The knowledge only gave Warren more reason to be on the alert. An injured wolf may prove to be far more wary, and equally far more dangerous than a fully fit and mobile one. He would need to be especially cautious, for after all this was the animal’s territory, not his.

     Warren quickly checked the compass he kept on a rope around his neck. He was headed north, directly into the heart of the snowstorm. The flurries that were penetrating the tree canopy were now heading straight for Warren as he toiled into the wind. He guessed that if he were out of the forest the wind would be even fiercer, the snowfall much heavier and though it was probably colder here than out there he was grateful for the fact that the tree cover at least aided his visibility in the snowstorm.

     It was almost two hours since he’d left home and Warren was beginning to think he’d never find the beast when something made him freeze in his tracks. He could hear something! The sound was coming from not far ahead. Someone or something was walking through the forest not too far ahead of him, and breathing heavily. He listened intently for a moment or two and was able to decipher the unmistakeable sound of animal panting. Emma had been right. It must be the wolf.

     Warren was almost afraid to move. He didn’t want the wolf to pick up on his scent, and then he realised that the wind was in his favour. Grateful for that small advantage, and keeping low, he slowly edged along behind a row of densely packed trees until he could see a clearing not far in front of him. As he peered out from behind a tall redwood Warren could see the wolf about a hundred yards ahead of him. By the size and general appearance of the animal Warren guessed the wolf was quite old. The animal had stopped, presumably for a short rest and had placed the two chickens stolen from Warren’s chicken run on the ground in front of itself. Warren slowly eased himself down on one knee and raised the rifle’s telescopic sight to his eye. Now, he could see the reason for the wolf’s strange tracks in the snow. Not only had the beast been injured, it barely had a leg at all where its rear hind leg should have been. It didn’t need a veterinarian surgeon to deduce that the wolf had in all probability been caught in a trap at some time, not too long ago by the looks of it and had either torn itself free or worse still to think about, the beast had possibly gnawed through its own leg in order to regain its freedom. As he looked at the wounded animal, blissfully unaware of his presence, panting from its exertions and with its damaged leg hanging almost inertly from its joint Warren couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration for the resilience of the wolf. Despite it’s disability it had trudged through the snow nearly two miles to his cabin in search of food, ignored the larger animals available to it presumably because of its own infirmity and had then struggled all this way back to the forest with it’s prizes in its jaws and now appeared to be ready to devour the birds.

     Despite his admiration Warren had a job to do. He had to protect his home, his property. His finger was slowly tightening on the trigger when a sudden movement at the other side of the clearing caught his eye through the scope. Releasing his pressure on the trigger he watched incredulously as the most emaciated she-wolf he could have imagined loped slowly into the clearing, followed by two incredibly thin and equally hungry looking cubs. Obviously born late in the year when food was less plentiful, they looked almost skeletal and were obviously close to starvation. The old wolf seemed to nod in recognition of his mate and with his snout he pushed the two chickens towards her. The she-wolf sniffed at the offerings then very deliberately, she picked the first chicken up in her jaws and almost pathetically she took two paces towards the largest of her cubs and dropped the bird at its feet. The infant wolf instantly began to feast as his mother repeated the performance with the second chicken, this time feeding the smaller of the two cubs. Once she was sure that the two cubs were eating their fill she looked almost imploringly Warren thought, towards her mate, as though inquiring if there anything else. Warren would swear to this day that he could sense the old wolf shaking his head in apology but then, the wolf began a rhythmic motion of his head until almost magically he began to regurgitate part of his last meal, probably eaten while out hunting down the chickens and meagre though it was the she-wolf eagerly devoured the sparse meal. The two parents then moved to their offspring, appearing to be making sure that they’d eaten everything their father had brought for them. Satisfied, the whole family turned towards the tree-line at the far edge of the clearing, presumably ready to return to their lair.

     Remembering why he was there Warren once again lined up his sights and placed his finger back onto the trigger, resuming the pressure that would begin the cartridges’ journey into the body of the injured and hungry wolf, the chicken thief, the killer, the father of two cubs, with a starving mate waiting for him….and he couldn’t do it!

      He slowly rose from his position and with a brief salute to the family of wolves, though they still couldn’t see or sense him Warren turned for home. As he made his way back through the forest he thought of ways to explain to Emma that he hadn’t shot the wolf, even though he could have done. He would need to try to make her understand what he’d seen, what he’d felt as he’d watched the tenderness of the parents towards their cubs, the emaciation of the poor female waiting patiently, guarding her babies while the father hunted for food, not knowing if he’d ever return, not knowing if she and her infants would be left to starve to death. And then there was the old wolf himself. If Emma could have seen him, crippled and limping yet still proud and able to feed his family albeit in a Spartan fashion, Warren felt sure she’d understand.

     Perhaps it was because he was so wrapped up in those thoughts that Warren failed to see the root of the large redwood tree that protruded from the ground about a mile from home, the one that he tripped headlong over before falling to the ground and knocking himself unconscious on an inconvenient rock which lay exactly where his head hit the ground. Warren may have frozen to death where he lay that day if something incredible hadn’t taken place. He woke some time later to feel a warm, wet something rasping across his face. Warm breath, strange and rather foul acted like smelling salts upon his olfactory senses to revive him from his concussed and confused state. As his eyes opened and began to focus he was amazed to realize that the tongue and the breath, belonged to the old wolf. Warren froze, not from the cold, but from fear! Hardly daring to breathe and certainly afraid to move, he looked into the eyes of the wolf who now stood back looking at Warren intently.

     Does he know, thought Warren, that not so long ago I had him in my sights, that I could have taken his life as easily as he could probably now take mine?

     As he thought it, the wolf moved back towards Warren and he felt the warmth of its breath on his face once more. That warmth was suddenly quite welcome, taking some of the sting of the coldness from his skin. The wolf’s tongue licked out once again, rasping along Warren’s chin, up his cheek, then across his nose and forehead.

     Warren looked deep into the eyes of the wolf who looked back at Warren equally intently and it seemed to Warren that there, on the forest floor, in the cold and the snow of a mountain winter, man and wolf reached an understanding. Very slowly, as slowly as he dared, Warren reached out a hand and, when the wolf didn’t back away from him he gently touched the wolf’s head, stroking it gently just for a couple of seconds. The old wolf made a sound, more like a cat purring than a dog sound then slowly turned around and with a swish of his tail, limped back towards the depths of the forest. Just before it disappeared the wolf turned once more looking back at Warren, now sitting upright and leaning his back against the trunk of a substantial tree. Warren raised a hand in salute and farewell and the wolf was gone!

     An hour later Warren returned to the cabin. Emma was pleased to see him, though horrified and concerned at his dishevelled state. As the explanation flowed Emma did indeed understand Warrens’ reluctance to pull the trigger and remarked that if he had he may never have returned to the safety of the cabin and to his loving wife. Warren had spared the life of the wolf and by so doing probably the entire family and in return, knowingly or not, the wolf had saved Warrens’.

     That night the chickens slept in the house though Warren took a side of pork from the freezer and cut it into large portions which he left out for his new friend. A new, stronger wolf-proof chicken run soon followed and before winter set in Warren and Emma ordered a half dozen sides of pork and a couple of sides of beef, just about all the freezer could take. When old Mr. Grainger at the store asked if they were preparing for a siege this coming winter Warren simply replied,

     “No, but we are expecting regular guests for dinner!”