Freedom’s Howl

The Great Black Wolf moved silently through the shadows of the plains, his body lean from days without food. The once-abundant forests and mountains, teeming with life, now echoed with an eerie silence. His golden eyes, sharp as the edge of a blade, scanned the horizon for prey, but the land offered nothing. The hunt had been long, and his pack was weary.

As the moon rose, bathing the land in silver light, the wolf came upon a figure cloaked in darkness. The man stood still, like a withered tree against the wind, his face hidden beneath the hood. In his hands, he held the leg of a deer, its flesh fresh and glistening.

“Won’t you have some of this deer meat, Great Wolf?” the man inquired, his voice smooth and serpentine. “You look famished.”

The Great Black Wolf’s ears twitched, his instincts sharp. “I’ve been made wise to your ways, man,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “You cannot fool me with your tricks.”

The man tilted his head, revealing a pale, hollow face. His smile was calm but sinister, like the crack of ice before it breaks. “I only offer you relief from your suffering. You appear before me in great hunger, and yet you reject my kindness? Surely my offer would help you and your pack immensely.”

The Great Black Wolf stood tall, his fur shimmering like the midnight sky. “I am the Great Black Wolf,” he said proudly. “My pack and I have speed, endurance, ferocity, resilience, and wisdom. We do not need the offerings of man to thrive. We are masters of the plains, forests, and mountains. We live in accordance with nature, with her and for her. Your gifts are poison, and your kindness is a trap.”

The man’s smile widened, his eyes glinting like shards of broken glass. “Oh, Great Black Wolf, how noble you sound. But there is a flaw in your reasoning. Times are changing. I have claimed dominion over the plains, forests, and mountains. My claim gives me the right to command all their resources and all their creatures. You no longer have the right to hunt unless permitted by me. Even the waters—streams, rivers, and lakes—are mine. You must move your pack to the forests I have chosen for you, and you must not roam without my consent.”

The wolf’s golden eyes burned with defiance. “Foolish man,” he said, his voice steady as the earth beneath his paws. “You do not control the plains, forests, and mountains. They are not yours to claim. They belong to no one and to everyone. They are the breath of the earth, shared in abundance by all who walk, crawl, swim, or fly. Your motives are not only unnatural—they are dangerous. The Great White Wolf and Great Grey Wolf Clans will not stand for this. Together, we will fight for our right to live free, as nature intended.”

The man laughed, a hollow sound that echoed like a distant storm. “Poor Great Black Wolf,” he said, shaking his head. “Your recent hunt must have been a long one, and for good reason. I have captured and corralled all the deer, elk, moose, and rabbits—everything your kind would eat to sustain yourselves. The Great White Wolf and Great Grey Wolf Clans have already come upon me in their desperation, just as you have now. To each, I whispered the same tale: ‘It is the other clan that devours all the prey, leaving nothing for you.’”

The Great Black Wolf’s ears flattened, his heart heavy with the weight of the man’s words.

“And so,” the man continued, his voice dripping with malice, “the Great White Wolf and Great Grey Wolf Clans became sworn enemies. A great and deadly war broke out between them, and I, in my infinite generosity, offered food and resources to both sides. As they fought endlessly, I gained their trust. They gave me power, little by little, until I ruled over all the reaches of nature.”

The man stepped into the moonlight, his frail form casting a long shadow. “Now,” he said, his voice cold and commanding, “the Great White Wolf Clan resides on the plains, where their coats are easily seen among the grass. The Great Grey Wolf Clan resides in the mountains, where their fur stands stark against the snow. They call me master and have no need to hunt, for I feed them an abundance of rats and water filtered of all its natural minerals. They are fat, sick, and stupid, but they worship me for the remedies I offer to ease their ailments.”

The Great Black Wolf felt a storm rage within him—anger at the man’s cunning, sorrow for his brothers and sisters who had been deceived, and a flickering ember of hope that his pack might yet resist.

The man’s voice grew sharper, like the crack of a whip. “Now, Great Black Wolf, your numbers are too few to stand against me. You must call me master, adhere to my commands, and move your pack to the forests. You will be blessed with rats and filtered water for as long as you can imagine. Now, bow and call me master.”

The Great Black Wolf raised his head, his golden eyes meeting the man’s with unshakable resolve. “You may command the weak,” he said, his voice like thunder rolling across the plains, “but you will never command the wild. The wind cannot be chained. The rivers cannot be silenced. And the wolves will never bow.”

The man’s smile faltered, his shadow seeming to shrink under the wolf’s gaze.

“I would rather die under the open sky,” the wolf continued, his voice rising like a howl, “my blood mingling with the earth, than live as a shadow of what I am. For the wild cannot be tamed, and the spirit of the wolf will endure long after you are dust.”

The Great Black Wolf turned and walked away, his silhouette a dark flame against the silver light. Behind him, the man stood frozen, his frail form dwarfed by the vastness of the plains. And though the night was silent, the wolf’s howl soon rose, a call not of despair, but of defiance—a promise that the wild would rise again.