Running With Wolves

Prologue

      The wind howls, blowing through the crowns of the trees. All tall, some with leaves and others with needles, they have grown in this forest for generations. A river runs along the contours of the land, seemingly endless. An otter swims gracefully: flipping in the water and squeaking happily. He grabs a crayfish and surfaces to the pebbly shore to eat. A raven lands on a branch high above him and caws. The otter startles and jumps back into the river as a huge brown bear lumbers into the scene. He wades into the water, enjoying the coolness. Further downstream, about a league away, a proud buck lowers his head to drink. His russet fur shines in the midday light. Small tadpoles swim about in the river. A fish catches one, which in turn is snatched by a great blue heron seconds later.

     On the river travels, cutting through the ground like a badger digs his set. Its waters flow until they reach the grassland. Here, it splits into smaller tributaries. Many animals come to drink at this place, like the prairie dogs and the buffalo. The buffalo munch on the grass steadily, wearing it down to the roots, allowing the rodents access to the softer stems. A small wren lands in the wake of the herd leader, now able to peck a worm out of the brown soil. It carries the worm to its nest, hidden among the branches of a gooseberry bush. Four young chicks chirp as their mother delivers this meal, each getting a sizeable piece.

     Under this bush live the rabbits. They are near the buffalo, eating the soft grass with the prairie dogs. They nibble contently.

     A rustle, then a fox dashes out from the long grass. The small animals scatter and head for their burrows. A rabbit is caught by the fox, squealing as fangs sink into its scruff. The buffalo are alarmed but do not move. They have no fear of foxes, for the calves of the herd are well grown and an animal as small as a fox can be easily trampled. They do not bother. They continue to graze, and the sun lowers further in the sky.

     Up among the clouds, an eagle calls. He makes his home in the mountains, just east of the beaver's lake. The beavers are active now, diligently gathering branches from nearby bushes to fortify their dam and lodge. Many fish live in their lake, the perfect size for a hungry brown fish owl. She sits in a small tree, thankfully not yet touched by the beavers. Gazing down into the clear water, she launches from her perch to dive into the pond. She resurfaces with a bass clutched in her sharp talons.

     This is where the wolves run.

     They make their home in a grassy hillock just at the edge of the forest, where trees meet grass. For generations, they have hunted in this land to provide nourishment for themselves and their pups. Where their territories border, the native peoples leave offerings to these great beasts. If man and wolf come across each other, the wolf bows its head and walks away, back towards its land. Man stays still, and after the wolf has passed, smiles. He will tell the tale to his children, and they to theirs, until the story of the humble wolf will reach the farthest corners of the land.

     The wolf returns home. It is surrounded by its family and greeted with happy tails and tongues. No creature would dare mess with this pack. Champions of their territory, the wolves have not been beaten by any of their kind for many years. Perhaps it is because of the buffalo they eat, or the deer they hunt. No animal knows, and no animal cares. All they know is that this is their home. Their home, where the bear sleeps through winter. Their home, where birdsong heralds the sunrise, their home, where the wolves run free.

     But... this is all about to change.

     On the distant horizon, far to the east, a different Man has found this wild land. They are the British and the French, who so foolishly think this land is theirs to claim. They think that no one is here to oppose them. But there is, by God there is. The spirit of the Earth is their enemy, and they cut it. They rip the ground to shreds for its minerals, they slaughter the animals for their hides. Nature fights back in its own way: the cold is merciless, and so are strange sicknesses that afflict the strangers.

     It will not be enough in the end.

     For the wolves in this valley, time is running out. Man will come with guns and fire, and take what they have found. The native peoples will be gone, but the wolves will run free for a while longer. Their Alphas are wise. They know how to hide, so they pass down their knowledge in the coming seasons. The spirit of the Earth laments because her children have to live in fear that they will be killed by Man.

     And now we are here, in the present, when the wolves are about to be found.