Not long ago, relative to the way humans measure time, there was a man who lived in a forest. The forest was a dense mass of oak and elm, pine and beech. It was filled with swampy bogs and great thickets. Many, many creatures inhabited the forest. There were wolves, deer, bear, rabbits, wild cats and every manner of winged and scaled animal. It was a forest so immense that no man had ever succeeded in passing through it. Most people did even not try, they just went around. A long way around.
There was a river that curled its way along the eastern border of the forest. The river had been mostly tamed by the humans and was the last safe place before heading west. It was just across this river, north of the town called TavernCity that the man carved his home out of the forest. He was a trapper by trade. That had been a long time ago. That was when he owned a house in town and had possessions that required income. There had been years of running trap lines and tanning skins. Each season he would push a little farther north and a little farther west. Every year he would stay out a few weeks longer before returning with pelts to sell. He did not remember exactly when it was that he stopped going back. He never thought about his house in town or the people he had left behind.
It was a contented life with nothing to want for. He had all of the venison, rabbit and pheasant he cared to eat. The freshest cleanest water flowed from endless springs and pools a short distance from the front door of his cabin. The plants provided too. He collected mushrooms and watercress in the spring. Blackberries, strawberries and crab apples in the summer and fall. The man had enough wood split and seasoned to last two of even the harshest winters. The forest was so giving and plentiful that wolves hardly gave him notice, even on the coldest of nights when the smell of meat roasting simmered out of his chimney.
He did not fret over the lack of companionship. Travelers or hunters occasionally passed through. He was hospitable and friendly and listened to their tales of the world. They talked about steam engines and wars. About money and politics. He did not miss them after they moved on.
Every few months he would camp down by the river for a few days. He traded pelts for supplies with the barge crews on the canal. He could usually get black powder, flour and coffee. Sometimes he could even get sugar or tobacco. The men on the boats offered whiskey but he never took it. He had seen what whiskey had done to men. Men he had known. He had witnessed them sitting on saloon steps waiting for them to open. The same men lying face down in the street before noon. When whiskey became a need instead of a want is when the real trouble began. Shelter, food, water and warmth were necessary. Adding to these only complicated things.
There was one thing that troubled him. It began as a thought and blossomed until it consumed him. Time seemed to slow down in the forest. Particularly for a man that lived on his own. He did not miss companionship and had been with women in his past but he had never married. Without marriage there is no possibility of children and the man longed for a son. When he learned things about the forest he wished he had someone to share them with. Things like which mushrooms and berries you should never eat and how to predict weather by the leaves of certain trees. He would teach a son what it meant when the animals huddled in the stands of pine. He could show him how to trap. How to use castor to attract beavers. How to call in white tail deer using antlers. He would teach a son how to become a man.
Late one spring day the man was deep in the forest. For years he had been mapping the area to the north and west of his cabin. It was more of a journal than a map although he did draw some pictures. He logged every ravine and every creek. He noted the types of plants, trees, out cropping of rock, streams and any animals encountered. He sketched birds that he did not recognize and drew diagrams of deer runs. This particular day the man had found a steep ravine with a winding creek at the bottom. The ravine funneled to a point where the stream slipped across big flat rocks spilling down like a miniature waterfall. There was still ice from the winter thaw shining on the pools at the edge of the stream and shimmering along the rocks.
The man knelt down and drank from it. The water was so cold and had a faint sweetness to it as all of the water in the forest did. He was still on bended knee when he heard a growl. He had never seen a wolf that close before. At least a live wolf. It was standing near the first rise near the falls staring at him. It was dark gray with a nearly black head and ears. He had never been bothered by wolves but he knew about them. They were smart creatures. Great hunters. He admired them. They also avoided humans unless they were sick or starving. This one was neither. It was wounded.
The wolf hobbled sideways looking at him. It had blood on its' neck and held one mangled front paw up in the air, not putting weight on it. The blood from its neck was fresh and still dripping in a constant stream. The man slowly stood up, never taking his eyes from the wolf. It was a female. A nursing mother. She nervously looked behind her and the man noticed an opening in the rocks that he realized was her den. The man took two steps backward and the wolf did the same but lost her footing and fell with a thump on her side. She tried to stand but fell back with a whimper. A whine came from the inside of the den and she struggled again to get up but could not. She was done.
The man approached the wolf slowly until he was standing over her. She whimpered, her eyes wild with fear. He hushed her and leaned down placing a hand on her side. Her neck was torn open badly, he could not believe she had lasted that long. A large animal print was firmly impressed in the ground next to her. It was a big cat print. The scene was finally put together in his head. A panther had come looking to make a meal out of her pups and she had given her life for them. He had probably scared it off when he came down into the ravine. "It's alright," he said with a soothing whisper, "you're a good momma. It's alright." He sat down next to her. Stroking her side until she passed. Talked to her quietly until he was sure she was gone.
The man then inspected the den. He was surprised to find only a single little pup. A boy. It scampered away from him and down the rocks to it's' mother. He watched as it whimpered and licked at her face. It tried to nurse from her and the man picked it up as it wriggled and fought to get free. He laughed, "You have said your goodbyes, now let's go home son."
The man was happy. He finally had the son that he had been longing for. He made a bed for it to sleep in and a bowl for it to eat from. He started right away teaching it right and wrong. The pup watched and learned and grew. The man taught the pup all about the animals in the forest. He showed him the plants and the trees. He showed the pup how he trapped the beavers using castor. The father was proud of his son and the man he was becoming. There was no longer a pup. It was full grown. Larger than it's mother and darker in color.
There were evenings when father and son sat by their fire. Father smoking his tobacco and son listening to the forest outside. The man was finally content. Nothing to want for. Long into the evening after the man had fallen asleep the son would go to the door and stare at it. He would sniff the air underneath and pace back and forth. Then go back and stare at the man sleeping. Smell his breath. Watch his chest rise and fall.
Years passed and the son would accompany the father on his mapping trips. The son would sometimes disappear for hours at a time. The father worried and called for him. He would scold his son when he finally returned with tail between his legs. Cowering from the father.
Then on a calm fall night, the son heard a sound in the distance. A call he remembered deep in his mind. The man dozed lightly by the fire when the son knocked him from his chair. The man's pipe spilled across the floor and he tried to stand but the son was on him. Heavier. Faster. The father looked into the son's eyes. With a flash the son sank his teeth into the man's neck and tore. The man pressed his hands onto the wound, blood pouring between his fingers.
"But...but...you are my son," the man gasped. Stunned at the betrayal. The son sat back on his haunches. Licked his paws and watched the man die.
"I am what I have always been," the son said as the light went out of the father's eyes," I am a wolf."
