A lone wolf lay atop one of the many sand dunes in the desert underneath a cloudless, crescent moon night. The hot wind collided against the hill of sand and raced upward. It whipped over the lip, tearing millions of grains of sand, which coiled around the canine. The wolf coughed and snorted, blowing chunks of sand and snot out of his nose. He stood, scratched behind his ear, and sniffed the wind.
The moon yielded little light, but upwind was a grey glow of many small fires and the smell of freshly cooked meat. The scent drew him forward, but as he stepped, his head ached. He rubbed at his brow with his forearm, his dewclaw scratching into his temple. Something, some memory tried to push its way forward into his mind, and as the wolf focused on it, it disappeared and faded back to where ever it came from.
Another pain pinched his gut and his stomach grumbled. Instinct drove him towards the smell as the creature sauntered down the dune. Sand followed him down and then clumped in a little pile when he reached the hard ground. Another trail of sand followed. The wolf turned and growled, but saw nothing. His paw prints were beginning to disappear as the wind blew and sand fell into his impressions.
“How did I get here?” he thought to himself. The stabbing pain in his mind returned as he reached out to grab some memory, but it was like grasping at a shadow. The pain subsided, but the question remained. His stomach grumbled again, and the wolf marched towards the smell of food.
He snuck around the edges of the camp, keeping clear from the lights of the fires. Some groups huddled tightly around the fire, making it easy for the wolf to sniff and examine before moving on to the next. Eventually, he caught the smell again and looked to where it came from. It was three fires down, on the outside of the group.
The wolf trotted over, keeping his body low and staying light on his feet. At the fire, the people were quiet, passing a roasted leg of some creature amongst them and tearing off chunks of cooked flesh. The wolf followed the meat around the circle, waiting for the chance to take it. He crawled closer, practically slithering across the sand. He positioned his back feet and stayed perfectly still. A man turned, passing the meat on to the next person. It was a clear shot, but the wolf didn’t jump, seeing the sharp metal sticks attached to their belts.
The pain returned as he tried to remember what they were. He whimpered as images of the sharp metal sticks passed in his mind, stabbing the back of his eyes.
“I think it’s hungry,” one of the people said. The man was taller than the rest with a tattoo on his neck of two snakes. He wore baggy pants and had a shirt with long flowing sleeves tied around his waist. The group focused their attention on the wolf. Some jumped back in alarm, but the tattooed man knelt, tore of a chunk of meat and held it out to the wolf.
“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said. The wolf curled his lips back, raised his hackle and snarled, though he didn’t know why. The man was giving him food.
“Here,” he said, tossing the piece of meat towards the wolf. The wolf relaxed, sniffed the hot flesh, and devoured it with one bite. The juices from the small morsel exploded and mixed with saliva, instantly filling his mouth with the tantalizing flavor. “Have some more, c’mon.” The man waved a larger chunk meat in his hand. The wolf crept closer, eyeing the other members of the group and their…weapons.
“I’ve never seen a wolf this far east before. Do you think he has a pack close by?” one of the group members asked.
“No,” the man said, tossing the piece of meat a little closer to the group. “His behavior is almost like a dog. If he were wild, he would have sat up on the dunes and watched us, looking for some of the sick and young, or at least followed us and tried to pick one of us off.” The man turned to the wolf. “You’re not going to bite us, are you?”
“Just as long as you keep passing that meat,” the wolf thought.
“Do we have a leash or something, a rope maybe?” the man asked the group. One of the members went into a nearby tent.
“You’re not going to try to tame that thing, are you?” another asked. Someone handed the man a rope. He quickly fashioned a loop out of it and laid it on his lap.
“Hand me another piece of meat,” he said. A large chunk was handed to him and he held it at his feet.
“Here boy,” he said, wiggling it around. The wolf saw the ropes, and the pain returned. Something about the black coils frightened him. He backed away slowly, but stared at the meat, torn between hunger and fear.
Hunger won, the wolf approached, ate the meat, and the loop was placed over his head. He took a sharp breath, and tensed his muscles, then wiggled back and forth, trying to pull his head out of the loop, but the more he struggled the tighter it became. The grey light dimmed, breathing was impossible.
“No, no!” the wolf said in his mind as everything went black. He heard something about a muzzle before he lost consciousness.
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When he woke, he knew one thing about himself for sure. He hated rope. It dug into his neck and made it impossible to get comfortable. It didn’t matter which way he turned, the roped pulled his head back or tugged slightly on his neck towards a post that was buried in the sand. The wolf walked over to the post and dug into the sand, attempting to find the bottom of the post, but every stroke of sand was filled with more sand.
Sensing the futility of his effort, the wolf stopped, sat and scratched at the rope with his back leg, but the roped never moved. Rope was also tied around his head and mouth, clamping it shut, so biting through was not an option.
The post was a cylindrical piece of wood sticking out of the ground. Near the top, a strip was crudely carved around the post, and was just thick enough for the rope to set in. If the wolf jumped, the rope stayed. If the wolf tugged, the rope stayed, if he ran in circles, the rope stayed.
Someone was walking towards him. The wolf turned, saw the man and snarled. The man squatted and placed a dish of water just outside the wolf’s reach. Seeing the water, the wolf whimpered and pulled against the rope. The choking feeling returned. He stopped, sat and stared at the dish.
“You have two options,” the man said. “You can either stay with us, and we will feed you, or you can go alone in the desert and die. If you were to run, you would follow us, but we do not take kindly to sharing our spoils. I have a tribe to feed. You can either aid me, or be my enemy. I will release you now. You will probably drink, but if you leave after that, the next time we meet, we will dine on your flesh.”
The man untied the wolf’s muzzle and leash. The wolf stared at the man with the snake tattoo and then looked at the water. He licked his dry lips and whimpered. The man didn’t say anything. The wolf kept his hackle raised and slowly, walked over to the water dish. He kept his eyes on the man as he lapped up the water.
“I hope you understand,” the man said. “I would hate to kill you. Just how long have you been watching over us anyway?” The man tentatively stretched his hand towards the wolf and touched the top of his head. The wolf relaxed. He rocked his head back and forth, feeling the fingers scratch the sand out from behind his ears. The man smiled and rubbed the wolf’s head, underneath his chin and down his back. The wolf sat and let his tongue stick out of his mouth, enjoying the tender affection.
The man smiled back at him and picked the rope up in his hand. The wolf snarled again. When the man dropped the rope, the wolf sat and panted happily. The man reached for the rope a second time and the wolf snarled again. When the man backed away from the rope, the wolf was content.
“You don’t like ropes huh? Well right now, the rope has to go on at least until we can trust that you will keep your teeth to yourself.” There was some struggle, but the rope was eventually fitted back over the wolf’s head and the man returned to his tent.
The wolf’s ears were back and he beat the ground with his tail as he leered at the post.
CHAPTER 27