I can just remember the wolves, their hot breath in the cold air. Their sharp teeth knawing at my flesh. This was a turn for the worst when I was pulled of my tyre swing in the garden. I would just watch them constantly. If they were hunting a deer or playing cheerfully as young wolves I would watch whenever I could because to me they were fascinating animals. When I was young and was pulled off my tyre swing all of the wolves were chewing my flesh, but there was one wolf who just... watched afraid. He moved his muzzle towards my freezing hand and he was the only wolf who didn't want to eat me at that moment. The last thing I remember was the scream of my mother and the hazel eyes of the scared wolf and ever since that day I have called him my wolf.