Granny Wine & the Refugees: Episode 2 - The Alpha Female
Don’t be gettin ahead of yourself, you should start at the beginnin with Episode I
The cave breathed.
Not wind—something warmer, slower. The smell of fur and stone and old smoke drifted out into the cooling air. Fog clung low to the ground, patient and watchful, as the last of the light slid off Whiskey Ridge.
Granny Wine stood where she’d stopped, cane planted, boots firm in the dirt. She didn’t crowd the mouth. Didn’t retreat either.
She waited.
Movement stirred inside.
Earl came out first.
He ducked low, broad shoulders clearing the stone, and stepped to one side of the entrance—not blocking it, not guarding it. Just… making room. His ears flicked once, then settled. He didn’t speak.
That told Granny plenty.
Then the female dogman stepped into the light.
She was a shade lighter than Earl, her fur shorter, sleeker—built for strength, not softness. Muscle moved clean beneath her coat, every step sure. Her eyes were a pale, icy blue that caught what little light remained and held it.
She walked forward until she stood four, maybe five feet from Granny.
Close enough to matter.
Not threatening. Not friendly.
Present.
Granny didn’t step back.
She lifted her chin just slightly—not baring her throat, not bowing. Holding eye contact. Steady. Calm.
The mountain listened.
“I am known as Talahey,” the dogwoman said at last. Her voice was low, even. “By your kind.”
Granny nodded once.
“I am known as Granny Wine here,” she replied. “Keeper of Whiskey Ridge.”
No challenge in it. Just fact.
Talahey’s gaze sharpened—interest, not alarm.
Granny met it and added, gently but clearly, “I am honored to meet you, Keeper of the Fire.”
Something shifted.
Not dramatic. Not visible to anyone who didn’t know how to watch.
Talahey inclined her head the barest fraction.
Earl exhaled, slow and quiet, like he’d been holding his breath longer than he realized.
“You brought help,” Talahey said. Not a question. Her eyes flicked once toward the cave behind her, where steam curled faintly into the night air.
“I brought what the ridge gave me,” Granny said. “What I could carry quick.”
She didn’t step forward.
Didn’t reach for anything.
“If you’re willin’,” she added, careful with her words, “I can take a listen and tell you what I think. No more than that.”
Silence stretched.
Talahey studied her—hands, eyes, posture. The cane. The way Granny stood like the ground belonged to her but she didn’t need to prove it.
Finally, Talahey turned slightly, angling her body toward the cave.
“Come,” she said.
Granny didn’t move right away.
Talahey led the way. Granny followed a few steps behind.
Before she entered the cave, she reached down and set her cane carefully against a stone at the cave’s edge, leaving it there where it could be seen. The crow head caught a sliver of dying light and held it.
Then she stepped forward and laid her palm against the cave stone, closing her eyes and feeling the mountain for a moment.
Then Granny stepped inside.
Talahey moved ahead with purpose, the way a hearth-keeper does when the fire must be minded even during parley. Earl hovered behind Granny, unsure if he was escort or guard.
__________________________________
Warmth gathered fast, thick with breath and life. The den was shaped, not hollowed—stone worn smooth where bodies passed, bedding layered where sleep happened in shifts. A dented pot sat near the hearth stones, steam rising steady and slow. The scent of mullein and thyme hung clean in the air, sharp and green beneath the heavier smells of fur and smoke.
Work was already underway.
Deeper in, two small shapes lay bundled together.
The boy lay on his back, wrapped tight in one of the blankets Granny had brought. His breathing rasped shallow, a soft wet sound catching at the end of each breath. The girl sat upright beside him, another blanket around her shoulders, one hand wrapped firmly around his.
Her eyes were open.
Sharp. Watchful.
She tracked Granny’s movement without fear or curiosity—just attention.
Granny met her gaze and dipped her head once, respectful.
The girl did not look away.
Talahey positioned herself between Granny and the children—not blocking, exactly. Holding the line.
Granny stopped where she was.
“May I listen to his chest?” Granny asked.
Talahey held her eyes for a long moment.
Then she stepped aside half a pace.
Consent drawn clean.
Granny knelt slowly, joints creaking just enough to remind the world she was old and unbothered by it. She leaned down and pressed her ear gently to the boy’s chest.
She listened.
The rhythm was off. Too fast, too shallow. His fur was still young-soft under her cheek, thick and clean—untouched by the roughness that comes with years.
Granny straightened.
Talahey watched her face, reading for lies or false comfort.
“What do you recommend?” Talahey asked.
Not pleading.
Consulting.
Granny didn’t rush the answer.
“He’s got a chest cold settlin’,” she said at last. “And it’s got teeth. But it hasn’t rooted yet.”
Earl made a low sound behind her. The girl’s grip on her brother’s hand tightened.
Granny went on, steady. “What you’ve started is right. Steam. Warmth. Keep him drinkin’. Let the mullein loosen what’s stuck, let the thyme do its work.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded handkerchief—worn soft, smelling faintly of smoke, herbs, and her skin. She held it out, not to the children, but to Talahey.
“So they know my scent,” she said.
Talahey accepted it without comment and set it near the boy’s pillow.
Granny continued, not instructing—offering.
“Where you’re from, you’ve got plants that do just as good,” she said. “Different hills teach different lessons. Here, I’d add wild cherry bark when I can bring it—worked down into syrup. It eases coughs that come in fits.”
Talahey considered that.
“For pain or fever,” Granny added, “willow bark helps. I can prepare it a few ways. You know your children—chewed, tea, or tincture. Your call.”
She nodded once toward the cave walls. “And pine. Needles or resin. The ridge grows it thick. Keeps strength up when breath’s been hard.”
Talahey listened. Absorbed. Chose.
“This will do for now,” she said. “We will see how he breathes by morning.”
“That’s wise,” Granny said.
She rose carefully and stepped back, returning the space to Talahey without needing to be asked.
The den settled again.
Then—
Talahey’s head snapped up.
Her ears turned sharply toward the cave mouth. She stiffened, weight settling hard into the ground, and a low growl slipped free—soft, steady, and not meant as a warning so much as a promise.
The girl stiffened.
Earl’s fur lifted along his shoulders.
Granny paused at Talahey’s reaction, before she understood.
A thin buzz threaded through the stone—high, wrong, persistent.
A skeeter sound in winter.
A drone.
Granny’s expression didn’t change. Just settled.
Talahey’s eyes cut to her—questioning, assessing.
Granny met her gaze.
“I got this,” she said.
She turned and moved toward the entrance, steps steady, unhurried.
At the cave mouth, the night had thickened. Fog pressed closer. The ridge air bit sharp and clean.
Her cane waited where she’d left it.
Granny stepped out, picked it up, and let the crow head settle into her palm like it belonged there.
She lifted her chin and looked straight up into the dark.
Above the trees, something small and watching hovered—quiet, patient, wrong.
Granny Wine stood in the open with her cane, an old woman on a ridge.
She didn’t wave.
Didn’t hide.
She simply looked at it like she was reading the shape of its intent.
The drone hovered.
The mountain listened.
End of Episode 2
No need to keep ya waiting, episode 3 is here
Offer whatever name you wish to be known by at the hearth today — real or imagined — we look forward to welcoming your words into the circle.
