WOLF

Cautiously, he peered out into the small, sunlit clearing. It was quiet, peaceful, and lonely. He waited a few moments longer. Finally, silently, he emerged from the junipers that had hidden him until then.

He liked this place. The grass wasn't very tall, still green, with a bit of heather beyond. Warm, safe, blissful. A large, gray stone rested beneath an oak tree. Mossy on one side, covered in wounds from many years ago, when humans had come here, laid the body of one of their brothers beneath the cool stone, and carved into the rough surface symbols that would ensure memory in their world. They wouldn't come here again.

He lay down next to the stone and stretched. The blessed warmth quickly brought him a peaceful sleep.

*

The sun moved across the azure sky and disappeared behind the treetops.

He stood up. With lazy steps, he set off into the forest. No one dared disturb him. Only the jays were emitting loud cries, warning that someone dangerous was approaching. It was as if he cared about their feathered bodies. They didn't.

He stopped by a shallow stream, gurgling among tree roots, ferns, moss, and old, fallen leaves. The little water he drank refreshed him, but it also stirred his stomach. Hunger wasn't too bad at the moment, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

He turned back. A few kilometers away, he had recently left the remains of a doe. He dragged her into the thicket and covered her with pine needles. Perhaps no one had gotten to her?

He trotted off. Even, light, yet very confident steps, calm breathing, and constant vigilance. Gray fur hid the harmonious movement of muscles, but everyone who saw the forest hunter pass before them, who caught the shadow of a wolf out of the corner of their eye, knew that the lord of the forest was speeding.

*

He could smell the carrion from afar. This was bad. Someone must have found her by now, dragged her out of hiding, and allowed her scent to waft through the forest, luring more eager hunters to a free feast.

He bared his white fangs and, growling furiously, threw himself into the midst of the noisy throng. Black and gray wings flapped in anger and terror. Caws, wind, snapping teeth. A few feathers slowly fell to the ground. The birds settled on the branches and squawked hostilely. They were driven away from their meal.

The wolf ate for a long time. Finally, his hunger had died, his stomach sated on the dried blood. He didn't try to hide the remains of the doe again. When he returned, there would only be a skeleton.

Thousands of scents, hundreds of paths, trembling leaves, diverse sounds coming from every direction. The forest was alive. Without ideology, without subtext. He lived for life, and that was beautiful. The forest was free and happy, despite, or perhaps precisely because, he was unaware of it. Dark green ivy cascading down a steep ravine, a frightened hare crouched under a spruce, billions of ants wandering to and from an anthill, a killer with a ravenous appetite—as innocent as his victims. No one would judge a wolf for eating a fawn, for chasing a fox, for participating in a hunt for a handsome deer. There was no law here in the human sense of the word. There was no such justice, but precisely here, and only here, was there no lawlessness or injustice. No one had to establish it, but the wolf had equal permission to hunt, the deer to flee, and the worms to eat them both once they were dead.

He didn't think about it. Why would he do that? The doe he'd recently killed wasn't thinking about it either.

The scent of blood tickled his nostrils. The fur on his neck bristled automatically. It was a reflex. A thrill of emotion. A wounded boar, somewhere nearby... Maybe next time; now the wolf was full.

*

After dusk, he returned to his favorite clearing. He didn't know where this sentiment came from. He didn't have to think about that either. He simply liked being here. He gracefully jumped onto a boulder that had already given off the heat it had accumulated during the day. He crouched down. He let a gentle breeze wash over him. He became part of the night. He was one of the billion elements that made up this Beauty. The same as the owl, the hedgehog, the bat, and the rotten pine.

The large, round face of the moon, bright with its full brilliance, rose above the forest. He howled. For no reason. He felt the urge to howl, so he howled. He howled. He sang. A gray hunter humming a moonlit serenade. Somewhere to the north, an old acquaintance played her note. A little further, a younger brother. From the east, a stranger...

He stood on a stone and listened to the echo. The stone was cold, and beneath it lay the bones of a man. The bones of a wanderer and a warrior. The bones of someone who had to walk a completely unknown path to finally find what he was looking for. The bones of someone whose spirit could revel in Beauty, night, and freedom, whose spirit saw through the eyes of a wolf.