I am wolf.
That night after I return home to our ger sleep lulls me. I’m running with a pack of she-wolves. The biggest of them twists and turns through a sea of feather grass, moving like a white streak on the steppes. In wolf-light the grass glistens pink and gold, reflecting the last of the sun as it slips from the sky.
Stretching my legs, bounding as quickly as I can, I catch a whiff of gazelle and whine.
The biggest wolf turns sharply and her dark, amber eyes pierce mine. ‘When we hunt as a pack silence is our friend.’
She signals to the she-wolves and changing tack, they start circling our prey. I run ahead, eager to be in at the kill.
‘Back!’ the biggest wolf warns me.
I freeze. Instead of a gazelle, an enormous brown bear lopes towards me. I snarl. Hackles rise. About to charge him, a heave from the biggest wolf shoves me aside as she shoulders the brunt of the bear’s blow. Fangs bared, the pack lunges, and one after the other savages him.
They rip out chunks of flesh, chunks of fur and gristle. They snap at legs and knees. The bear keels over and the pack pounces at his neck, tearing it open. Blood seeps into the steppes; and as the wolves eat, their leader at my feet gently licks me.