“He’s twelve years old and his brother is only seven! We can’t have an animal that size and that unpredictable around the house!” Mrs. Whitmore declared. She propped her fists on her hips and exhaled loudly. She turned her eyes to the wolf and then at her husband. “Bring the boy inside.”
Mr. Whitmore rubbed his scalp with his knuckles and headed out in the rain. He was only an arm’s length away from his son when the wolf leapt to his feet and executed a loud, thunderous bark. Mr. Whitmore stumbled back, almost falling into the mud. “Jovie, the gun, get the gun!”
Jovie loaded his rifle and hurled it outside where it landed perfectly beside his father. Mr. Whitmore’s hands closed around the smooth barrel and he brought the weapon against his chest. His fingers found the trigger and the butt of the gun found the shoulder. With careful precision, he targeted the wolf’s broad forehead.
Kismet, seeing the shadow of the gun, spun around and knocked the rifle out of his father’s hands. A streak of lightening lit up the sky and the wolf bolted into the shadows, where he was no longer seen.
“Kismet!” Mr. Whitmore cursed as he stood up. He brushed the sloppy mud off his pants and headed back to the house. He looked over his shoulder once and saw Kismet searching the darkness for the wolf. “He ain’t gonna find him,” the man said bitterly under his breath. “Should’ve just left them alone.”
“Did you see the way the wolf looked at him?” Jovie added softly before his mother shushed him.
“A wolf knows nothing but what he eats and where he sleeps; they’re smart, all right, but they’re not the good kind.” Mrs. Whitmore took little Jovie by the hand and led him inside.
Jovie looked over his shoulder and a smile crinkled his cheeks. He stopped, pulling against his mother’s hand. “Look! He’s back!”
Mrs. Whitmore turned around as well and saw the wolf standing at the entrance of the woods. A soft stream of moonlight casted a long shadow of the wolf. Kismet rose from his kneeling position and faced the animal.
“What is that creature? What does it want?” the mother asked. Her breath quickened at the sight of the wolf approaching her son so uncomfortably close. She gripped Jovie’s hand and she tip-toed up behind her husband. She leaned her shoulder against his back, letting him know she was there. In a whisper, she spoke, “That wolf’s got to go!”
“It don’t look like it’ll hurt the boy, Ma. But if Kismet gets a lickin’ from that dog, I’ll shot it.”
“Shoot it before it even touches Kismet! We can’t take the chance! Go bring Kismet inside!”
“Alright, alright,” Mr Whitmore huffed. He wiped the sweat off his brow and held a hand out in front of him, his palm up towards the sky. “Done raining. Good.”
The wolf turned his eyes away from Kismet for only a moment to stare at the father. His yellow eyes twinkled and a flash of his pink tongue moistened his nose. Seeing the father as no threat, the wolf returned gazing at Kismet.
Mr. Whitmore placed a soft hand on Kismet’s shoulder and tugged on him gingerly. “Come on, son.”
Kismet looked up at his dad and, in the first time in months, he smiled. The smile was angelic; peaceful. A bit of his front teeth showed and his cheeks dimpled. The father had never seen his son smile since he was only “knee high to a grasshopper.” For ten years, the young Whitmore had been taunted, teased, and abused for his misfortune, but now, in front of him, stood an animal that could hear, but couldn’t speak. Here was a creature that had to try just as hard as Kismet to explain how he felt. The smile on the boy’s face was a new one. It was full of confidence and hope. Mr. Whitmore knew he couldn’t send the wolf away.
“Ma, fetch me a saucer of milk. We’re keeping the wolf.”
“He’s dangerous! We can’t have him around little Jovie!” Though the mother meant well, she would have said differently if she had seen the smile on Kismet’s face.
“Don’t worry yourself about it! The wolf’s behavin’,” Mr. Whitmore assured. He drew Kismet in for a hug and pressed his cheek against the boy’s head. He nodded to the wolf.
The wolf’s liquid eyes disappeared behind the lids for a moment and then reappeared with a softer disposition. It was as if, through that unhurried blink, that he was instead thanking the father for not abandoning him.
YOU ARE READING
The Wolf's Boy
AventuraKismet and Prestige are just as unusual as their names. Though one is a boy and the other a wolf, they both desire the same thing: love. Through the years, their friendship grows and they become inseparable. But when their town is hit by a natural...
