Sephtis

21. Mistrust.

I stand up and walk slowly over to the feast. Kavah has finished, and now it is Zahar's turn to eat. She has not hunted many times with us, but will come with us while Shamar guards the cubs. Shamar and Amitz do not get along very well, and quarrel  and bicker like siblings back in the village would. Amitz, though always near my side, is yet to let me touch him. I think the marks upon his hide were made by men, and he remembers it. I try to make sure I am never left fully alone with him, for his eyes are all to human, and his manner is strange. And when we are together Kavah is always watching, eyes narrowed.

Shamar is often not with us now, and I think it is because she is searching for a mate, and I fear that one day, she will not return, for she will have started her own wolf-pack. I will miss Shamar; she is fun loving and tolerant, and easy company. She is second in the hierarchy of the wolf clan, and not as serious and dignified as Kavah or Zahar. With Shamar I can wrestle and play, and she enjoys affection. But Kavah...

Kavah is my greatest friend, my refuge from the world of hate and scorn. Even now, with the fervor of the hunt still thrumming through his blood, he is relaxed with me, turning his head towards me and softly mouthing my hand. Not many moments ago, these powerful jaws were ripping through flesh, and splintering bone. I lie near him to wait while Zahar eats, and Amitz chases after a butterfly. Kavah rests his white muzzle alongside my cheek.

There is a great peace in Kavah. In him the spirit of the earth flows free, is understood and cherished. He is attuned with all things. There is a kite high in the evening skies; he sees it. An ant climbs the stalk of a flower; that he observes. Hunters, somewhere in the forest have lit a fire to cook meat; he knows it before he smells their smoke. My heart aches, just a little, for my kind; he knows this too, and licks my face. He sees all, knows all things that happen in his kingdom, and is in harmony with them all.

More and more I comprehend this unity that is like a vast web connecting all living things. An intruder places one foot on the farthermost edge of it, and the whole web trembles,and is made aware. Yet everything works together, fights are only to defend territory, and are avoided if possible. I have never seen a wolf kill another, nor slay for amusement. A wolf kills only for food. It is the giving and taking of nature, all part of  the huge ebb and flow that turns life to death, and then to life again.

Even the killing is quick and compassionate. This young moose that Zahar slaughtered just now has a front leg half eaten away, by an old wound made bad by pus and flies, and it welcomed death. All wolf kills that I have seen seem like this, the larger prey are old or suffering, in some way or another. That is why the wolves hunt together, running the prey until the weak or infirm are left behind, and only those they kill, and eat.

I move my gaze to the vast grasslands, ablaze with the setting suns rays. The moose herd grazes peacefully again, far, far away from us now, their bodies drenched in light. I wonder what would become of them if there were no wolves. Would they increase until there was no pasture left, so that finally they would all die from starvation? Perhaps the killings keep everything living  in balance. I glance at Kavah. He is tranquil, his eyes full of brightness, like the sun. So wise he seems, so sure of his ways. I think of how our warriors hunt the wolves for no reason, and how easily, and unknowingly they disturb the balance and cycle of life. Kavah gets up and goes over to the remains of the moose, Zahar had long finished eating and now Amitz is just finishing, droplets of drying blood sparkling on his muzzle and chest. Together we tear off chunks of flesh to take back to the den, for eating later on. Little is wasted. I carry an armful an armful of meat, an Zahar carries a leg. Amitz is once again trotting beside me with a decent piece of good haunch. Kavah drags the neck and chest, and within him, a meal for the cubs, this feed will last the pack several days.

It is a long walk back to the den, and night has fallen before we reach our territory. Every now and again Kavah will pause, dropping the meat to howl, and other wolves answer him. I think he says he is on the edges of their territory, but means no harm. Sometimes I see wolves' eyes watching us from far in the trees, but we are left alone. I wonder if the wolves are so tolerant in the clutches of winter, when food is scarce, and only the strongest survive.
A small stream boarders our domain, and I stop in it to wash and drink. My clothes are tattered now, and I have since cut my long and tangled blue, green hair short with my knife. Yet still I wash, for I cannot lose the truth that I am a person, and that cleanliness is good. Sometimes Zahar washes me when she has finished with the cubs, licking my face and shoulders with her great, rough tongue, but I prefer water.

We are almost to the den when we pass through a small break in the trees,  and I see the moon high in the sky, it is golden and plump like a fruit waiting to be plucked.

"It is our harvest time." I say to Kavah.

I hide the meat in the fork of a tree near the den, The cubs tumble out to welcome us,their paws and noses wet and dripping, for they had gone fishing while we were gone. Shamar follows them out of the den also, and the wolves all whine and nuzzle one another, sniffing and wagging their tails frantically. They all greet Kavah, who stands like a mighty king accepting rightful salutations from his followers. Then he looks up at the moon and howls, and they all howl along with him. I sing too, my hand on Zahar's neck. It is a joyful, and potent thing, this howling with the wolves, though there is heartache to it too, for me, for I know it is a howl for my farewell. In the morning I will go back to Droug's village, to help gather in the harvest. All hands will be needed when the wheat is being cut, for if we are slow, and it rains while the wheat is on the ground, the grain will be ruined, and the village will go hungry in the winter time.

After our song, Zahar and Kavah give the cubs offerings of moose, and while they eat Shamar leaves the den to go on a hunt of her own. I walk up the cool stone stairs to the den, an wriggle into the narrow tunnel which is the entrance. It is not easy to enter this place. The entrance is thrice as long as I am, and so narrow that I can only slide in with my arms held out straight in front of me. The tunnel slopes downwards, then widens and goes sharply up to the crypt-like den at the end. Here it is warm and there are hollows in the hard earth where the wolves have made their beds. In the pitch blackness I feel for the carvings on the stone walls that will lead me to my bed, reaching for the small crab-apples that are there. I munch on them while I curl up and wait for sleep.

I am dozing when the wolves come in, and the cubs battle with me because they think my bed is warmest, and want to share. We cannot all fit in, so I compromise, and let Orbah curl her back against my front. I fall asleep with my arms around her, my face between her ears, and feel her breath go softly in and out, and the beating of her heart. I try hard to ignore the fleas.