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Her wolf was gray like storm clouds. She had black lines on her snout and between her big ears.
She looked back
at me once, and her eyes flared orange.
And then she was gone.
I stayed in the tree. It was a game, and I didn’t want to lose.
Even when I heard wolves crying out in pain, I stayed.
Even when I heard men yelling, I stayed.
Even when I heard the crack of gunfire, I stayed, though I covered my ears.
I stayed even when I heard a voice calling my name as the sky began to lighten.
A male voice.
And it was familiar, like I’d heard it before.
It said, “Robbie, where are you, son? Come out, come out, come out.”
It said, “Don’t you recognize me?”
It said, “Robbie, please. I’m your daddy.”
Quiet as a mouse, I stayed.
Eventually the voices faded.
But still I stayed.
Later I would be told I was in that hollow for three days. I didn’t remember most of it, only brief moments when I found an acorn and ate it because I was hungry. Or when I had to pee, so I went in the corner, the scent making me gag even hours later.
Wolves found me eventually.
They covered my eyes as they pulled me out. They asked me who I was. What had happened. Who had done all of this.
“I’m quiet as a mouse,” I told them as they took me away. “I’m thirsty. Do you have water? My mom will be thirsty too. She runs really fast. I’ll find her. I’m good at tracking. She won’t run from me.”
I saw the remains of the cabin, charred and still smoking.
I never saw Denise or her mate again.
I never saw the Alpha or her mate again.
But I did see my mother once more.
There was blood in her fur, and I screamed at the flies around her head, but the wolves carried me away.
Memories are funny things.
I carried them like scars.
From the outside, the compound inside the walls around Butterfield Lake looked like a postcard. The houses were big and well-kept. Docks led from most of the houses down to the lake. Children ran on the dirt paths, laughing and yelling at the giant wolf that chased them. They were on their way to the house at the east end of the lake, which had been converted into a school. I’d gone to one like it far away from here, and I’d learned how to write and how to divide and how to track and parse through all the delicious smells and howl at the moon.
Some of the little ones crashed into me, grabbing my legs, demanding I protect them from the big bad wolf chasing them.
