The Lonely Hunter

A Story by Logan Turner

Just a short story about a wolf and his hunt. Tried to base it off real behavior that I once observed while in the North West Territories in Canada. The story is also suppose to give the wolf a human aspect.

The soft thud of my feet fell like a drum in the noiseless, barren land that was my home. Some times it seemed like all life had abandoned this place; this endless expanse of dirt and rock. And yet I could not give up, for every step I took was not for me, but my family that waited so patiently for my return: my sons’ and daughters’ tiny bodies still so young and fragile, each and every second growing weaker, wasting away back into the earth.

But I could not think of this if I were to succeed and bring life back into their bodies, helping them grow strong and eventually to create their own families. Just like my father had done for me, and I would do for them.

I quickened my pace, suddenly excited to find the caribou and make the life or death strike, risking my own life for those who depend upon me. And then, as though my pleas to the heavens were answered, I heard it… the thundering, deafening sound of hundreds upon hundreds of hooves beating down on the ground; the unmistakably smell floating in the air, riding the wind straight to my nose. I had found the caribou.

Just over the small rise, there was no mistake, the caribou were right beside me now. The ground positively shook with the weight of so many bodies. An excited shiver pulsed down my spine as I realized just how fortunate my family and I were, now that I had found the caribou. We could travel with then and always have food. But I was getting ahead of myself. For now I had to focus upon the kill and getting food back to the den so my family could have the strength to travel.

Slowly I walked up the small hill, keeping my eyes locked upon its horizon. I hunched low, almost letting my chest drag against the ground as I crept onward, trying to catch a glimpse of the herd and pick out a injured or frail kill. And then as I rounded the top, I gasped. There were far more than I had ever imagined, not hundreds, but thousands, clustered over the land like a patchy blanket; its sides rippling in and out as the caribou moved. I quickly recovered from the shock of their numbers and started to scan the herd’s edges looking for the easiest prey. It did not take long. My gaze fell upon a smaller caribou hobbling along, its one hind leg dragging limp behind it. It was surprising that the injured caribou had survived so long, but that was all the better for my family.

I slowly laid down, concealing myself in the rocks. I would wait: wait until the injured prey had walked directly across from me before I would strike. It seemed like hours before the herd, at long last, had pushed my kill right in front of me. I raised myself up slightly, about to leap forth, then I stopped myself quickly. I had only one chance for such a stealthy attack, if I failed now it would be a lot harder in the future. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, letting every molecule brush against my tongue, letting the invigorating, life-giving musky sent wash over me. And then like the skilled and unparalleled hunter that I was, I took the moment. I charged forth in one mighty leap, only opening my eyes after I had landed.

The herd was fleeing in terror at the sight of me, soon they would be beyond my reach… but I felt up for the chase. Shooting forward I was already in full pursuit of the injured caribou. As always I was surprised by their speed, but injured it was not enough to outrun me. With a final burst I ran faster than I had ever in my life and with the last ounce of strength left I stretched my neck forward and bit into the caribou’s soft, warm flesh. It tried in vain to shake me off but I had come too far to let go. Even though it felt like hanging on might ripe my teeth out, I hung on for all I was worth. With the extra weight the injured caribou tripped and fell struggling to the ground. This was my chance. I surged forward and bit down on the caribous neck. Then it was all over. The caribou was still at my feet. I had won. I had succeeded in finding the food necessary to ensure my family’s survival. Even though I had taken this life from another I would do it again, for it is my purpose after all, to ensure my family grow strong and fit.

After eating as much as I could I slowly started back toward my family waiting many, many hours away. They had waited so long for a decent meal, and finally I would have one for them. I had not felt so terribly tired for weeks, yet I was still happier than I could ever remember. It felt so good to help those you love; to be able to give then what they need to survive. And even better is the knowledge that one day they will be able to feel the same thing for their sons and daughters. Today this was possible because of a single caribou, and a single minute in which their fate was decided, because like me, they are wolves.

Logan Turner

Tulameen, BC

March 31, 2009