Howling with Wolves

Chapter Three

Heart pounding, mind spinning, breathing rushed.

The rain is slowly subsiding. My wet, sticky clothes cling to my shape, uncomfortably revealing my curves.

All thoughts of why I was out here disappear. Everything that I know about wolves is no longer there. My mind, completely shut down, feels dizzy, my deep, shallow breaths not allowing the much needed oxygen to get into my brain to make it function properly.

Then I realize what it is I’m feeling.

Panic.

It’s panic that surges through my body, telling me to run but stopping me from moving. My body isn’t being controlled by me anymore. It’s being controlled by fear, by panic, by my racing heart, pounding in my chest like an 808 drum. Will it push out of my chest, onto the wet ground? Will it stop beating if it keeps pulsing so hard, so fast? Is this where I am going to die?

Raindrops still fall down on me. One lands on my nose, sliding down the small dip between my nose and lips and into my mouth. The taste is terrible, swirling around in my mouth, caressing my tongue. I hardly notice it, however. My attention is focused solely on the wolf towering over me.

The wolf is brown. A beautiful chestnut brown, curled with thick patches of caramel fur in random spaces over its huge, lithe body. Wolves are born fit and ready to attack. Their paws sharp and powerful, able to rip its prey or enemy to shreds. Razor-sharp, canine teeth, a strong jaw that can snap bones in half easily. It stares at me with rounded, piercing grey eyes. They’re robust, ferocious, but claim no source of intent to attack me.

The wolf takes one, small step forward, its padded paws leaving flat, damp impressions on the grass. He then takes another step and another step, lowering his head as he comes closer to me. It’s like a sign of submission, his way of telling me he won’t hurt me.

Despite my better judgment, I believe that the wolf won’t hurt me. Maybe it’s the way his grey, almost silver eyes look so familiar, so calming, and so protective almost. The corner of my mind tugs at the familiarity of those eyes. In this brief connection of irises, I feel like the bridge between wild animal and human has been crossed, like some form of unexplainable trust has fashioned.

My heartbeat steadies at bit at the thought. Placing trust in an unpredictable wild animal is probably one of the stupidest things I could ever do in my life, but right now, for these brief few seconds, it feels like one of the best choices I’ve made in a long time.

When he is close enough that I can feel the hot exhales of his breath – which smells oddly minty – my heart starts to race again. It’s so close.

He sniffs my hair, my legs, arms, feet, back. The wolf prods his nose into my cheek, forehead, even using his nose to lift up my hands. My eyes stay wide, watching carefully as this wild animal looks me over, like he’s checking for any wounds, like he is genuinely concerned about my welfare. He takes in the mud on my back, my wet hair, the splotches of dirt and rainwater still present on my skin, my bright red, puffy eyes from where my tears had fallen in torrents.

He turns his head to the side, grey eyes making contact with my brown eyes. Dimly I note how his eyes look more human than animal. It might just be my imagination, but they seem to gleam with empathy, with confusion, worry.

Beats of silence rage between us. The rain has stopped and a cold breeze blows past, causing goosebumps to form on my skin. But I suppress the shiver. The wolf leans his head down. At first I see it as a sign of submission, but when he nudges my hand with his nose, the true reason behind his bowed head becomes known.

He wants me to pat him.

Hesitantly, my hand lifts up, towards the wolf. A few seconds of worry drifts through my mind, but I push it away in favor of allowing my hand to press into the soft, wet fur of this beautiful animal. My fingers get tangled in his fur as I pat him on the head. His eyes close.