· Arjeplog, Sweden
The empty cradle.
From the journal of the Wolf of the North · a work of fiction
When I reached the Larssons' farm, a broken porch rail made it look as though the cradle had gone with the charging herd. No one had heard the baby cry. I followed the smell of warm wool into the barn.
The grandmother had carried the child there and fainted behind the grain bins. Both were safe, though neither liked being found by a stranger with wolf ears. We repaired the rail before nightfall.