I don't know when it was that I first found her. Or when she found me. All I know is that I was drawn to her, to the blind woman who smiled. Even though people despised her and played those sorts of mocking tricks that the blind have no chance of escaping, still she always smiled and laughed. Her smile was a constant, always bright with a trace of laughter lacing the fringes of her happiness. She had her moments of seriousness of course, but it seemed as if her very countenance rejected the idea of not smiling, as one was never far from her lips.

Mind you, I could tell when her smile was false but no one else could, and that was exactly what she wanted. When the burden of hiding her pain became too great her smile would fade as her sightless eyes shone with unshed tears. She never cried in front of anyone. If someone pushed her down in the street, or played a trick on her (even the ones that ended in injury for her), or even if someone made a snide remark while knowing full well she could hear them, she would simply smile through the pain, holding the hurt at bay with a laugh. Not even once in all the time I watched her did she ever let anyone bring her to tears in their presence. She would wait instead for the dark and loneliness of night, wandering the paths she knew in the woods to weep beneath the leaves and the light of the blood red moon. I would keep watch on her from the shadows of the trees as she'd cry in the darkness, allowing no one to see her tears. Anyone who ventured close to where the blind woman wept often returned to their homes with stories of phantoms in the shadows and growls that seemed to emanate from the ground itself while the sound of weeping drifted in the distance.

I sometimes wondered why I felt so strongly about her, the blind woman who smiled. Maybe it's because I know how it feels to be hated as she was; to be seen as repulsive by everyone through no fault of one's own, but because of some cruel twist of fate that nothing could account for.

I am a wolf, after all. My kind live with that every day, even if no one notices us.

I watched her for a long time. I was content to do that, to see her as she'd go about her daily chores. There wasn't much she couldn't do, despite her handicap. Though the people in her workplace didn't like her much, even they had to admit a sort of grudging admiration for her spirit. If they poked fun at her lack of sight, she'd just smile and say that it was okay to gain the eternal at the cost of the temporary, walking away humming while they would stare after her with knitted brows and confused glances. I never knew what she meant until I heard her explaining it to a child who'd asked her what it was like to be blind. She'd knelt down and taken the boy's hand, speaking in a very soft voice that I'm sure made that boy feel like he was being told a great secret. I'll never forget what she said.

"A long, long time ago, there was a woman named Helen Keller. She was worse off then I am, you understand, because she couldn't see or hear. All she could see was darkness, and all she could hear was silence. She met a woman who taught her what it was like to live, to see without sight and to hear without hearing. She became a great person who changed a lot of lives, and it was she who said this." She ahemed, clearing her throat, then recited, "'The most beautiful things in life cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.' And then someone else said that what we see is only temporary, that it all passes away, but what we feel is eternal." She smiled, tapping her temple. "Without my sight I do miss a lot of things, but you know what?"

The boy leaned forward, whispering, "What?" in an awe-struck tone. I almost laughed at the look of adoration on his face. With some difficulty I kept my silence, waiting to hear her reply.

"I pick up on a lot of things other people never notice. I hear what no one else hears, and I can feel things others don't." She wiggled her fingers at him, smiling still. I couldn't help but wonder if she was joking or really serious, though her comedic spider-fingers were making me assume the former.

Though she couldn't see it he nodded solemnly then queried, "So you're like a wolf?"

You can bet that surprised me.

She tilted her head and laughed, "What makes you say that, little man?"

"I heard my mom say that wolves could hear and see things that people can't." He leaned forward, whispering in a conspiratory manner. "Mom said that they could find paradise. And since you can hear things that I can't, doesn't that make you like a wolf?"

She smiled. "I suppose it does. Now go on home, your mother is calling you."

Sure enough, she was. He bid the blind woman a hasty goodbye and skittered away, grinning hugely. I could only just hear his mother scolding him, saying that he needed to stay away from strange people like that weird blind lady. I grinned when I heard his adamant cries that she wasn't a weird blind lady, she was a nice lady who told him something really neat. Their voices faded into the distance and I turned my attention back to the woman I'd been following all this time.

She had straightened, standing to stare sightlessly into the sky, which the sunset had painted the most wonderful colors. She stretched out one hand, as though reaching to trace the glorious image and so learn how it looked. Her long fingers brushed back and forth in the air, painting a picture visible only to her. After a moment her hand stilled, then dropped to her side. With a barely audible sigh she turned her back on the wondrous sight, her free hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist and her blind eyes shining like broken jewels as she made her way home.

It was then, in that one moment, that I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to meet her, help her, in any way I could.

And that's how it all began.