4

I am wolf.

Snuffling and tumbling, I romp, alive to the smile of the moon as she turns her back on the sun. The crescent fades, the globe blooms and I yelp. Wriggling and rolling, tail curled, I sniff and snort. A plume of steam swirls from my nostrils and I sneeze as wind shrieks over the Giant’s mouth.

A she-wolf growls, assembling a pack of sisters to hunt.

‘Wait for me!’ I try to tell them. But no matter how hard I strive, I can’t shape words on my tongue. Instead, I whine, excited at the scent of deer drifting from below. I want to run with the pack, but with the wobbly legs of a whelp, I don’t have the strength to bound and tack, as I should.

I grizzle, warm my nose with a flick of my tail. Raise my head to howl, but the sound I make, the yap-snap of a pup, sets the she-wolves baying.

I wait in the warmth of the den, sniffing for clues as to what lies ahead.

I am wolf.

And one day soon, I shall hunt with my pack.