Historical Setting, cold unknown
I’m thinking of the family of wolves that chose to take me in, assuming I needed food and rest and warmth. They shared their den and their food and water with this human being, even though, among wolves, humans are probably known to be greedy, stinky and violent.
The howling on this moonlit night is one wolf, alone. That’s odd, when wolf families are so welcoming. Does he choose to be alone? In his adolescence does he find himself searching now for a new pack to join where the she-wolves aren’t his own sisters? I think of that one who ranked the same as I among the wolves of the pack. I called him “little brother.” Even though I found him the hardest to get along with sometimes, always watching me, circling around me, snarling to let me know we competed for rank, he’s the one I miss most now. This howling I hear is so much like Little Brother.
I step out of the shelter to stuff my empty water flask skin with snow for melting. My thought is that if I could possibly make warmth in this shelter, I would have water from melted snow in the morning.
Then, outside in my continuing neediness, I answer that howling with human words, “I miss you little brother.”
Now, here I am in my little shelter alone on this snow-swept beach, cold and exhausted, fearing sleep without warmth, and I hear an animal outside my shelter – and in an instant — I’m not being mauled by a bear, instead I am nuzzled by my own wolf friend, Little Brother. He followed me! It’s a happy reunion. His broad tail whipping the full width of this shelter, thumping enough joy for both of us. He was just waiting for me to answer his howl with my human voice. Cold and tired, alone, sharing the shelter we can both sleep warm now.
It seemed a brief night when sleeping into this bright new morning. The wedge of raw meat we can share today was kept cold on the snow side of shelter hide, and I grope around inside for the water skin. Little Brother is stretched out sleeping, but my poking and prodding for the flask can’t be ignored, he wakes and I find it. He’s chewed it into bits! So, we have no water. He knows me as a brother, not his master. He is not a pet for me to scold and train. What can I say?
(Continues Tuesday, Nov. 26)
Lazarus Ink 