Where the Moon Lands

While all the other wolves were huddled together, sleeping soundly inside the cave, he was instead lying at the entrance by himself, staring up at the moon. The clouds weren’t out tonight, so she stood out all the brighter against the oily black sky. She illuminated the snow and ice all around him, allowing him to see everything as if it were midday. There was also no wind that night, so the cold air didn’t bother him in the slightest. In the stillness he could hear his family snoring behind him, the faint rustling in the trees as an owl silently took flight, and the soft crunch of snow as a fox from far off stalked its prey. The young timber wolf took no notice of these things, for in that same stillness he was lost in his own thoughts.

He wondered again and again about the moon, about how the other wolves always referred to her as “her,” and how they routinely howled at her every night. He remembered how, as a younger pup, he would ask his parents why they would do this, to which they would answer, “We wolves have always done so.” But when pressed for more details, they never had another answer for him. He would then stay up and watch the moon every night, watching as she slowly changed her shape, sometimes changing her color as well. Some nights she was whiter than snow, sometimes orange or yellow like the sun, and a few times she was as red as blood. He wondered if the moon was, in fact, bleeding at those times, and what could cause her to do so. He also wondered many times where the moon would go whenever the sun came up, if she would go down and land somewhere just like the sun would every night.

The other wolves had no interest in exploring these questions, instead being far more concerned about finding food and a mate. And they would tease and chastise him for not thinking about those same things whenever he tried to ask them about the moon’s mysteries. “You should focus on being a better hunter rather than go on wondering about things that don’t concern you,” they would tell him. “You aren’t even able to catch a little bunny rabbit as it is! Put these puppish notions behind you and learn how to be a useful member of the pack.”

But hunting just never filled him with the same joy and amusement as wondering about the moon and her secrets did. The pack’s day-to-day routines bored him, while the moon seemed to offer much more than what his current life had to offer. She almost seemed to call to him, beckoning him to go out and find her himself, ask her for himself. This was something he had dreamed of doing for such a long time, and now he decided that tonight was the night he was finally going to do so. He got up and bolted down the hill, chasing after the luminous orb as she sailed away from him, sailing motionless and adrift in the sable sea.

His paws hardly made a sound as he sprinted over the snow, kicking up a cloud of loose powder behind him. The air felt crisp as it blew past his face. The moonlight rippled and shimmered on his black fur. He weaved around the trees without breaking a sweat, always keeping his amber eyes on the moon. Soon he came to a clearing, where he bounded up a hill. At this point his legs started to get sore and he was panting heavily, the cold air making his dry throat sore. He plopped himself down on the top of the hill, the voices of the other wolves intruding his thoughts.

You aren’t able to catch a little bunny rabbit as it is!

He pushed the taunting voices aside but still couldn’t help noticing that he probably shouldn’t be this tired after a good run. How did he get so out of shape? And yet it seemed to him that he had gone a great distance, farther already than he had normally dared venture.

No matter, he thought to himself. Now is as good of time as any for a brief rest. And so, he sat there, gazing out at the moon again and surveying the area ahead and beneath him. Where before the dark forests could be seen for miles around, now there were fewer trees in the distance, almost coming to an abrupt halt within a few miles. Beyond that was more snow and ice, bordered on either side with distant mountains, stretching onward for what seemed like forever. He began to wonder how he was going to be able to cross all of that, and if it would even lead to anywhere.

At that moment, a cawing sound ripped him from his thoughts. He looked up to see, barely visible in the night sky, a black raven flying down to him.

“Ho there, wolf-friend!” it called as it circled above him before roosting itself beside the wolf. “Where are you going, young one, so late on this cold and dark night?”

The wolf didn’t answer right away, but turned his gaze back to the horizon, thinking about what he was going to say.

“I have heard tales of a land where the moon goes to rest each morning,” he finally said. “And I have it set in my heart to find this place and the moon herself, to ask what she knows, why she does the things she does, what she has seen on her many journeys across the sky, to learn her secrets and become wise, and to finally know my place in this world. So, I left my pack and have journeyed a great distance, following the moon to find where she will land.”

At this the raven shook his head. “Turn around and go home to your family and your pack. Many before you have tried to find this place, and all of them have failed. You could never run far enough nor fly high enough to catch the moon or find this mystical land. And out there is nothing but waste, a barren land of snow and ice where deer, rabbit, and such seldom tread. I beseech you, young one, turn back and forget this fanciful dream of yours, lest you die of starvation and exhaustion.”

The wolf continued to stare at the moon as he contemplated the bird’s words.

“You’re not the only one who has told me things similar to this,” he finally said. “For my family and pack have called me foolish for thinking on these things, for wanting answers and to know what is out there, beyond the forests and mountains. Maybe you all are right about me, and maybe not.” The wolf then turned his head and looked the raven in the eye.

“But how will I know for sure if I never try?”

The raven just sighed. “The young never heed the old.” After a moment or two, he finally ruffled his feathers and said, “Very well. I see you are set in your ways and will continue your journey, regardless of what anyone else says. Permit me, though, to give some advice. Do not neglect to hunt every chance you get, for food will become scarcer as you proceed. And always take shelter when you rest, to avoid the treacherous blizzards that plague that land. Fare you well, and I hope you find what you seek.” With that, the raven flapped its wings and flew off, disappearing as if swallowed by the black sky. For a while, the wolf just sat there, pondering the bird’s words. Finally, he laid down to sleep, to dream some more of the moon, her land, and what he will find there.

It was dawn when he was awoken by the howls. Somewhere far behind him, he could hear the faint cries of his pack, searching and calling out to him, pleading for him to come home. He looked back, seeing the rays of the sun peeping over the mountains, the white snow now pink in his candescence. The howls stung the wolf’s heart a little, but he refused to let them sway him. How could he go back now? Why would he return just to be ridiculed and laughed at for his short-lived attempt to find the moon? They would never cease to taunt him for being different. No. He resolved to never look back until after he had found the moon and made his peace. With that, he got up again and ran down the hill toward the icy waste, the howls growing softer until, finally, even the echo was lost and forgotten in that distant valley.

All day he traveled westward where he last saw the moon, then that night he ran some more after the elusive and shining ball. Consumed by the chase, he hardly stopped except to catch his breath. He was afraid that, if he stopped too long, the moon would sail further away from him and disappear; unlike the sun, the moon had no set path to cross and would disappear and reappear wherever she pleased. He must press on and never lose sight of her until she would finally come down and rest somewhere. But now his legs began to ache, his paws becoming more and more numb and frigid as they were dampened by the snow. And, being made aware of this growing discomfort, he also realized that he was hungry.

He would quickly scour the area, looking for any prey, while also not taking his eyes off the moon for too long. Alas, it was as the raven had said, for he could see no signs of other life in that flat land of snow. Overcome with distraught, he felt he could go no further that night, so he let himself collapse, finally experiencing some small measure of relief in his legs. He curled up as he noticed it began to snow. His heart sank as he also remembered what the raven said about finding shelter. But he was tired and cold, and his limbs refused to support his body, he had no energy to find a warm place to sleep. So, he curled himself up, tucking his paws inside him and wrapping his tail around him as best he could, the falling snow being the only thing that could be considered "sheltering” him. He began to miss the other wolves, all snuggled together in their cave, and the feelings of warmth and security which, up till now, he had completely taken for granted.

It was midday when the sun was finally able to disturb his slumber, providing the tiniest amount of warmth, but nowhere near enough to comfort him. He almost didn’t notice it at first since the sun was obscured by a blanket of clouds. The world around him was now gray, completing the sense of lifelessness. He slowly got up, his stiff legs groaned in protest, and his stomach growled so loud it almost echoed around him. He had gone without food long enough. It was time to hunt something.

For hours he paced here and there, his nose to the ground, trying in vain to pick up a scent of some kind. He began to wish he hadn’t dismissed the raven so quickly before. But, at last, and from a far-off distance, he thought he could see what appeared to be a white rabbit cautiously hopping about. His mouth began to instantly water and his stomach turned in anticipation. He crouched a bit and silently made his way toward his prey. What he forgot, though, was that he was completely exposed in this open area, and his black coat made him stand out all the more. Without any cover to hide him, it wasn’t long before the rabbit looked in his direction and immediately bolted away. The wolf gave chase, ignoring his cold, aching legs.

Light and fast as the wind, he bolted toward his quarry. The rabbit zigged and zagged, quick as lightning. With each bound, the wolf was steadily gaining on it, but that initial burst of energy soon proved to be insufficient, and just as quickly he began to fall behind as the rabbit sprinted further out of reach. Finally, the hare disappeared into a hole in the ground and was long gone in those winding tunnels by the time the wolf caught up. He tried desperately to dig at the hole and continue his pursuit, but his frozen paws failed him, and his strength gave out after only three strokes. If wolves could shed tears, he would have done so at that moment. Instead, his stomach growled all the louder. Eventually, he picked himself up and forced himself to keep moving. The moon’s land must be close at this point, right?

Nighttime fell again, but the clouds had not left. They obscured the moon as much as they did the sun. He could only guess where she was by the faint light outlining the clouds, and there was very little of even that. Even still, he pressed forward. And soon, from those clouds came not more illumination, but more darkness. A storm had come, and it hit him like a tidal wave.

The winds bit at him and nearly threw him to the ground; icy thorns cut his face and threatened to blind him. Never before had he experienced a blizzard like this. He was no longer able to see mere inches in front of him, much less the moon and sky. Every step forward was now a herculean effort, and it took all his strength to keep himself from being blown away. Even when the wind finally died down some, he found that walking continued to become increasingly difficult. The cold was now more unbearable than ever. Whenever he licked his lips, all he tasted was ice on his whiskers. The edges of his fur had also turned into miniature icicles. His paws were now completely numb, and his legs moved of their own accord, stiffly and mechanically. All was misery, and only that now.

His eyes grew heavy. His limbs grew heavy. His whole being grew heavy. Finally, and with both great effort and no effort at all, he willed himself to collapse again.

Just a little rest, he told himself. Then I’ll keep going once I get my strength back. The wind continued to bite him mercilessly, the icy snow continued to sting his eyes, even when they were closed. He just wanted the pain to end.

Just a little rest.

He wasn’t sure if he woke up immediately after closing his eyes, or if he had been asleep for a very long while, but that didn’t matter right now. When he opened his eyes, what he saw startled and amazed him.

Dazzling him, blinding him, he saw the moon before him, closer now than she had ever been before. He had to squint to see clearly, and when he did, he could see every detail, every crevice, every crater, and so many other things that had managed to escape his keen observations before. And as he continued to look in awe, he also saw something coming toward him. It was tall and shined just as bright as the moon behind it. As it drew closer, he began to see it more clearly, and what he saw took what was left of his breath away.

Standing before him was the tallest, whitest, most beautiful wolf he had ever seen. Her head was held high, and her every step was graceful. He quickly got to his feet and strained his neck to look at her face. He couldn’t tell if the light of the moon behind her reflected off her fur, or if the moon was reflecting her light. As she got closer, she looked down at him. Her eyes were as blue as the bluest mountain lake, and as he gazed into them, he felt a weighted sensation of calm and tranquility flood over him, giving him such a feeling of peace in his soul that he never felt before. He felt it perfectly natural to trust her with everything.

“Well done, young wolf. You have come so far.” Her voice was like the sound of a loved one you never knew existed, and yet you instantly recognized.

“Who are you?” he finally dared to ask.

“I am she that you have been seeking. That you have left your pack to find, and never once gave up searching, even when all seemed hopeless and futile. I am the moon, the spirit of the moon, the essence of the moon, whichever is most understandable to you. And I come from the land that you so earnestly seek, the land behind the moon.” Here she looked over her shoulder, indicating the enlarged moon behind her. “The land of warmth, beauty, and peace. Where all your desires are quenched, all your pains lifted, and all your questions will be answered.” She turned back to look him straight in the eye.

“For your faithfulness and diligence, I have come to take you to that place. But I must warn you: if you go on this journey with me, there can be no return. I trust you understand why.”

The timber wolf looked behind him, then lowered his head.

“Yes. I think I do.”

She nodded. “Are you ready, then? Will you go with me?”

His tail began to wag.

“Yes, please take me with you.”

“Then follow me, young wolf.”

She turned around and began walking to the moon. With a skip in his step, he followed after her, and together they went to the place where the moon lands, a land far beyond anything he could ever have ever imagined.