Welcome
to Realm of the White Wolf!!!!!
Of particular importance,
are the impressions of those
who knew the wolves best;
the Indians who hunted the
same lands. They respected
wolves for their:
Intelligence
Hunting Ability
Stamina
Loyalty
Parenthood
The word "wolf" is one of
the more frequently used
in Indian names, and the
Indian's
believed that name giving
was a sacred rite, linking
the individual to the Divine.
This story was written by Robert Joseph Thompson
The
great black wolf finally
reached the cave.
His short journey had
taken a long time, costing
him much blood.
He inspected the floor
carefully, as if choosing
a first, or last, resting
place.
Completing this ritual,
he slowly turned full-circle,
and then sank, exhausted,
to the sandy floor.
A shadow moved to his
side.
The she-wolf washed his
face and cleansed his
wound.
Sharp rib-bones protruded
from his crushed side.
Around their whiteness
the black pelt was matted
with much flowed wetness.
The dark wolf no longer
remembered the she-bear
killing the wolf-pup.
No longer did he hear
the screams of his dying
daughter.
Experience was drowned
in rage.....and he had
been careless.
The snow was tinted for
miles now with the price
of his error.
Each time his shattered
self trembled with pain,
she leapt to her feet,
and stood, attentively,
over him.
Only after yet another
washing of face and wound
would she again lay beside
him.
The time before them would
bring change,
to a worsening, or a bettering.
Of again leading the pack,
or, with his absence,
for the pack to choose
a new leader.
He, himself, had twice
hunted for crippled wolves,
but they rarely lived
a year, and never survived
a hard winter.
Now, fitfully sleeping,
he dreamed of pain-free
days, of their days, together.
Visions from times past
flowed through him;
romping puppy-like through
dark forests.
Swimming rivers and wading
lake shores.
Prancing as a pair in
flowered meadows,
fishing streams by herding
the shallows,
test-chasing the caribou
ever seeking the weak
one,
the varied litters and
joint duties of parenthood,
that sudden, harsh blizzard
when they curled against
each other under the snow.
Rare among mammals, he
was always with her at
birthings,
and, most soul-stirring,
they shared prayer of
prehistoric duets to the
shimmering heavens.
Everywhere, every day,
they were together.
They were seen as inseparable
and the red people came
to speak of two devoted
lovers by saying;
"as close as the two wolves."
While he slept, she brought
him meat, freshly hunted,
first, a grouse,
then, a rabbit,
and even, morsels of moose,
but he could eat nothing.
He dreamed of leading
the troop again, remembering
the fight
to become pack-leader.
No wolf ever shared leadership,
but they did.
Perhaps, because she had
always been near him,
she remained there.
Only she, was faster than
he,
and during the chase,
she raced in front, leading
them all.
All this, was much talked
about
around the fires at night
and the words, "a good
mating"
always spoke of a superior
couple, be they animal,
or people.
He quivered, his strength
seeping away, through
his injury.
He floated back through
the many years of good
hunts.
With her, ever near him,
they ran as one.
Invincible, were they.
No animal could out-plan
them.
Trailing the caribou,
for weeks at a time
they preyed on a series
of weaker animals.
Much meat, many times,
for many hungers.
They were good leaders,
guiding their brethren
to hunt well and thus
survive.
Their most peaceful times,
in any season
came, when they were resting.
Perhaps, with his muzzle
touching her, or her head
resting on him.
He dreamed on, the memories
coming faster now:
their first singing, together,
to the spectacular streakings
of Northern Lights,
their young coming into
the sunlight for the first
time,
blinded, blinking,
how they haunched and
wondered at the world
After birth-times, he
hunted for all.
Later, they alternated
food-gathering,
one of them always remaining
with the young.
And later still, the last
step, when they became
teachers
leading the young to hunt.
How quickly the whelps
grew
How soon they became young
adults.
How quiet the cave once
more
How swiftly came yet another
winter.
His pain was greatest
with any movement, however
slight.
Then, each breath brought
discomfort,
and increasingly greater
pain.
When she noticed a tear
of blood seeping from
his mouth,
she whimpered in uneasiness
at the nearness of death.
Her ears raised as the
wind groaned softly echoing
her grief.
She heard an owl call
and saw the snowy sweep
of wind dusting their
door.
He, alone, saw the distant
spirit-pack rushing to
greet him.
Only he, heard their yelpings
grow louder as they drew
ever closer.
Frantically, desperately,
the she-wolf tried to
rouse him,
with barks and tugs, then
pleadings and whinings.
But, he was already running
at the front of the ghost-pack,
whose sharp yelps of excitement
followed him across the
heavens
as he rapidly neared the
spirit-elk that sought,
futilely,
to escape him among the
stars.
The cave became colder,
the blood stopped seeping,
the dark form set and
stiffened.
She, ever faithful, continued
the solitary vigil.
Puzzled, at the newness
of his not breathing,
she became more restless,
nuzzling and whimpering
against the shadowy stillness,
but he answered not.
A long, heart-stricken
cry announced to the world
that her mate was gone.
It proclaimed , again
and again,
that where two had been
one,
there was now but one,
and that one,
incomplete.
Many days passed and still
she mourned in and near
the cave.
She alternated between
a stricken sentinel at
his side,
and the mourner, sharing
her sorrow by way of the
wind with all the world.
Such a long time she spent
there that all the village
came to know
that the black leader
lay quiet in the cave
and she, as yet,
could not,
would not,
leave him.
They saw that she hunted
not and grew gaunt.
The grey-heads nodded
at her will to not live.
Sometimes the survivor
chose to feed only on
sorrow.
It had happened before.
As she approached death,
the impressed villagers
added this to their tribal
lore,
"as faithful, as the grieving
she-wolf".
It was seen, thereafter,
that her hair began turning
lighter,
beginning along the muzzle,
then inching back along
her face,
until her head was completely
white.
In bright starlight her
snowy head would glitter
near the mouth of the
cave
and words were passed
from brave to squaw,
that she too, had died,
but her eyes and ears
remained,
to watch and listen
for his return.
The people were startled
when her living skeleton
was seen again,
for they had thought her
dead.
She was much observed
running all their old
trails.
Always alone,
looking here,
looking there,
ever coming back to the
end and resting again,
beside the quiet shadow,
that was no longer he.
The familiar paths, their
paths,
these were the ones she
constantly padded,
as if, by trailing their
past, she might find him
present.
She thought he was teasing
her by playing the hiding
game,
as she had teased by hiding
on him.
But he had never before
hid so well, nor for so
long.
So, she continued, calling
and searching,
and the hunters who many
times saw this,
added these to the village
words,
"search as the she-wolf
searches.....endlessly".
After many pleadings to
end the game she always
returned,
in desolation, to the
cave.
Within a season she was
completely white
and in the moonlight
appeared as a thing not
of this world.
The families believed
that she had died.
But, unable to find her
mate in the star world,
her spirit had returned
to search for him here.
Whenever seen she became
much talked about,
because, to see her, was
considered a sacred thing.
When the time came for
the pack to gather,
they assembled near the
cave,
but she joined them not.
They were loyal, remaining
near the cave,
continually pleading,
coaxing her daily,
with delicacies.
They were persuasive,
and they persisted.
When the gray wolves again
ran as a hunting-pack,
She was seen, as before,
running at the fore.
When an ancient was told
of this,
he smiled and said,
"even the spirits must
eat".
She maintained an aloneness
even while with the hunting
group.
One thing was forever
changed.
Each time a pack member
approached her too closely,
she would turn on that
unfortunate with great
rage.
This was always true,
whether running, or eating,
or resting.
The space around her became
inviolate.
When a red-person lost
a mate
but hunted, or cooked
for two,
or made the extra sleeping
space,
of such a one, it would
be said,
"like the she-wolf, a
place is reserved....for
the lost one".
She accepted no other
mate.
When not leading the grey
troop she continued alone,
always searching.
She followed this pattern
in all seasons for the
rest of her life.
He had always been the
strongest, and she,
being with him always,
grew stronger.
Thus, to a new bride,
this was said,
"like the she-wolf, stay
by his side and grow strong".
A few times each year
the entire pack
followed her to the cave
and then waited uneasily.
She no longer called for
him
but entered and lay a
while
at the place where he,
began his journey to hunt
the spirit-elk.
After that tribute, she
returned to her following
and resumed the permanent
homage
of mating again, never.
He was the wisest and
because she always watched,
she learned much.
And so, parents were heard
to say,
"watch as the she-wolf
watches, and you will
learn."
Those that traveled spoke
to other tribes calling
her
"the she-ghost",
and marveled that the
gray pack should follow
a spirit.
Behind her, they were
formidable, moving with
one will,
hunting well, and surviving.
Her ability to find game
became so uncanny
that is was said her mate
spoke to her from the
star-clouds
telling her where to hunt.
Every council fire re-told
the story of the silver
she-spirit,
all knowing leader of
the northern wolves,
ever-successful guide
to whom the stars spoke.
She, the eternal seeker
after her mate.
Years of searching.
And then the white wolf
was no more seen by the
eyes of this world.
Generations repeated their
story,
telling of how she trailed
him along the path
of The Great White Way
as she searched for him
among the stars.
They are not forgotten.
Each time a strong wind
howls down a canyon,
the red brethren say,
"listen The she-wolf still
mourns".
They are often remembered.
Each year when the Northern
Lights
gayly splash across the
path
of The Milky Way,
it is said,
"the she-wolf has, at
last, found him,
for this reason......the
heavens dance".
May
we each find and love
a mate like this,
With all our heart and
soul
Into eternity
**Realm of the White Wolf Links**
***Wolf Pages***
Realm of the White Wolf
is Owned by Spirit©1994
Webset created by Renee
Graphics©1999
Created exclusively for
ROTWW
No other use is authorized.
|