Wolf

The sun was setting over the steppe. The wolf stretched on his rock and slowly lowered his head to the gray surface of the boulder. The sight always made him feel strange. As if he were small, insignificant to the world. After all, what was one life compared to the power of that golden ball always hidden behind the horizon?

The community had long ago abandoned him, considering him one of those eccentrics who think they know everything and are best avoided. But that wasn't the case. He simply always tried to be himself. It was his life, and it had cost him dearly before he realized that he should decide how to spend it. He had seen too much evil in the world, and yet he had once been cheerful and lived in the pack. Today, it simply wasn't for him; he preferred to sit on the rock, admiring the sunset. After all, the only thing that would remain true forever was the sun.

The rest of the pack was playing at the edge of the forest under the watchful eye of the tender and, as always, magnificent she-wolf. Once he would have probably even fallen in love with her; today he saw clearly that she was completely empty. She flaunted her vain, feminine charm, captivating and subjugating the entire, bewildered flock. She gathered a gang around her, together they raided nearby houses and fought with sheepdogs, treating it as good fun. One wolf, usually the most conspicuous, the black one, would lead the dog away from the flock, while the rest would simply devour the sheep. The shepherds from nearby villages had great difficulty with them...

Our wolf, however, didn't hunt in packs. He spent his days aimlessly wandering the empty expanses of the steppe, only to emerge in the evenings, with considerable difficulty, to a nearby rock, stand at the height of the distant cloud line, and gaze. This activity consumed him so much that he often forgot to eat. Perhaps that was why he was so thin and weak. Sometimes he caught a rabbit, sometimes found a stray deer in the forest. He was a wolf, he felt he had to eat. He himself didn't like the killing, but his life was driven by animal instinct. Everyone has it. The evening ritual of watching the sunset was, in his mind, an attempt at rehabilitation for his crimes, an examination of conscience before that golden sphere. So he sat and watched...

One day, a village inhabited primarily by shepherds engaged in the wool trade was in turmoil. The people were fed up with the constant attacks on their flocks, so they decided to drive the wolves out of the area at all costs. Initially, they were to be shot, a fact that had the rebellious villagers rubbing their hands in glee as they dusted off rusty rifles they'd brought from their attics. However, the village head, also a great nature lover, decided to capture the wolves and take them to the nearby city zoo. This was a new zoo, still sparsely populated with wild animals, and the Steppenwolf could become quite an attraction for tourists and their spoiled, sweet-toothed children. A reward was established: Anyone who captured and returned a live wolf would receive 12 silver louis d'or (a sum equal to about six sheep at the time). Soon, the villagers traded their rifles for special nets, shovels, and muzzles, which they used to dig elaborate traps and set up wolf hunts in the area.

After a while, they noticed that one of the hated creatures appeared every evening on the highest rock rising from the steppe near the forest edge. A trap was set.

The lone wolf defended himself fiercely, but he stood little chance. The net entangled his legs, and the muzzle effectively disabled his greatest weapon, deadly to deer and hares. Tangled in ropes like an Easter ham, he was quickly taken to the zoo, and the villagers added more sheep to their flocks.

Soon, the wolves from the pack were also placed in the cage. The area was cleared.

In the newly opened zoo, the animals had everything they could desire. The enormous 100-square-meter cage and artificial caves with man-made sleeping beds were comfortable and allowed for the enjoyment of real life. The pack wolves, led by a beautiful female wolf, proudly strolled along the cage bars next to the walking path, wagging their tails at visitors and begging for more sausages, eagerly tossed by the toddlers. Each one fell asleep with a full belly. The female wolf's fur gleamed in the sun, taking on golden hues. Daily food consisted of high-quality, vitamin-fortified dog food imported for this purpose from the distant capital. The keepers were pleased that the animals acclimated so easily.

Only one wolf caused problems. He spent days in his den, starving and ignoring the treats that fell beside him. He would occasionally perk up only for a moment when the setting sun peeked through the bars of his cage and the ivy that tightly clung to the garden fence. A small drop, glistening in the sunset rays, seemed to trickle down his fur and down his muzzle.

He thought of the sun that would never be there for him again, remembered the scent of the forests, running across the grass of the steppe, stretching to the horizon, the line of clouds shimmering in the last glints of dew. He sighed for the stars, forever far away, out of reach, and inhaled the air of the city and asphalt, so different from the invigorating breath of the nighttime green trees. The caretakers weren't sure what to do with him.

"Chin up, man! Life's good! It's like home here. Why don't you run with the pack?" a man in a navy blue animal feeder's jumpsuit spoke to him one morning.

The wolf didn't look at him, only surveyed his new home. The 10x10 cage was dingy, reeking of urine and leftover dog food. The rocks and beds reeked of humans, the little brats were throwing candy and were happy with every wag of their tails... "Life is beautiful..." he thought, and then he bowed deeply to the sun one last time.