Sentinel Wolf
Sentinel Wolf
A short story allegory of a wolf going through life and discovering and paying the price for love.
The bitter winds wailed, biting through the night and sweeping across the empty, rocky hollows of the arctic fields. The land was a barren, rolling expanse of blowing snow butting up against the dark forest, staggering under its own coat of white. The sentinel hid deep under tangled interlocking branches along the tree-line, protected from the winds. His bright yellow eyes took in the open areas before him. His quiet breaths frosted his muzzle in the cold. His layered gray fur and undercoat kept him warm. His lone companion was the distant circular moon hanging high over the somnolent land, gracing it with a silver glow.
But the emptiness was alive and deceptive. He knew the wolves were coming, hungry for his territory with its rich protection of trees and food supply. He had spied their probings and encroachments the previous day. The wolves other natural enemy, the grizzly bear, had not been seen for a long time. The sentinel’s breaths quickened and his muscles tensed as he sensed a difference in the night. His ears quivered and hackles bristled at an approaching danger he sensed but couldn’t define. Those bitter winds had carried his scent and revealed him to the eager noses of the other wolf pack, who then circled in the trees behind him. The fight was quickly over as a tracker wolf leaped on him from behind. Slashing teeth tore into him as, one after another, the whole pack fought him, tearing at muscle, smothering him in a spasm of flying snow.
By himself, he was no match for the marauding wolves. He stood no chance. His now leaderless pack as well as his territory was quickly claimed by the tracker wolf. Sentinel was left for dead, hovering on the edge between light and darkness on blood red snow. Hours later the cool morning sun rose briefly over the bleak land for its short winter day. The sun’s wan rays glanced off the flinty snow. The day slid back into darkness as the sun slunk below the trees and the returning moon took its place. It was on the second such day that he stirred, crippled and stiff in his wounds, a new badge of his defeat.
He finally stood up on his paws, quivering in place as he sought his balance. Little yelps rose from him like he hadn’t heard since he was a pup. He limped through the woods as he followed the tree-line away from his former home. He spent the rest of Winter rejected by other packs, never strong enough to fight for a place and protection. He almost starved before Spring eventually broke through with warmer days and hope of survival.
After many runoffs with other packs, Sentinel found a lonely niche in the rocks and claimed it as his own. The niche was a rocky enclosure suited to protecting him against surprise. It was a den from which to grow a new territory not yet claimed by others. His emptiness howled out of him each night up at the heavy moon hanging over the dark horizon. But the moon seemed never to understand him, so he howled at it again and again, then limped back to his den. Each night he curled up by himself, burying his nose in his fur, sniffing and licking old scars.
Each morning he climbed up the high hilltop of his territory, keeping watch, catching prey as he could and regaining strength. He never stayed still for long, otherwise his damaged muscles would stiffen up. It was during one restless patrol that he saw the intruder, a lone wolf nearly blending into the gray rock, spying on him from a distance. Sentinel felt some of his old aggressiveness return and would not allow this stranger on his territory. He resigned himself to a fight as he circled the other wolf from a distance, closing the circle on each turn. He bared his fangs and gave a low growl as he came in on the final pass, ready to drive off the stranger.
And discovered that the he-wolf was a she-wolf. Sentinel froze in his discovery as did the she-wolf as well, frozen as she watched him. He was immediately distrustful, fearing an attack from her pack, maybe even sneaking up behind her, using her as bait. But he saw that she was watchful and calm, not nervous, as she waited for him to approach. He looked around everywhere as he slowly came up to her.
He took tentative sniffs around her, but she didn’t bolt away at his familiarity. He didn’t recognize her scent, but saw she had deep scars running through her fur. She had been attacked and rejected too, a castoff of some pack. She had some untold story in her. But Sentinel was still wary. He left her and retreated back to his den. He didn’t feel like arguing with the moon that night.
Sentinel didn’t quite know what to do about Watchful. Old scarred wolves like him never got second chances in life. By not attacking her he was allowing her to remain in his territory. By accepting her into his territory he took on himself the mantle of her protector. The next day he brought fresh killed rodents to her, which she tore apart and quickly ate. She then lowered her head in submission and laid her ears horizontal as she faced him, wagging her tail in friendliness.
Sentinel took the challenge to play, but their common instincts to leap and jump were hampered by their old wounds. They weren’t young pups any more. They then moved in and out of bushes, spying and chasing each other, a more genteel form of play. Finally exhausted, they lay and panted next to each other. Sentinel then lead and nudged Watchful towards the hidden entrance of his den. He decided to extend its protection to her.
They settled into an uneasy arrangement that night, each sniffing different places in the den to curl up into. Sentinel felt dismay the next few nights as Watchful always took his favorite spot, knowing a good place when she found one. Exasperated, he finally approached her and tried to nudge her away, but she instead accommodated him next to her. So, he settled down and they curled up into a ball of fur together, accepting each others warmth.
In the following weeks they created a routine, hunting for prey together, guarding their territory together. Sentinel liked her scent and would often follow her around the hills, tracking where she had just been. They would frequently play down by the spring swollen stream, splashing in the water.
And then one night Watchful acted differently, sensing her yearly change coming on her. The next day her urine was laden with scents that excited Sentinel. She went into heat and they mated frequently in the following week. As time went on, Watchful pulled back from their hunts as she grew swollen and needed to adjust to the new growth in her. After two months her litter of pups was born, blind and defenseless. Weeks passed as they gained sight and grew bigger under her constant nurture.
Tracker wolf observed the first outing of the new wolf pack. Spying from a distance, he saw the pups lurch and stumble in excitement around Sentinel and Watchful. He also caught the limping and uneasy gait of the two parents as they guarded their pups, watching the skys. Sometimes eagles would swoop down and quickly grab a pup in their claws. Tracker saw it could be an easy challenge to fight the alpha dog of this small pack. Blood lust roused him as he circled them out of sight, knowing the pups distracted their parents from seeing him.
Tracker followed them and sprang on the wolf family as they neared the stream to drink water. He instantly remembered Sentinel as he leapt on his back and caught him by surprise. Sentinel had regained much of his old strength, however, and the two fought with a fury, slashing and tearing, fur flying as their teeth ripped into each other. But Sentinel soon knew he was no match, his old wounds slowing him against Tracker’s greater strength. Tracker was determined to destroy him, to finish what he had started in their last combat. The fight gave Watchful some time to push her terrified pups away from the bloodletting. She scolded them to hurry as she frantically lead them back to their den.
Sentinel was weak and wounded as he and Tracker circled each other. Tracker was impatient to finish the fight and claim his new pack. He snarled as he bid his time and then lunged at Sentinel’s throat, sure of a quick kill, but not before the claws of a grizzly bear sliced through his body, breaking his back and crushing him to the ground. The grizzly bear had been hunting salmon at the stream, sight unseen around a bend and downwind of the wolves. His eager ears had picked up the sounds of their fight. Hungry, he knew he could easily approach his natural prey without being discovered.
As the grizzly finished up with Tracker, Sentinel crept back to the safety of his den. He collapsed on the floor. Watchful bound over to him in alarm. She circled him as his pups cowered in the back of the den, fearful of his sight. Throughout the night Watchful curled up close to his broken body, licking his deep wounds, watching over him. But with the coming of a gray dawn into the den, she saw he was stiff and still, having defended his family to the end.
Over the next year the pups grew in size and confidence under the constant care of Watchful. Often at night she would wait on the hilltop for her old friend, the moon to rise up into the heavens. For hours she would sing her lament for Sentinel. Her half-grown wolves also stood behind her and howled at the moon, asking for it to come closer, but the moon only listened to their mother.
Copyright 2006
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By Eric Roseland Published: 10/15/2006 |
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