The Reckoning
Love. Its what binds us to the gray-ones, to each other. Everyone, our family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, mates, be we human or wolf, we were all of the same pack. We hunted together, ate together, we worshipped together, we sang the packsong together. Yet we have drifted apart. We now see the wolves as mere animals, the deer as just sport, an animal to hunt and kill for the fun of it not for survival. Yes, the packs fight but we slaughter, they fight to keep their territory and we fight to steal that of other countries. Humans kill mindlessly, we do it for money, cars, women, drugs. Wolves kill only to protect the pack, to eat, to survive. We humans have drifted away from the past, for most there is only the future, for some the past is the future. We live by the ways of the earth. In our dreams we run free listening to the sounds of the woods: a stream trickling over the pebbles, a leaf falling to the forest floor, a small bird in the treetops, but most of all, we hear the packsong. It calls to us, beckons for us to join in the hunt, to fell the excitement and thrill of the chase, to delight in the smell and taste of the lifeblood, still warm from the kill. Some of us live by the ways of the past. We live by the ways of the wolves.
This is the reckoning, that one day our kind will prosper, the gray-ones will thrive and the world will once again be whole.
Copyright 2004 Marisa Rose Callaway