Living With Wolves

I am an adolescent boy. About fifteen years old. There are my parents drinking the blood of a fresh kill. The deer lay strewn across the forest path and the pack descended for a feast. There were only five or six of them involved in the hunt, but they overcame the odds that time. Now they can feed. I am old enough to keep up, so I followed. Now I can reap the reward of their kill. I dig into the flesh of the ribs. Still pumping blood, my muzzle is coated as I snarl and rip at the tissue of the deer’s side.


 My transformation is nothing new. My father inherited the gene from his father and his father before gave him the gene. It is wonderful to know that under all circumstances you can protect yourself just by giving in. There are the same few forms that we take. Timber wolf sometimes. Grey wolf in other places, and Brown wolf, but only in Ontario. I’ve even been a mythical white wolf. Born and raised in the wilds of Kananaskis. Born to be King.

King of all the territories and Governor General to all the little animals, including all the insects and all the fish. Everything bowed before that wolf of mine. The great White Fang to you folks who watch the TV and such. The animal raised beside man but out in the wilds. 


 Back to the feeding frenzy going on around me. It is almost at a standstill now and half the pack has eaten its fill. There are the stragglers just getting in now and getting a feed. We will provide for the pups when we get back to the den. It’s hidden in the bush near a freshwater stream. We all get to drink the fresh spring water as it flows lazily past. We also have Trout as once in a while one of us gets a taste of the exotic fish, although it is extremely rare. I have been treated to five or six such meals. One was of an impressive size. I enjoyed that meal. The oil in the meat of a fish is great for the sheen of one’s coat.


 I can share memories with my human counterpart and he can share with me. It is quite wonderful to run through the wilds as a wolf and then walk the streets of downtown as a human. Both of us can share senses from one another. I can sniff with my wolf’s nose and he can taste the food I eat. We share life in a symbiotic relationship, depending on one another to get through our days. I give knowledge to the packs I join, and they help me out in their own fashion. They scout out ahead and behind me to see if I’m being followed or where else I can go to do what I want to accomplish. They come in handy in everyday life. I can always count on them to help me out of a bind too.


 The pack has integrated right into my life. They do security outside my house all night long. As I sleep, they scour the area for signs of intruders. They will start to howl if they spot intruders. That way I can sleep peacefully and I know I am safe. I will have plenty of warning if they spot someone. Their sense of smell is great to detect lone intruders on foot. Their predatory instinct to kill is a benefit if needed. They don’t feed on the kills as they aren’t a valid prey species to them and they kill mostly in defence of themselves or the group. 


 The power of skin changing is vast. Once I held the form of a Werewolf for Halloween. It was great. I won best costume at one of the Socials around town and they spotted me in the streets stalking the town’s residents. I was keeping the streets safe and was welcome wherever I went. The town was soft and dark after hours. When the sun went down, there were quite a few people mulling about with children. They were going door to door and I was howling at the moon in the distance.

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