Romania

Servy sighed as he closed the door to the villa for the last time. For over 600 years his family had lived here, tucked in the forests of Suceava, Romainia. For over 47 years he had been here – first as a child and then as an adult. At the age of 10 his father took him on a trip deep in to forests to meet.. his legacy.
He smiled as he remembered his father holding his hand – warm in the chill of the air – and told him that he need not be afraid, and this is a honor his family had held for centuries.
His father called out – a warbling cry, and he heard.. Them.. First a howl like a wolf but deeper, richer, so many tones and undercurrents filled it. Then another and another. Finally from the mist strode a Vargyr. He had been told stories about them but never ever believed that they could possibly exist.
The being – over 8 foot tall bent lower and embraced his father – rubbing its huge muzzle first on one side, and then the other of his father face.
“Chartk” he father grinned “It is good to see you again, I will bring some more meat and please let me know what else you need to stock up for the winter.”
Chartk nooded and rumbled something and glanced down at Servy. His father smiled and picked Servy up in his arms “Chartk.. I want you to meet Servy – my son. When I am gone he will continue to look after and protect you. Servy – This is Chartk – he leader of one of the last packs of Vargyr in Romania. “
Servy looked amazed as this huge creature  looked at him – the deep golden eyes shining with care and intelligence, and the it.. He knelt, crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his wolven head. “Greeting Servy – It is my honor” Chartk carefully growled – his deep rumbles vibrating in Servy’s chest.

That was so long ago now – almost a lifetime. Chartk was long gone, and his son Taris has taken his place. Servy’s family had protected this pack for centuries – keeping them hidden, trading with them, and being their friends.
Servy would use the old lorry to bring up carcasses of beef, lamb, pork, and things like blankets, some medicines, even books to the Vargy. In return they would give him carvings – strong wood carved with sharp claws, then polish to a high sheen by rough pads with their natural oils. These were well sought by collectors because of their intricate details. Rare herbs and potions were also traded as well as truffles – a Vargy’s nose being able to scent the delicate fungi with ease.

But things had changed. There were wars, skirmishes, and poachers. With the war between Ukraine and Russia – the woods were starting to fill with Russian soldiers who had deserted, hoping to escape to Romania for a new life. And Servy’s forests were right on the border. Taris had found the carcasses of rabbits – shot and skinned. How soon till it would be a Vargy meeting the same fate.

So the Vargy decided to split in to two packs. One going deeper in to the forests – abandoning their vow not to hunt and kill man. The other – Taris’s move down to the villa to plan. Taris wanted a safe place for his pack – he understood the time for hiding was almost over but his importance was a safe place where war had not been fought for a while. And so Taris looked at maps and pointed to England. That was where his pack wanted to go.

Servy sold what he could from the villa, packed the remaining tools and carvings, and ordered a shipping container. With the pack’s help they modified it so there were holes for breathing, movable floor panels for eliminating wastes, stocked it with water, a barrel of sweet apples from the orchard, and a barrel of pickled pork, plus a tarpaulin to hide under.
In return Servy grabbed books documenting the Vargyr’s peaceful co-existence over the centuries. His family history, and a plea to the British government to treat the pack as refugee’s – not as animals.

Now finally – this morning – the container with it’s precious cargo was gone – on it’s way to England via the Chunnel. And Servy glanced once more at the family crest over the doorway and walked over to the old Fiat.

It was going to be a long drive, and a hard one to ensure he would beat the container to Folkstone UK. He had to present the books and documents to the authorities before the container was opened. As a last resort he had told the pack that his they did not hear his voice speaking the words then to scatter as fast as possible, and Servy would then make the explanations later.

Romania, Austria, Switzerland all passed in a blur of unending roads, mountains, villages, and towns. Finally into France. It was late at night and he was fighting to stay awake – he had to get to Calais and catch the Chunnel.

But fate was not on his side – a moment of distraction, a too sharp turn and the aging Fiat ended up side down in a ditch. Fortunately the police were there quickly and as he was being pulled from the wreckage Servy push a battered briefcase in to the arms of the police pleading.. no begging them to get that the British government as fast as possible. With a promise that that would be done Servy finally closed his eyes…. He could do no more at this time.

 The case now took a different journey. First to the local police station where it was opened. The sergeant there read the documents with disbelief. The images of monsters, their ways, and photo’s showing peaceful interaction with humans. Phone calls were made, sheets of paper scanned, faxed, emailed till finally it reached the desk of a slim older man with a salt and pepper mustache.
The man worked in MI6 – name not important, but his function was. Quickly he read the papers and closed his eyes – ruminating on this new knowledge of a people so different from humans, but seemingly to act with a civilized manner. A few searches of various databases brought up rumored mentions of Vargyr’s, and of the business run by a small villa in the mountains of Romania by Servy and his family.

Reaching over his desk he picked up the phone to call customs at the English Chunnel end and found to his horror that the container had arrived, and it’s occupants had scattered over the fences. But – there was one who had stayed behind and that had been picked up by the military and was on its way to Porton Downs – the UK Biological Laboratory’s.
A couple of quick phone calls later and the man grabbed his hat and went to the roof where a helicopter was waiting for him. Moments later the craft lifted off and disappeared in to the morning fog of London.