The wolf had stood there, he had fallen behind the pack that he used to lead as their great leader. He had become weary about keeping up. He stood and looked out, listening for the sounds he grew up hearing. No howls, not even a whimper did he hear.

He clawed at the crusty ground. A dusty road made by the humans. A crime to his kind. A trail that was not natural.

The wolf scrapped at the road again. What was he trying to dig for? Had he become this mindless? He looked ahead again but knowing he would see them again, his pack.

He started trampling the soft warm road. It might be the end for him. The natural trails were getting too difficult to travel. His memory was getting too hazy. His senses were dimmed to blindness and became almost deaf.

On the side of the dusty road was stacked up logs and brush. Underneath were openings that had room for him. He had long forgotten the sounds of the pack. The last thing he remembered, was laying down underneath the huge stack of brush. His dreams of his glorious days past, faded into darkness.

Images courtesy of  David Crane:

 

mahihkan – wolf

mahihkanak – wolves

mīskanaw – road

mahihkan  namīhtāw – wolf left tracks