A Word I Learned

My kind and I are not the same. Sharp teeth and hunting was never what I was into. I prefer to take my peace of the meal, get separated from the pack and observe the two-leggers. I always wonder what they're up to down there. The other day I walked close to the village and saw their pup gathering wood. It seemed such an odd choice of action to take but his dexterous claws had no issue picking up branches and piling them up. The way the wood moved sideways through the air was something new for me and it mesmerized me quite fast. I might have been dizzy from it or I might have gone mad for a moment but I decided to pick up a branch myself and see what it feels like. At first it was difficult and I was very careful not to poke my eye out but eventually my snout got the hang of it so I managed to hold it up. I raised my head all high and swayed left and right with pride. I took a look at the two-legger pup who didn’t notice me yet as he shrugged his shoulders somewhat sadly and headed back with only a few branches collected. Pride must have made me reckless, because I chose to help him out with my branch. I was careful not to scare him as I approached him from behind, the snow beneath my paws was soft and quiet and his pile of sticks was loud so it wasn't too hard to pull off. When I was just behind him I lowered my branch to the snow and barked softly to attract his attention. Sticks flying up and forelimbs flailing he jumped up and turned around while I ran back all scared as well. When our eyes met I lowered my stance and pointed to the stick I just laid down. He was breathing very fast and thinking very slow because it took him the time it takes to howl twice to start approaching the stick. With each step he looked at me to make sure I didn't approach. He kept looking longer each time until it got to my long head that I should probably distance myself more to keep him calm. When he finally collected the stick he couldn't stop shooting his gaze to me and to the stick in repetition. He must have been very surprised and it must have relaxed me too much because for all this time I didn't realize that there were others of my kind approaching from the sides. Their jaws dripping and postures all murderous, they kept their gaze at my new friend - not at the sticks he carried, but at the soft flesh of his throat.. With my heart pumping fast and mind racing I barked at the pup and approached him. Forest be praised he reacted and ran with his sticks back to his village as the distance between him and my herd-mates grew. They didn't have a chance to catch him before he got back so they quickly chose me as their target to bully. When they got to me the boy turned and witnessed my howls full of pain and eyes full of pride that it's me and not him they will get.

Eventually their bites and hits subsided and to the smell of a hare they focused as I limped to a tree root nearby that held me in its embrace while I recovered my senses.

When I awoke I heard a cry. It was the frantic, repetitive word of a two-legger pup directed at its adults: Wolf. I didn't know how I knew, but I understood it was their word for my kind — perhaps said with fear, perhaps with a strange, compelling mix of pity and fascination. The adults would surely come for me now.

I had many nightmares, but none as frightening as the one that followed. Tall, dark shapes approached in the night, carrying something that smelled of feathers and death. Their silhouettes grew larger with each step, and so did my fear. The nightmare might have driven me mad, had it not ended with them tossing a carcass to my wounded side and turning around in a hurry. When I awoke in the morning, the corpse was actually there, and I realized I hadn't dreamt at all.

When I finished my meal I felt better and wanted to see if I'd recognize any of the two-leggers that helped me. I circled the village a few times but didn't get a good look at anyone so I went to the creek for a drink. There, I saw my pup friend who must have convinced them, somehow, to spare me and I wanted to thank him somehow. I first got a few good sips of water far enough not to scare him and then set off to find branches. I noticed he was heading my direction downstream so I decided to just prepare a pile for him. As I was returning for the umpteenth time I saw him pondering the pile. I approached ever so slowly to greet him, looking him in the eyes this time and hoping my bloody image doesn't scare him. He must have been one of the more foolish of his kind because he approached me as well to my great surprise and pleasure. He extended his forelimb towards my stick and I gave it to him. As he got it with one forelimb he extended the other towards me. I growled at its approach but given its slow speed allowed it to continue towards me, wondering if actually I'm the dumb member of my kind and this will be my end. I had no sound for what came next - not growl, not bark, not howl-though perhaps the softest whimper came closest. His forepaw moved across my head - warm, smooth, nothing like the rough pads of my kin. A tenderness I'd never known. I found myself pushing my head into it, swinging my tail with joy and approaching him for more. My ears were also down as I enjoyed this strange interaction but at once they snapped as I heard a branch behind me crack and steps hurry towards us. I jumped in front of the pup all high and tense. And there I saw him. The mighty leader of my pack. I knew he couldn't understand, that he wouldn't forget and that I shouldn't let him anywhere near my friend if I want him to live. The pup kept screaming, "Wolf! WOLF! Wolf! WOLF!" as he ran to the village behind me, choking up with tears on his own words yet neither of us had the ears to hear it or even time to listen. It happened in a flash, between the two of the sounds he made - my tall leader jumped at my neck from above as I dived down, keeping my jaws as high as my hopes. Blood spilled and covered my eyes, I couldn't tell whose it was at first. I heard my friend's cries dying out in the distance. Good, he must have run off, I thought as my senses came back to me and I started to figure that my blood wouldn't fall down on my eyes unless it came from my jaws. Opening them up and lifting my body from under my leader's I realized that he met his demise under my teeth. Forest be praised, every breath I drew from now on I owed to the forest.

I decided to keep away from the village and my pack from then on, approaching their smell only when the certain last resort prey was nearby. They never noticed me I think because I never sensed their approach and I paid very close attention to steer clear of them even though I could smell my family members' bad health and shrinking numbers. My prime time was up and I must have outhunted them in order to survive the harsh winter. I never enjoyed it but I enjoyed starvation much less so I kept my sadness in check, alongside my longing for my friend's kind face.

When new spring cherries bloomed, I roamed close to the village and noticed my friend picking fruit nearby. He grew taller and his frame widened just as mine, his face still kind and eyes friendly. I headed away from him with a great sorrow in my chest, hoping I would never cause him trouble again when I smelled it. The smell of blood from his side - sweet and sharp like wounded prey - and the smell of my kind approaching us. My friend must have scratched himself on a thorn and my former pack must have sensed it as well. I could hear them running towards my friend and could feel my legs do the same. I barked. I growled as loud as I could. His scared face met me. His eyes glistened with tears. He looked very confused as he came towards me but I knew I couldn't waste time, I barked even louder and snapped my jaws at his limbs. He started backing away with cries leaving his mouth. My kind's smell grew stronger. That word again. The boy cried it out over and over. He ran now towards the village, I saw through my tears. I wanted to stop. To stop barking, stop chasing. I wanted to meet him gently and harvest all the sticks in the forest for him. But if I stopped, if I let him see me as a friend and not a threat, he would pause - and they would take him. I cried as I scared him away, my kind at my tail. He ran toward the village, twenty bounds ahead, maybe thirty—close enough that I could see the first houses through the trees. Close enough to be saved.

The path narrowed ahead where two great oaks had fallen seasons ago, forming a natural gate. I stopped there and turned. If they wanted my friend, they would have to go through me first.

They came like a flood, jaws wide and eyes empty. The first one I caught by the throat. The second tore into my shoulder. Pain became distant as I thrashed and bit, my body wedged between the fallen trees, blocking the path. Blood—mine, theirs, I couldn't tell—filled my mouth.

Beyond them, I heard the boy reach the village.

"WOLF!" he screamed. "WOLF! WOLF!"

His voice carried clearly through the trees. The adults must have heard. I kept fighting, waiting for the sound of running feet, of men coming to help.

My legs gave out but I kept my jaws working. More came... too many.

Beyond the trees I heard voices now. Adult voices. Deep and slow, not rushed. I heard that word again, "wolf," said back to the boy, but in their mouths it sounded different. Flat. Bored. Like the sound my pack made when a pup brought them a twig instead of prey.

The boy's voice rose higher, frantic, breaking. The adult voices stayed the same. Calm. Annoyed, even.

No footsteps came running. No sounds of gathering, of preparation. Just those slow, dismissive voices and the boy's sobs growing more desperate.

They weren't coming.

They had heard him. They had said that word back to him. But they weren't coming.

The pack flowed around my broken body like water around stone. I tried to stand. Couldn't. They disappeared into the trees toward the village, toward my friend whose cries no one believed anymore.

I heard his voice one last time... raw, desperate, real... calling for help that would never come.

All hope was lost for the boy who cried wolf.