Once upon a time…
There was a boy.
He was lost in the woods, trying to escape the pain that was left in his heart. The one that felt like all his limbs had been ripped from his body and now he lay there in the agony of the aftermath.
Which really… is exactly what happened.
Part of him said he should go back. Go back and try and continue living. But the stronger part. That part said it was safer here. Said it wasn’t ever safe with the humans.
So he stayed in the woods. Safe among the thick trees. Safe as the predator to all creatures. Safe with the magic tree…
If that first voice sounded particularly like his mother… well then he didn’t have anyone left to tell, now did he?
The wolf had taken over.
The boy didn’t mind. It was safe behind it, protected by the fierce snarls and dominance of his wolf. It was freeing even, to just give in to his instincts. Not worrying about the silly human concepts of his actions.
He had feared the forest and it’s secrets when he had first arrived. But when he learned those secrets… he realized that he was the one to be feared.
Soon after the wolf had taken over, he moved from the corner of the forest he had been living in. He had spent the next day looking for… something. He wasn’t sure what it was until that is… he found it.
Near the magical tree, the Nemeton, there was a small hill. Perfect for a den.
A week later, he had carved a spacious room inside the hill. Roots grew along the top of the den from the trees above the hill. The soft, deep, cool dirt kept the heat of the summer out and his thick fur kept the winter chill from cutting to deep.
It was cozy. It was safe. It was home.
After that, life became so simple. He lived in peace and quiet in his den. When he was hungry, he hunted and ate. When he was thirsty, he went and drank. When he was sleepy, he slept. When he felt to cooped up, he ran. Life was simple.
So, of course, something had to interrupt everything.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.