The four legged beast wades for hours of a day through the early winter snow. A wolverine, in search of a place to rest between its lonesome stalking of another animal. A grey wolf which in this circumstance had turned prey. After a while of looking, he finds a large stone atop a raised hill which is surrounded by thick shrubbery overlooking a frozen meadow. Here the wolverine diverts from the trail left by the grey wolf just long enough to get some minutes of rest. He is not worried about losing his trail as he has already wounded his enough to spill his warm blood all along the path leading to his place of respire. The same blood that kept the wolf warm will now lead its predator to his like a red thread in the snow. The wolverine made himself as comfortable as he could on the icy surface of the stone and laid its little head to rest. As the wolverine licked his fur clean he kept his ears perked in case of any dangers lurking behind the bushes or preying from the above. Occasionally he hears a noise and goes over promptly to investigate it. Sometimes he sits dormant, anticipating an attack. None comes, and as his body warms and heart slows he finally allows his eyes to fall heavy.

While his eyes are still fluttering into sleep, the sun shines brightly into his gaze. It reflects into his eyes and paired with all the moving shadows in the forest, makes vivid figures appear in his dream. He is a shrapnel overshadowed by his insurmountable forebears. Ancestors flew past him at a wicked speed and so did the enemies which they had slain in the past. Through sharpness, intelligence and a thick coat they had not only survived, but eaten well, born children and raised them. With their agility, speed and blood letting claws they had defeated their opponents, just like he had defeated his own. Suddenly all became black as he slid down an ethereal funnel, in circles and till dizziness. Returning to a familiar scene, blind and disoriented he was experiencing the soul of his distant childhood past. A thrashing about him is heard and his paws are cold and wet. He feels warm blood soak his mouth and his teeth tighten around the petrified flesh of some victim. He can’t tell whether he is unwell or proud, when suddenly a loud and blood-curdling screech burrows into his ears and he jolts awake.

The sun had passed midday and the night was approaching. He reasoned it was time to return to the trail where his prey was surely stumbling about gasping for every last breath his wounded body could muster. It was not sadism which made him seek out this hunt, though it was not hunger either. Somewhere he was hiding, and when he finds his he will perhaps find a reason as to why he is bothering to stalk his in the first place. The wolverine stepped down from the rock and into the meadow. He pitter patters through the snow with an occasional look around to regain the scent of the he-wolf. At an impasse he sees blood in the snow and knows he is near. Not far from the rock he had rested at, the wolf had decided to lay down as well. The wolverine sees his from afar, through the bushery. He was cuddled up, sparing every warmth he could muster as the midday had turned to a biting evening cold. He begins approaching fastidiously so as not to make a single sound that could disturb the wolf.

His left eye had been clawed, and his right flank was wounded down to the rib. Just two sunrises ago he was prowling around with his pack chasing down deer. In fact just a sunrise ago he had taken down a deer all by himself. Without his pack it was quite difficult, though not impossible. He was still a ferocious wolf, and the deer stood no chance when the wolf had cornered it past the edge of the meadow overlooking a cliff. He had to be careful as to not scare the deer into dropping down the cliff, as it would take a long journey to recover the meats. Would be hardly worth the effort. Though when you are hungry anything and everything can be worth it, if only to make it to the next day. The deer had strayed from its large herd which was migrating across the meadow into the forest. They had gotten by, but it had not. The deer was in eye lock with the wolf and only broke it occasionally to posture its large antlers. They could easily impale the wolf, so he took care not to underestimate the deer. As a large flock of birds squawked behind the deer it had become distracted for a split second allowing the wolf to slip through its defense and get up under it. As the deer bucked it had stampeded the wolf and with its hoof dug into the middle of his hind paw. The wolf managed to bite into the deer haunch while it was escaping from under its belly. And as the deer launched forward the wolf tore a chunk of flesh right out of its thigh. The deer shakes his off. But the wolf jumps forward yet again and bites straight into its lower leg, snapping it in two between its powerful teeth. The deer is terrified and wounded, yet is still battling for its own life. Then the wolf keeps attacking and attacking, and as it does the deer loses another piece of its flesh or tendon. The deer now staggered. With flaps of loose skin fluttering in the wind it was about to die. With arterial blood pouring and dripping down its side it was about to become meat and food for a salivating predator. With terror etched into its face, it gives a shriek so petrifying it froze the hearts of all the nearby animals for a few moments. It reminded them all that as the winter gets colder and the snow gets deeper, the progress of nature develops in the predators favor.

It truly had made the wolf appreciate every piece of meat he had ever won. Meat warmed by the inner workings of the victim itself rather than over a fire. Meat that spoils within a few days. Meat that hugged onto the bones of its master so tightly that sometimes he and his wolf friends could chew on just the bones themselves. It is how he survives after all, not from putrid hatred of his prey, but from insatiable hunger. And to every animal, prey or predator, hunger dictates all their actions. And were you to give a prey fangs and binocular vision it would do the same violence to the wolf as he had done to them. And so he reasons that if not his, then it ought to be them. And in the end, predator or prey, their blood fertilizes the soil all the same. And it will keep doing so for all eternity. All blood and from all animals will run across all soil as reliably as grass gets dew, and as a flower blooms in spring.

He licks his fur and wounds clean a final time. Perhaps it is right to get traveling again, lest the wolverine catches up he reasons. As he gets up he can feel the pain of his last battle aching through his bones and tensing flesh. In just a rapid moment, a thrashing is heard from a shrub to his left, and before he could react, his vermin enemy had fitted himself fully atop his and clawed all four paws into his firmly, shifting about his mature body, slashing where he could while he defended himself as much as he could with his bite. He sadly didn’t have a mechanism to defend itself against something that had latched itself onto his back. However, he’d damn himself to death if he gave up now, and that is no way for a lady of the hunt to die and especially not to an opportunistic carcass thief. He wrung and rolled and the weasel finally detached which left an opportunity for his to bite. And so he aimed straight at its puny head. The wolverine, quick as he is, dodges the snapping jaw and retaliates with a strike into his already wounded eye. So the poor he-wolf whimpers in shock which is in an instant followed by bleeding from the eye. The wolf snarls to compensate and the two animals are now circling one another, looking for an opening in each defenses. The wolverine hisses and strikes the wolf in the eye again. This time his claw had caught onto a nerve or some artery, forcing him to tear it out violently, ripping the artery in two. He was now waddling and each step was quite painful. He gasps for air and snarls ferociously. A display embarrassing for a warrior, but appropriate for a bleeding wolf. The wolverine approaches his while the wolf barks and snaps bites towards him. He was bleeding heavily and to that effect he was running on a trail not fit for his anymore. Nature is asking to replace his with a fiercer wolf. But he has no reason to comply. He is fighting to the death or till his body surrenders. The sad thing is that the time has already come. He just thought he had more in his. But loss of blood from the eye socket is not an issue of self-discipline, in fact it is from the desire to cover up a gaping wound. Her eye meets the wolverines.

It was to his dismay that it had not given him any insight as to why he sought out to kill his in the first place. He felt not pride, but a slight satisfaction. Not pleasure, but mediocrity. Not from an unsatisfying opponent, but from an opponent that made too much sense. Or maybe it made no sense at all. All over the meadow and the nearby forest there are animals escaping the ferocious jaws of another animal. A falcon hunting rodents, a coyote stalking bunny rabbits, a wolf carcass rotting after defeat. As the wolverine approaches the rock whose he had rested earlier that day he could not help but to sit down and enjoy sunrise. After he laid down and began licking his wounds he looked upon the vast frozen meadow. The winter is still early, he reasons. Maybe eventually he will have a why. But for now he just wants to sleep. As he finishes licking his wounds a herd of deer walk out of the forest and into the open meadow. With that sight his stomach rumbles from hunger and his ferocious nature is compelled to return and within an instant, his desire for a why dissipates into nothing at all.

8/4/2025