Wolves and Men

As the hook slipped beneath the cold, rushing water of his river he indulged in closing his eyes and letting the sunbathe his face and body. He could feel the warmth building around him and he was happy to let the sun’s rays warm him. He inhaled and let the aroma of the forest be absorbed through him.

He held his pole in his hands allowing it to be tugged by the moderate current of the river. The water bubbled and washed over the rocks and stones of its bed making the water dip and turn white in some places. There was always good fishing to be had here. Still some days he had walked away with nothing. He hoped today would not be one of those days.

As he waited and guided his hook and line on a slow serpentine pattern through the various currents before placing his pole into a premade niche in a pile of rocks and clay that he used as a pole catcher.

He scanned his surroundings and the treetops. The river was just as blue as it had been a moment ago. The sun was painting the trees a vibrant green and added a warm golden hue to the air around him. He slapped at his neck with honed reflexes and pulled away a red splattered mosquito. He felt a slight unease; he began to feel very exposed out here next to the river.

He unsheathed his knife as he continued to look around himself. He inhaled and couldn’t smell anything, that was nothing new. He glanced up the hillside at the majestic trees as they kept their constant vigil over the river. A wind gently breezed through the valley and he could feel the suns warmth being stolen on its gentle breath. He looked across the riverbank and turned to look behind him.

Nothing.

His instincts had served him well since he had begun living out here and he was not likely to dismiss this feeling of unease.

Something was watching him.

This was not uncommon. He often felt the forests eyes upon him, but there was an underlying threat to this feeling. The image of a rat in a maze came to mind. Something was not right; and he would not allow himself to relax.

He continued to survey his surroundings. An attack or something of equal danger was coming, he could feel it. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck and it wasn’t because of the wind. He turned his body toward the river and scanned the trees and underbrush.

He saw her, a black wolf with a white star burst patch on her chest.

He recognized the female from his last night with his pack. She was beautiful and she was looking right at him. He couldn’t see any hatred or malice in her stare, just a contemplative look, studying this new entity that made her curious. How long had she been there? He didn’t know but he didn’t sheath his weapon either. The two stood staring at each other from across the river. If the river had not separated them, she could have attacked at any time, but she seemed content to just watch.

He stood there poised and at the ready. The familiar weight of his knife put a comfortable strain upon his strong right hand. The river continued to run, and the wind continued to blow moving the tree’s branches and the underbrush around them. The two held each other in their gaze, neither bowing to the other. A sudden shift to his right caught his peripheral vision and he shifted his attention to his pole which was being pulled and moved against its stone cradle.

He grabbed the pole with his off hand, throwing his knife down to pierce the ground with the blade ready to be withdrawn at a moment’s notice. He positioned the pole in his hands and with practiced movements he spun the line, tugged, and released, and drew in more line. The fish on the other end was strong and felt to be sizable. He worked his pole and concentrated on the fish. He kept some of his attention on the she-wolf across the river, she still had not moved. She continued to watch him. A year ago, that might have really freaked him out. As it was, he was content to share the spectacle with her.

He reeled in more line and tugged. He let a small amount of line run out again and with a practiced jerk and pull, he heaved his catch up onto the riverbank. The fish was about a foot or maybe thirteen inches long and it started jumping and writhing around on the ground, his bone hook fastened through the fish’s cheek. He laid his pole down pulling out some slack through the line.

He knelt next to the fish and glanced across the river toward the she-wolf. She was gone. He scanned the surrounding landscape, but the black she-wolf was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t feel uneasy about the sudden disappearance, was it disappointment? The slap of a fin upon the ground brought him back to his task at hand.

He hunched down next to the struggling fish and with both hands grabbed its dorsal fin. The fish shook and wiggled in his strong grip, waving back and forth in the air. He brought the animal down with a swipe upon a rock, cracking the skull of the animal. It stopped struggling. He held the dead animal up and tested its weight in his hands. This would be enough for today.

Gripping the fish in one hand he removed his hook. He picked up his pole and knife and made his way back to his bag and tackle box. He laid his pole down on the ground and sheathed his knife. Pulling out the net from his bag he placed the fish in the net and propped it up against a tree. He undid the bone hook from his fishing line and placed it back in his box. He picked up his pole and rewound his line. He placed his pole across his bag strap so he could grab both with one hand and stepped over to his net.

He picked up the net and walked to very edge of the river. He let the icy water flow over his feet and toes, and he dunked his net into the water. He let the river water run over and around his fish and when he was satisfied that it was clean, he retrieved the net from the cold embrace of the running water.