When Nature Isn’t Enough

Manfolk are not to be trusted. Mother has drilled that into my head more than enough times. Wolves are superior in every way,  We’re stronger, faster, more loyal.

I’d never dreamed of a day I’d prove Mother wrong.

It was the heart of winter, and our pack was running out of food. I’d spent ages trying to convince Mother and Father to venture beyond our usual hunting grounds, but it was out of the question.  We were starving.

Dusk found me slinking through the icy claws of a blizzard, shivering and despondent after three mad dashes after three missed rabbits. I thought it couldn’t get any worse.

I was wrong.

The gale screamed around me, louder and stronger than before. It pulled up huge plumes of snow, glittering like clouds of microscopic diamonds, stinging my pointed face. I couldn’t see a pawstep in front of me, and even my shaggy pelt couldn’t block the biting cold. The whisking puffs of snow became swirling mounds. The snow underpaw was constantly shifting, and I lost my footing. The endless white above me thickened until everything went dark. . . .

I woke myself thrashing. A fever blazed through my body. Slowly, a pair of sky-colored eyes came into focus.

“Ssshhhh. You’re safe.” A cool liquid trickled down my throat, and I blacked out.

Next time I woke, I was more lucid. I saw that I was in some sort of log den, sprawled on a nest of soft man-pelts. Fire crackled in a rocky den. A man-cub knelt by the fire-den, stirring something in a large, black nutshell. It didn’t smell like game, but still smelled delicious. She filled a smaller nutshell with the contents and padded over to my nest.

“You’re awake.” She set it before me. “It’s beef stew. The dogs eat it.”

I sniffed it warily.

“Mother said I should let nature take its course.” She twisted her fingers. “But sometimes . . . nature isn’t enough.”

Something twinged in my heart as I wolfed down the food. Maybe . . . maybe Mother was wrong.