.