Since that horrible night a
year ago, when I killed my sister, I dream a lot about running with
wolves. In my heart, I experience the joy of breaking free from human
bonds and traveling the shadow land with my pack.
Last night the dream in
which I roamed the wilderness with my brothers and sisters, morphed
into a nightmare. A silver alpha male trotted so close his breath
washed over me like a thick cloud. From out of the dark trees ahead, a
cloaked figure emerged. Patches of moonlight slithered through bare
limbs and reflected on the barrel of a long rifle cradled in his arms.
A murmur of impending death rippled through the pack, but not in time
to save us all. He aimed and fired into our midst. Some scattered while
others dropped. Howls of pain echoed through the darkness, clogged with
the smell of death. I raced over blood-soaked ground, but with only two
legs to their four, soon fell behind. Gasping for air and sick at
heart, I stumbled over a crumpled form and sank to my knees beside the
mortally wounded alpha female.