The Wolf and I

Chapter One

Isolation can eat away at you, slowly, until there is nothing left—or it can aid in self-preservation. To accomplish the latter, I have made routine my companion. It keeps isolation's jaws from closing over me. I am as devoted to my routine as I am to my isolation, for as soon as my eyes open both come alive.

My routine and I begin by gathering vegetation from our small plot of tamed wilderness in preparation for a breakfast that will sustain us into our late morning walk. Each day this walk takes us farther than the day before (with slight variations due to new discoveries) until we are ready to go home. I never know how long we'll stay; we decide together when the time has come to turn back. On our return, we check our snares for the night’s dinner. We prepare our meal to the sound of the wood stove heating water for a bath. After dinner, this bath is where I sit till the day's worth of my routine has fallen from my flesh and mind. Isolation finds me there. The day is picked apart, its pieces unraveled from the whole; isolated moments reflected in my journal of the life I live to survive. When all this is done, sleep is a welcomed visitor—unless it brings guests from a life left behind.

Today was like any other day prior: I gathered strawberries and spinach, prepared breakfast, dressed myself. However, as soon as my mind shifted to the morning walk, I became keenly aware that I had become a creature of habit who had veered into the same direction every time without thought. As if some unseen force was choosing the steps for me. This new awareness confused me. The point of my habitual outing was to dig deeper into the unknown; for it was there I understood myself more. Nature after all, is the most accurate mirror to who we are; its reflection does not lie. I wondered what I was trying to accomplish before. I decided today to take a different direction. There was a noticeable change in the air that was electric. Oddly, outside seemed freer—wider, more opened. The energy settling around me quickened my stride into this new direction, filling me with purpose I've never felt. I lost myself pushing the miles out. The scenery blurred together as I moved, and I had almost stepped over him before I saw him. My mind snapped back from the groove it was forming to assess the obstacle in its way. My instincts knocked me backwards, fear almost escaping my throat. My silence did not mask my fear from the wolf that lay in front of me, only feet away. He snarled at the smell and attempted movement towards me, then yelped in anguish. Landing back down in defeat, his eyes seared mine with rage that retreated into exhaustion. I held his gaze for a few moments as air managed to find its way back into my lungs providing the oxygen to calm down and think more clearly. I could see that his left hind leg and right front leg were both broken. His shallow breath indicated broken ribs, and blood was oozing from his head. Despite his wounds, the fear and aggression I read in his eyes made me believe that he would not hesitate to kill me if he were able. I stood up, making my movements slow and intentional as I looked around him for evidence that might tell me what had happened. He kept watch over me as I moved around him. When he couldn't adjust his angle to mine, he would grunt in a manner I could only translate as frustration. I found nothing to explain his wounds—only awkwardly angled drag marks leading up a hill and rolling down into a valley below. Beyond that I couldn't tell how far he had come, nor did I want to. It's hard to define what I perceived at the bottom of those hills. My gut twisted itself looking down its edges, it seemed to remember something my mind wouldn't. I felt I was staring into the recesses of nature's soul and it didn't like me peering. Its glare forced my eyes back to the wolf. I squatted down to study his situation, pondering how I was to help him. The idea of leaving him vulnerable to other animals finishing him off didn't suit me. Helping him would put me at risk of an infection if he were to bite. With no living person near, this would be a reckless decision. Many others might have left him to die or put him down themselves, but the many do not live here. I do.

I took off my flannel and tore a wide long strip. I held it in front of him as I tied a loop and smoothed my voice out.

"I haven't had to use my words out loud for some time, but now it's necessary for you and myself to hear them. This is for your jaw. I will help you, but if you make an attempt on my life, I will take yours to save mine. This is for our protection, to keep both of us from the regret of taking a life."

I don't know what I expected from a wild beast, nevertheless I paused to search his eyes for understanding. His lack of acknowledgment gave me the stupid courage to wrap the makeshift muzzle around his jaw. I focused on my breathing, filling up with air first in my pelvic, then pushing it up to my chest till it ballooned with air. I held the balloon as I moved in towards him, astonished to find no resistance as I tied a loop under his snout. I counted the amount of time it took to secure the strips behind his ears with hums. Hum, hum, hum, and so forth—still holding my breath. My hands were the same size as his ears. I have never seen a wolf as big as this one, the length of him much longer than my small five-foot frame. The span of his face wider than my waist, I got lost in imaginations of him snapping it in half. I shook my head and released the air from my body. There was no way in hell I could lift him. The only option I had was to construct a stretcher and drag him over the miles I had come. I surveyed the area and found two thick sticks. I took what was left of my flannel shirt and buttoned it up, pushing the sleeves inside the shirt so that I could thread the sticks through them. This was the middle of my stretcher. I did the same with my reinforced windproof jacket, placing it at the bottom of the stretcher. With the sticks in place, I found two more sticks to attach as cross ends and tied them in place with my shoelaces. To complete the top portion for his head, I made do by taking off my top and stretching it over the ends. There I was in my bra, pants, and floppy tongue boots; figuring how I was going to drag him onto the stretcher. My eye caught his. The weariness I had seen behind the wolf’s eyes turned to what almost looked like laughter. My skin crawled. Animals aren't supposed to make you feel naked. His amusement turned to pain as I made my first attempt to slide him on. I'd placed my grip around his sternum and got as far as his chest when his head swung at one of my arms, knocking me to the side. Although his jaw was bound, I was stunned and shaking at the mere force of a head nod. He made that same growl that sounded like frustration. That's when I noticed another tear on his back. No matter which way I dragged him, I would be pulling on some wound. He was still when I approached him again, but I was not. My pulse climbed into my ears with shouting spasms. Shit, shit, shit—the only words in my head rising above the noise. I repeated to myself that I was cool and calm to reign it in before moving my hands to his sternum again. I could feel his developed muscles tense and I had to repeat the mantra again as I dug my heels in. I might have made a sound. If I did, I couldn't hear it over the blood surging in me as I dragged him up the rest of the way. To think that was the easy part plagued me—I knew the journey back was where the real physical struggle would be. I had looped my leather belt through the frame and around my hips as I reached back with both hands gripping the ends of the stretcher, but fuck did it cut in when I pulled his weight. Placing the belt lower on my body made the angle closer to the ground, and prevented him from sliding off the back of the stretcher; keeping him from rolling off the sides depended on my keeping it stable. I had to think of it as an extension of me; my body would move in certain ways to compensate as it shifted. My feet constantly slammed into the front of my boots—I thought several times of cutting the toes out. Despite the growing sensation of blisters forming, I didn't want to stop and lose momentum. Prolong the process and you'll prolong the pain. Better to burst through with an intensity that pulls the pain up to match and be done with it. Stubbornness goes a long way in the wild and that's exactly how far we have to go. Approximately three miles, a relatively short hike—till you add a hundred and ninety-seven pounds. His successful season of hunting sat around my hips, causing a dull throb that traveled through my lower body. I slipped myself around in the belt so that it dug into the back of my hips. This method provided some relief; however, the wolf was no longer out of view, and the reality of him could not be avoided. The paw from his good leg braced near my grip, his claws like arrows pointing at me with a sharp reminder. Icy shivers converging with beads of sweat seized me. I slipped around facing forward again and welcomed the sharp shoots going into my hips. Their ruckus shot any fears up and propelled me forward. Traveling half a mile an hour took nearly six hours to reach the cabin. Covered in sweat, dirt, and unfortunately a bit of urine; I fought back tears as I reached the door. I had fucking made it. The lactic acid must have eroded my ability to think; because I kicked the door open and broke the lock. I rushed to the bed, belly flopped on it with one end of the stretcher on top of me, and wriggled out of the belt and from under the weight of him. I came back around the bed to dead-lift the part of the stretcher that was still resting on the floor so that I could slide the rest of him onto the bed. Only for a moment did I pause to appreciate what was accomplished, for moments stolen detract from the overall goal. One foot in front of the other till he's where he needs to be.