The Wilds

Long ago there were wolves.

 

The snow-covered peaks of the Cairngorms stretched endlessly, their jagged edges punching holes in the winter sky. Below, in the shadow of the ancient pines, a pack of wolves moved soundless across the frozen ground. The pack was led by Sira, a fierce she-wolf with fur the color of moonlight and eyes that gleamed amber in the sun. Her pack followed close behind - two young cubs, barely old enough to hunt, and three loyal hunters, her sisters, one of blood and two by bond. They had roamed this land for generations, but now the mountains whispered danger.

The king’s hunters had returned.

Sira’s breath puffed out in clouds as she led her pack deeper into the forest, her ears twitching at every sound - the snap of a branch, the hiss of the wind, ground animals scurrying from both predators. The men who hunted them were clever and cruel. They did not kill for survival, but for sport, boasting, and annihilation. Sira knew well the traps they set - the iron jaws hidden beneath the snow; the poisoned meat left to lure the unwary.

Her cubs - Ryn and Mela - trotted beside her, their bright eyes wide with wonder and curiosity, oblivious to any danger lurking beyond the trees. Sira’s heart swelled as she glanced at them. She had lost too much already. Her mate had fallen to the hunters last season, caught in a trap meant for stag. Now, she was all her cubs had, and she would give everything to protect them.

As they moved through the forest, the scent of man reached her, sharp and bitter - of ale, sweat, and the sour smell of hay. Human scents. They were closer than she had hoped. Sira paused, lifting her head to check their scent on the wind. Her pack stopped with her, silent and awaiting her direction.

There. The hunters were north, heading toward the river where the pack often drank. Sira calculated. They couldn’t cross the river - the ice was too thin. But there was a cave nearby, a hidden place where she and her mate had once taken shelter in a snowstorm. If she could lead the pack there, they might be safe for the night.

With a low growl, she urged the pack forward, pushing them faster. The cubs stumbled but kept pace, their paws too large for their bodies and slipping on the icy ground. Sira’s heart pounded though she wouldn't let the others sense her fear. The scent of men grew stronger with each step as the hunters closed in.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the trees. Sira’s ears flattened, and she barked sharply to the pack. The hunters had found their trail.

They broke into a run, the forest blurring past them. Sira darted between the trees, leading her pack toward the cave. But the men were faster, their shouts growing louder, their boots crunching through the snow and fallen limbs.

A second crack split the air, and Sira felt a sharp sting in her flank. She stumbled but kept running, her vision blurring with pain. Her pack ran ahead, unaware of the wound, and for a moment, Sira’s world narrowed to the sound of her heartbeat and the scent of her cubs, so close, just ahead.

They couldn’t stop. Not now. Not yet.

The cave loomed before them, hidden beneath a ridge of rock and snow. The pack darted inside, and Sira turned, her breath ragged. She could smell the hunters - too close. She had led them here, but now the pack was trapped.

Her siblings huddled in the shadows, their eyes yellow and wide, but it was her cubs that Sira’s gaze rested on; Ryn and Mela pressed against each other, frightened but trusting. They had followed her without question. They believed in her.

Sira’s heart clenched, and she knew what she had to do. 

With a final glance at her pack, she stepped back out into the open. The wind howled through the trees, and snow swirled around her, but Sira stood tall, her silver fur gleaming in the fading light. The hunters were close now; dark figures emerging from the forest like specters. They spotted her, and Sira met their gaze, her lips pulling back in a snarl; a sound deep, primal, dangerous.

And then she charged, leaping into the open snow, drawing the hunters away from the cave. There was a shout of surprise, then a crack of gunshot, and Sira felt the sharp bite of pain again, but she had to keep running, away from the cave, away from her cubs, away, she knew, from ever seeing them again.

Gathering themselves, the men pursued her as Sira led them away from the ridge. As she ran, the  forest gathered in around her, the distant mountains lost to view.  Darkness began closing in too. Her heart raced; muscles burned, but she would run until she could run no more. 

And then as a clearing appeared she could run no more.

Sira stopped, and slowly turned. Her muscles coiled beneath her silver fur as she stood, positioning herself just past the line of trees, a lone figure camouflaged in trees against the stark expanse of the Cairngorms.

Sira lifted her face to the brittle wind, its sound the voice of her mate through the pines; snow swirled like ghosts around her. She could hear her own labored panting now; hot clouds of breath coming from her nostrils. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the moment, breathed in the smells that were home. She shook, casting off the longing for what she would soon be saying goodbye to; foregoing the peace that would soon come anyway. But not yet. There was still one last thing to do. She would have only a moment for surprise when the men emerged from the dark forest into snow blindness in the brilliant white of the clearing.

Crouching, she focused on the dark as shadows took on shapes. Though they hadn’t realized it, they were only a few meters away.

The cold bit at the wound in her flank, sharpening with every breath. But her pack was safe, hidden in the cave, too far for the hunters to find them now. Her cubs, she could see them in her mind, huddled in the dark with their aunts, their bright eyes wide with fear but alive. That was all that mattered.

Sira’s lips pulled back into a snarl as the hunters approached, one of the rifles caught the light. They were soft men, men of comfort. She could see that now; their faces set with untested courage. But their eyes betrayed them; she could see something in them she recognized - fear. She could smell it in their sweat; could taste it in the air.

They had never hunted a wolf like her before.

With a growl that ruptured the frozen forest, Sira leapt from her place, lunging directly at the hunters. They shouted in alarm, fumbling for control of their weapons as she closed the distance between them, her powerful legs propelling her across the snow. She could hear the pounding of her own heart, the thud of her paws as she crossed the frozen ground, the rush of blood in her ears, but above all, she felt the surge of something wild and, even though wounded, unbroken within her.

The first hunter raised his rifle, but Sira was too fast. Her body was grey fury as she closed in, blazing eyes locked on the man’s. 

She leapt again.

In the instant between her jump and the man’s frantic shot, time slowed and stretched thin. The wind swirled around her; the snow changed direction. She could see the hunter’s finger on the trigger, could feel the cold air against her fur as she sailed through it, passing through her jaws open wide, blood in her mouth.

But as she leapt, she was seeing her cubs, safe in the cave. She remembered the way the mountains looked in the early morning light, the scent of fresh snow, the way the pack moved as one across the wilderness they called home.

A third shot rang out, a muted clap. Falling, then only silence; the she-wolf lain on a soft bed of white, snow silently falling on her as nature began its work of erasing traces of all that had come before. 

A raven cawed taking flight, startling the quiet, its wings cutting through the air.

And beyond the ridge, nestled deep within the fortress of the cave, the last pack of Highland wolves waited as they always had for whatever the Wilds would next bring.

 

 

Author's note: The last pack of wolves were eradicated in the Scottish Highlands by the mid 1700s. Though groups interested in the rewilding of the Scottish Highlands have posed the idea of the reintroduction of wolves to aid in balancing the eco-system of the Highlands, it continues to be a debated issue.