"Where his journey ended, Volusius sought what would soothe his heart. A quest to conquer a nymph and slay a dragon." 

This was what a female hand wrote on the paper, before opening the window and letting in the warm spring light. Varuclezia picked up the pen again and about to write when she stopped in a moment of uncertainty. What she was about to write deserved carefully decided words. After all, this was the story of a man who had killed a dragon. 

She raised the quill to her thin lips, and a lock of emerald hair fell across her forehead. She lifted her golden eyes and, after a moment of inspiration, placed the quill back on the paper and the ink began to flow. 

“My dear loves...” she wrote, smiling in memory, “...ever since you were children, I have told you about how your father and I met, and the adventures we had. Well, now that you are grown up and have been asking me to do so for as long as I can remember, I think the time has come to put it all down in writing in one of those beautiful stories that are only told in legends. 

There was a man that lived in a city built on seven hills. It was no ordinary provincial city, but the capital of an empire that stretched from the cold ice of Thule to the warm coast of Azania, an empire whose name I need not tell you. 

This city was surrounded by magnificent and imposing walls, and at every dawn the sunlight shone on the brick roofs of the houses and the bronze roofs of the temples. Eleven aqueducts gave the city the nickname Queen of Waters: fountains and parks, libraries and courtyards, squares and markets, nothing seemed to be lacking in this city where life was so comfortable. Its streets were filled with people of all customs and nationalities, dressed in the most elegant and colourful costumes, while its shops were filled with aromas from the farthest corners, and the clink of smiths' hammers and the music of the theatres. 

There were languages of many lands and, above all, books telling stories and legends of faraway and sometimes unexplored places. And it is in this environment, winding over seven hills and crossed by a clear river, that the man we are going to talk about has always lived. 

This man came from a wealthy family and his name was Volusius Ulpius Vopiscus. The Ulpians Vopiscans had lived in this city since time immemorial, and the people considered them very respectable, if a little strange, for the Ulpians were a very ancient family, and among them were numerous jurists, prefects, governors and even two emperors. 

No less busy was the plebeian branch of the Vopiscans, who provided their fair share of consuls, orators and even a historian. Perhaps the most eccentric of the Ulpian branches, they were said to be descended from the blood of the Irpinians: an ancient people said to be descended from wolves. The Ulpians themselves were said to have wolf blood in their veins. In fact, the city of the seven hills itself is said to have been descended from wolves, as are many other peoples of the region, but do not let that fool you into thinking that there is no good story to be told about this Volusius Ulpius Vopiscus. 

For although this old family, like so many others, had flattened itself under paraphernalia and paperwork, there was a spark in this Volusius, a seed that could not wait to blossom, as you will see if you have the patience to follow me to the end. 

As we were saying, the father of this man, so different from the others, was the noble Virgilius Ulpius Vopiscus, a famous lawyer in his time. It was often said that the branch of the Vopiscus, which was not as ancient as the others and from which this Volusius descended, had centuries ago a certain Lurius Ulpius Vopiscus as an ancestor. This Vopiscus had taken part in one of the military expeditions to tame the famous Hercynian Forest, and it was there that he was said to have met (and married) a nymph. 

Of course, this may sound absurd, but this is what is said, and more: this nymph looked like a beautiful woman but had the ears and the lower body of an animal. And guess which? That's right, a she-wolf. 

There seems to be something typically wolfish about this family, but despite this wild side, it seems that many in this family had a good understanding of law and justice. Occasionally a black sheep would turn up, but it would inevitably end up mauled. 

To return to our Volusius, he obviously also had a mother: a certain Lucia Aelia Laeliana. She was, as you can imagine, descended, albeit from a minor branch, from the family of the Aelians, a family that in ancient times had been related to the Ulpians. Consequently, she too had wolf blood (get used to it). 

Actually, the Laelians had become part of the Aelians through adoption, but they were still considered to be blood descendants, even though this way of thinking is not custom in other lands. 

Not that Lucia Aelia Laeliana had ever shown any lupine traits, but after her marriage to Virgilius Ulpius Vopiscus she had indeed shown quite a temper. She had always been busy, though her interest had always been in the arts, especially music, and while our Volusius had been brought up on his father's side with books and stories about heroes, she gave him the same through music. 

Indeed, Volusius loved to listen to ancient epic songs and tales of the world that was. In fact, there was every indication that he had the makings of a good legend, as we shall see. It was at the age of ten that he was taken north by his father, when the latter was appointed governor of one of the provinces that now stand where the vast forest of Hercynian lies. 

It was here in the north that he took the name Isengrimus. A little nickname given to him by the soldiers stationed in the region, due to his tendency to play with an iron helmet that was too big for him. In fact, Volusius loved playing games: chess, riddles and anything that showed his sharp mind were his favourites; but most of all he like to go in search of nymphs and dragons. 

One rainy day in fact, during those days, Volusius set out to play. He went in search of nymphs and dragons, as heroes do in the legends, and inadvertently wandered too deep into the Hercynian Forest, where he became lost. 

No one knows what happened that day, but when he found his way home, he came back changed. He had seen and heard something that would make him grow. Some say nothing happened: the fervent imagination of a child lost in a forest, surrounded by lightning and thunders. Who knows what a child can see in those stressful situations, and people know how much Volusius love fantasies. 

Other however, people less prone to judge a child doing and seeing what he finds fun, say that he found a nymph. But I don’t know how much those people believe in what they say. What it was certain that in the years that followed he would become stronger and more mature than any child his age. When tragedy struck, however, he was not old enough to wield a sword despite the time of need. 

Varuclezia took his quill from the paper and her golden eyes betrayed a certain hesitation. Fear? No, maybe more pity. She returned to writing. 

It had been only a few months since he had returned from the forest of Hercynia when a great wind blew from the north, from the same forest, over the city of Roma, capital of the greatest empire of man. 

The first thing they heard was the sound of a storm brewing: clouds creaking, colliding and crashing through the strong wind. Then came a shadow, long and serpentine. At last, they realised that those rumblings of thunder were nothing but the beating of mighty wings. 

Long and immense, with emerald, green scales, it shimmered in the distance. It was a poison-spewing dragon from Hercynia, come to bring death and pain. And so the dragon burned, crashed and killed for no other reason than unleash his wrath on this city of mere mortals and rejoice from the screams of fear and sorrow. 

And so it was that Volusius was forced to see his city bow and pay tribute to this tyrant from the north, for the Empire would not risk losing its capital to this enemy beyond human strength. No one would risk their own life and that of the city against the wrath of this dragon. 

The dragon wanted sorrow, and the sorrow of poverty and humiliation were enough to please the dragon. For the third time the empire, humiliated, paid tribute to him to send him away, and for the first time Volusius set his eyes on the Dragon, for victim of great pain craves justice more than anything else. 

In time young Volusius went on with his life, trying to be a good man wherever and however he could, but he always remembered what had happened that day, and he always remembered the vow he had made to himself on that distant day when he had lost himself in the forest of Hercynia in search of nymphs and dragons. The vow he repeated the day of the dragon. 

Varuclezia's hand stopped again, as if in the grip of a bad memory, but a nostalgic smile formed on her face thereafter. She went back to writing. And this, my dear children, is where I came in. Because, partly by a strange twist of fate, and perhaps (or mostly) because of your mother, it had been decided that your father would be the one to put an end to this ugly story. Varuclezia smiled again and wrote the following in bright ink: 

It all began in the city of seven hills, with an unexpected act of humanity and courtesy. The grey emanating from the chimneys, towering in the half-light, filled the city sky. It mingled with the thin, treacherous mist that came from below, and both penetrated the streets like a heavy, dark breath, pulsating in the dim light of the streetlamps that tried to break the already overpowering darkness. 

The pawing of people, a little too hastily, mingled with the sound of horses' hooves on the pavement, accompanying the urban neurosis that struck everyone with the imminent arrival of evening. Then the moonless night appeared, saying goodbye to the last light of day. 

As the streets emptied, however, one girl remained in the mist, alone, sitting at the edge of a fountain. It was a stone circle flanked by two smaller ones, and on the edge of it sat a hooded woman. It was said that this fountain gave the gift of poetry, because blessed by the patron of all poets: Orpheus. Yet that woman didn’t fell inspired by the sound of its waters and remained silent not knowing what to do. 

“Are you alone?” said a soft voice. 

It was not your father, my dears, but a person you know well. Short, no more than a metre tall, stocky and with an appearance that could have been mistaken for a child, were it not for the long, pointed ears and breasts that were large even for an adult human. 

I think you know who I'm talking about, but if you need a little help: tanned skin, platinum blonde hair tied in numerous braids and a ponytail, pink eyes and a rather cheeky expression. She looks the kind of person to search the attention of cute men in hope of expensive gifts, but not that night. She wore a very provocative dress: two oblique strips of black cloth to cover her breast, one to cover her underbelly, two dark boots, and for the rest only a lot of olive skin; but that night her eyes were worried and gentle. 

My stomach rumbled and Sofia smiled. 

“My name is Sofia...” said the little cathyzus, “...if you have nowhere to stay, follow me.” 

She held out her little hand and led me to a nearby tavern, a bit forgetting that I’m not tall as her and this made run with her difficult, but her intentions were noble. 

We walked up a gentle slope, past a few blocks of flats, and stopped in front of the inn. 

The houses seemed empty, while all the light was concentrated in the inn, which seemed to be teeming with all the inhabitants of the street. He felt faint when he saw all the people. I had imagined that at some point during this journey I would have to hide in the crowd; but at this moment, despite the festive tone of the guests, the thought of encountering so many men in their brick buildings surrounded me with a gloomy aura. 

“You want me to go to a place like that?” said I. “Aren't there other places to stay? I would feel more comfortable.” 

“Don't worry...” replied Sofia, “...despite appearances, everyone here is a good person. You will see that you will feel more comfortable once you are inside.” 

Indeed, from the outside, the inn looked like a pleasant place to eyes accustomed to the cities of men. It faced the street, with a stone counter ready to serve passing customers. Next to it was a kitchen, and beyond that was a large room that took up much of the ground floor of the building and was used to accommodate those who wanted a more elaborate meal than what could be eaten on the street. A large archway led to an inner courtyard, while to the right was a staircase leading to the upper floors. As I hesitated to enter, Sofia took my hand again as someone inside began to sing a cheerful song, followed by a chorus of strong, carefree voices. 

The tavern was frequented mainly by men, but also a few cathyzus like Sofia. I looked up at the inn guests, doubtful how to behave, but finally decided to remain silent and took a seat. 

Sofia stood on tiptoe and said: "Come, come, a pretty young lady like you shouldn't be so sad. Nobody should be." 

And just to liven up the evening, she climbed with her small arms on a table and began to sing accompanied by the chorus of diners. If there is something to know about Sofia is that in any tavern she was at home. 

A howl is heard, dark in the night. 

A shadow is seen, it's your doom 

Golden eyes, fear at his sight. 

Walks by night, bright is the moon, 

Of justice he is the twin. 

Whoever is evil, he’ll come soon. 

Fear the cloak and his iron grin, 

For the wicked he’ll be doom. 

There's a wolf under his skin. 

Run you foul, it's Isengrimus. 

"To Isengrimus!" they all shouted, raising their mugs. 

I looked around in confusion, not understanding what was causing such excitement, but I sensed the respect and admiration everyone felt for this one man. After a while however, my attention returned to my own thoughts, until Sofia placed a bowl of soup on the table, along with a glass of cheap wine and half a loaf of bread. 

“This one's on me...” said Sofia with a smile, “...and if you need a room, just ask,” she said before starting to work as a waitress. 

She was about to leave when I grabbed her wrist. She watched at me very gently, to the point I felt guilty to have grabbed her with such strength. 

“This man, Isengrimus, where can I find him?” said I. 

“No man, if what they say is true. He is said to be a wolf watching over the innocent against evildoers...” said Sofia, “...if you like, I can tell you more about him after my shift is over.” 

I nodded and let Sofia go and returned to the meal she offered me. I broke open the bread I received and began to eat quietly, only shyly daring to look up at the activity in the tavern around me. 

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim light of lanterns and candles, I realised that the group was much more numerous and diverse than I had thought. I didn't mind their presence too much, and I did appreciate the aromas that filled the air from the kitchen. It was a smell of home and welcome. 

Sofia stood near the courtyard with a couple of cathyzus' and one or two men, making eyes at them all. From time to time, though, she would look at me and her gaze would change from light and carefree to more serious. 

The men of this inn all seemed to have somewhat different names, perhaps due to distant foreign ancestry, but the origin of the names did not seem to match the origin of the appearance. 

Local names such as Carisius, Drusus, Statius, Meletius, Livianus, and Felicianus were accompanied by oriental names such as Andronicus, for example: Telemachus or Symmachus, or even more oriental names such as Hasdrubal and Astartus. There were also Nordic names such as Actumerus and Gandaricus. None of them seemed to think that Varuclezia was a strange and unusual name. 

The people were naturally friendly and curious, but I soon realised that, as a newcomer, some explanation of who I was and what I did would be essential. 

I mentioned my interest in history and geography, especially legends, and my interest in writing. Everyone nodded their heads, though not all of them could read, and there was great interest when I mentioned that I was planning to write a book and that I was looking for inspiration about heroic deeds and figures in exotic and distant places. 

At this point there was a chorus of voices, and not even on purpose, Volusius was mentioned again, as if he were the only possible candidate for an epic poem such as I was about to write. It was perhaps at this moment that I began to feel more at home, and with sharp, frantic ears I gathered in a few minutes what might have taken years. Everyone seemed to know a few facts about Volusius, and if I had wanted to know more, I could have turned to Sofia for further information, for Sofia was a frequent visitor to his house and to those of many other guests. 

The subject that seemed to arouse the most interest was what she had seen in the forest of Hercynia so long ago. Since it was said that an ancestor of his had met and married a nymph there a long time ago, it was said that Volusius had seen one himself, but since Volusius did not talk about it, there was not much to be said except gossip, and in time they began to talk of something else. Not so much me, who was not very talkative once the subject had changed, but rather Sofia, who seemed to be looking for excuses not to wait tables. 

Men and Cathyzus' spoke mostly of events in distant lands, exchanging news that was familiar even to my own ears. There was trouble to the north in the forest of Hercynia, and apparently the forest had begun to regurgitate strange creatures thought to have died out or been scattered during the dark years. 

The people of the inn had no sympathy for the dark years but were clearly not happy to hear of these strange creatures, never seen or heard of, although it did not escape many that they must be the same ones from the dark years. 

One of the travellers, an eccentric dressed in red who stood in a dark corner of the room, predicted that strange events would occur in ever-increasing numbers because of these mysterious creatures, whose appearance and nature had been forgotten by man, and that had been cruelly caught up in the events of the dark years. “For the victim of great pain craves justice more than anything else,” said aloud the man cloaked in red. 

I shuddered and tried to return to my meal. 

“And?” said suddenly Sofia, “Do you feel better?” 

I nodded and said: “You are a very gentle person. You don't’ even know why I was sad.” 

“Oh, come on! At least once a year you can help someone without asking too many questions...” replied Sofia, “...I also noticed that you were quite interested in our Isengrimus. He lives down the road and is a handsome young man.” 

I laughed. Sofia smiled and returned to the guests, encouraging them to sing. All eyes in the room were on her. “A song!” cried one of the cathyzus'. “A song! We want a song!” shouted all the others. “Come on, come on, sing us about Isengrimus again!” 

I took a sip while Sophia cleared her throat and sang a new song, or rather more than one, either dedicated to Volusius or about nymphs, dragons or... wolves. Most of those present joined in the chorus. 

I went back to my meal, until I felt a presence that seemed out of place. I looked around, left and right, up and down, covering every corner of the tavern with my gaze, but neither finding the source of my concern, nor removing the feeling of anxiety that gripped my heart. I felt watched by someone who seemed to know me, yet I had no friend or foe. For all I was concerned, I was alone. 

After numerous failed attempts to scout the room, I decided to leave. However, as I showed to get up, a figure suddenly sat down at my own table in front of me, causing me to sit down as well. 

He, too, wore a hood, carefully covering his face and, with the cloak, the rest of his body. He looked nervous like me in being in such a crowded place, yet he paid lesser attention at the crown around me. 

“You don't mind if I sit down?” said the man cloaked in red, who had sat down anyway without waiting for permission. He pulled his cloak tightly around him and I did so too. 

I did not answer him, nor would I have done so. I simply closed my cloak around myself and waited him to talk. 

“This is not exactly a place I expected to find you...” said the man cloaked in red, “...although I am glad to see you happy after such a long time.” 

“The same could be said for you, this is not exactly a place you would like to be...” said I, “...nor do I think you want to stay here any longer.” 

“In fact, I am here to ask you to come home.” 

I suspected that was why he had come, and I thought with regret that I had little to say in reply. Any excuse I could come up with would satisfy no one, and I didn't even know why I was there in the first place. 

“I am not asking you for anything more than you are willing to accept..." replied the red cloaked man, as if he had guessed my thoughts, "...only this: you must come home with me, then you will decide what to do; but to stand by and live like a vagabond is no solution.” 

“This meeting is no coincidence, is it?” said I, leaning back against the wall and already expecting the answer. 

“No, it is not. Things are moving, whether you choose to stand still or not, and sooner or later a colder wind will begin to blow. Whichever way you choose to go, your ship cannot help but turn towards home. You have no other choice.” 

“Too many, too many dark and sinister things are moving...” I said gravely, pulling back my hood slightly, revealing an emerald-green lock of hair and golden eyes, “...but as for me personally... I have another choice.” 

I looked to the right, where accompanied by a chorus of excited diners Sofia was still singing: 

Run you foul, it's Isengrimus. 

and here is where your father comes in and if you had only heard a tenth of what people say about me, you know you must expect an extraordinary entrance. 

The mist lifted, and the cadence of regular footsteps broke the stillness of the night. A man emerged. Young, handsome, with thick hair that resembled a wolf's mane. His long blue dress, inlaid with silver, fluttered in a wind that seemed impossible in such narrow streets. His grey eyes, on the other hand, looked around with circumspection. 

Volusius composed himself, letting his cloak slip gently over his body and the cloth glide over his white skin; then looked around cautiously, as if sensing something in the air. As a wolf sharpened its eyes and ears, because he felt a strange feeling. He sensed the presence of something or someone whose nature he could not identify. 

Something strange in the mist, perhaps? For he had the sensation of seeing white, menacing serpents appearing and disappearing in those clouds, or perhaps the sound of his own footsteps echoing in the night. Perhaps the rustling caused by that seemingly unnatural wind? 

He kept trying to look around until, as he wandered, his eyes were drawn to an unexpected presence. Perched in a tree near him, he saw a woman with white skin, long emerald hair and golden eyes that shone like mirrors in the night. 

I lay lazily stretched out like a snake on an oak branch that, however thin, bent as if it carried little or no weight, while I watched him curiously with those deep golden eyes that seemed full of life but at the same time full of sadness. 

Volusius gazed at me, his eyes fixed upward, but his arms hanging at his sides as if drained of strength. He ignored the wind that played with his cloak and the mist that enveloped him like an ancient companion. 

He was completely lost in my beauty and at a loss for words; or perhaps more accurately, at a loss for the desire to say them. He felt as if he could stay and gaze at me until the sun rose, and that a single word from him could break the spell that prevented him from looking at anything but me. It was like seeing a flower bloom in the cold snow: beautiful for its nature and for the unnatural place where it had manifested itself. 

And so he looked at me with eyes full of curiosity and admiration, while I did the same with a look of amusement. Perhaps it was because Volusius felt he was being watched that he finally decided to speak. 

“Estisne nympha... vel estisne forte dea? Are you a nymph... or are you by any chance a goddess?” said he in Latin with a smile, caught up in the moment. 

It was so sweet to see him being so courteous and human. A sign of things to come, for beneath that lupine appearance Volusius was always a gentle and generous man, as his eyes tell. 

“You are truly kind...” said I with an equally warm smile, “...or is it perhaps my beauty that inspires such kindness?” 

“The one does not exclude the other, my lady...” said he with a short bow, “...have we met before?” 

“No, alas no, poor me,” replied I, keeping a playful tone in her voice. 

“Then let me do the honours..." said he, bowing again, this time a little more pompously, "...nomen meum Volusius Vopiscus est. Quo nomine vocaris... si quaerere possum? My name is Volusius Ulpius Vopiscus. What is your name... if I may ask? 

There was a moment of silence, and Volusius could not tell whether it was because I did not wish to answer him, or because I was choosing my words carefully. Nor did he care. He could remain the entire night staring at me. 

There was something about me that stirred his soul: my form, my face, my voice, and something deeper that he felt flowing from my eyes and my smile, but whose nature he could not identify, except that it caused him a feeling of sadness and joy that made him feel pity for me. He wanted to hold me in his arms and tell me it was all right, but at the same time he was afraid to touch me, as if just touching me could ruin that enchantment. 

“Volusius... Volusius, ego amo nomina cum 'v', Volusius... Volusius, I like names with a 'v'” replied I, my mind wandering who knows were. 

“Do you have a name, or shall I call you, my nymph?” 

I was really tempted to say yes to him, but after all that courtesy, he deserved a name. I didn't want to keep him in suspense forever. 

“That would not be far from the truth... but you may call me Varuclezia,” said I, answering the question. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” said Volusius, acting this time a bit more informal in tone and language. “It's not every day you meet a beautiful nymph in the middle of the fog.” 

I smiled. 

“It all depends on whether what they say about you is true,” said I. 

“About me what?" said Volusius, not quite sure what I meant. 

He felt the air turn strange and the enchantment in the air seemed to change. Volusius began to feel a certain uneasiness, or at least contradiction. My sweet face made his heart sing, but the hopeful, worried tone of my voice that put him on alert. 

I cleared my throat, and with gentle voice this is what I answered him: 

A wolf he pierces with huge grey eyes 

Through the snow-covered night, 

Seeking his prey, 

Pawing his way 

Where bad men lie, 

Where evil men die. 

His name is Isengrimus 

As you will find 

Volusius did not understand and was about to ask me another question when he was distracted by the sound of something moving in the night, which disappeared as soon as it was seen. 

It only lasted a moment, but when he turned back to me, I was gone, leaving only an empty branch and the doubt that I may have been just a strange dream.