Wolves and Men

Standing up, he rubbed his hands together the juices of the fish and the scent of his meal were heavy on his hands. He walked back to his smoking fish. The smoke pillar was bigger than he remembered, and he knew that the black smoke would attract attention. He couldn’t do anything about that now, not really. Besides, he had to survive too, and this was an essential part of his survival. He reached into his bag and pulled out yet another box. This one was about the shape and size of a shoebox. It was waterproof as well and it was a bright red, the bright crimson of blood.

His mind reached back to last night and he remembered the rich blood of the doe he had killed. Even though he was satisfied with his latest meal his mouth began to water. There was something primal about the blood of animals that did something for him, something that he couldn’t get anywhere else. It satisfied him in ways that fish and vegetables couldn’t hope to equal.

Licking his lips, he opened the red box. Reaching into the smoke pillar he pulled out his fish half and placed it into the box. He closed the box and clasped it closed. He pulled the green branches from the fire. He fanned them into the air till they stopped smoking themselves and scattered them around the clearing. He extracted his cooking pole from the earth and stirred the coals, burying them with the dirt of the fire pit. Soon the smoke cleared and the fire was nonexistent.

With pole in hand, he walked back to the tree with the rope hanging from it and replaced the pole inside the truck among the branches of the tree. He grabbed hold of his rope and pulled himself an arm’s length up it. He continued to climb up the short rope. It was only about six feet up, but he got a nice view of his clearing. He grabbed hold of the branch that the rope was fastened to, and hung there for a while. His arms protesting as he continued to hang in place. He allowed his muscles to work and felt the burning, sore sensation in his shoulders and forearms grow. He hung there till he decided that he had had enough and dropped down from the branch. His feet hit the ground but his legs still protested as a shockwave ran up his legs from his feet. It hurt a little but a little pain never hurt anybody.

Isn’t that what pain is?

Smiling at his own cleverness and idiocrasy he walked back to his bag. He placed the red box inside his bag and checked around his kitchen area to see if anything was out of place. Seeing nothing, he grabbed his bag and fishing pole and net bag.

He walked back to his burrow, keeping his head on a swivel and listening to the sounds of the forest around him. When he got home, he dropped the net and laid his fishing pole up against the great redwood. He placed his bag on the ground and opened the portal to his home. He picked up his bag and fishing pole, leaving his net on the ground.

He ducked inside his burrow, and he put his pole in its proper place. He placed his bag on the black bear skin of his bed and taking one look around the place to ensure he had not been invaded by some rodents, spiders or snakes or anything else. Laughing at his own sudden fear he shook his head and exited his home once more. You’d think after spending as much time out here as he had he wouldn’t be so afraid to find one or two things that had freaked him out when he was a boy. But spiders still creeped him out and he had never been a great lover of snakes and let’s just say that rodents were rodents, and they were always unwelcome visitors.

Stepping outside once more he resealed his burrow. He reached down and grabbed his net bag and started back toward the river. The sun was just past its zenith in the sky and soon the forest would begin to darken with the shadows of late afternoon and dusk. Not being in any great hurry he still decided to be a bit reckless and run. The cool forest air flowed into his lungs, and he could feel his blood begin to pump and his meal begin to be properly digested. The speed at which he could move now was greater than anything he had known while living in the civilized world and he let the air pass around him as he built speed running down the hillside. The dead pine needle carpet of the forest floor did not offer the best footing, but he was used to the uncertain terrain, and he allowed his feet to coast and slip over the needles. Running felt great but his human frame could not offer the sheer joy that he felt when he was able to run with his pack. His two legs offered none of the control, speed, or the pure power of when he was able to run on four legs. When he was allowed by his lunar mother to do that, he felt all the power of a god and he knew what it was like to truly be alive. But human legs were all he had so he had to satisfy himself with all the limitations of this form and make the best of it.

He slowed down as he reached the river. His recklessness gone he stopped and listened to the world around him as his blood beat loudly in his ears. He scanned the riverbanks and seeing nothing, he stepped out onto the riverbank. He approached the river and took off his vest and his pants. Seeing a calm eddy in the river he stepped into the frigid water. He dunked himself beneath the soft currents. His head exploded with the cold and his body went numb he had to concentrate to keep from shouting as he jumped back up from the water. If he wasn’t awake before he sure as hell was now. Shivering in the cool forest air with his lower body still submerged he opened the net bag and dunked the net in the water, grabbing a handful of sand he began scrubbing the net clean. Hunching down in the frigid current he worked his shoulders and arms scrubbing the net. When he was done with the net, he placed it on top of some rocks and submerged himself once more. The water was still bitterly cold but he forced himself to stay under and he grabbed handfuls of sand and washed his body with the abrasive granules.

The water seemed to shrink his lungs and several times he had to surface and gulp more air. The cold seeped into his body. It was one of the hardships that didn’t get any easier no matter how long he was here. The water was cold year-round. As he reached down for another handful of sand his hands wouldn’t close properly and they were slow to open. This river posed threats just as deadly as any predator and he hurried with his bath.

He stood up and steam came off his goose pimpled body. Reaching down again he grabbed another handful of sand and scrubbed his hair with it. He continued to scrub the rest of his body with sand. He submerged his body and twisting in the water he allowed the current to wash him clean again. Panting from the cold, he stepped up out of the water and jumped back into his warm animal skins. The warm fur was a welcome respite after his frigid afternoon dip. He grabbed his net bag from their place on the rock. Taking a deep breath, he began to run up the hillside allowing his body to fight the cold that was threatening it. His blood pumped through his body and feeling returned to his numb fingers and toes. He continued to run as his blood brought warmth throughout his body. The mile or two uphill run was the best cure for the river water’s frigid assault, and he was soon feeling warm again.

When he reached his burrow, he unsealed his portal and stepped inside. He breathed easier as the warmth of his burrow permeated his body. Even though he wasn’t as cold as he was, he knew just how important body heat was to survival. Placing his net inside his coyote skin bag he laid down on his bed and covered himself with his bearskin blanket. The warm fur was always comforting, and he allowed the trapped heat under the fur to spread through his tired body.