Long, long ago, my kin began to tell stories, passing down the history of our kind from dam to pup. This is the Long Memory of our kind. Your kind have it too, but more and more, you forget how to look within and read what is written there…
One story tells of when the world was still young and cold winds brought the ice that bites and freezes. Food was scarce, the pack was hungry and the old and the very young were failing. My ancestors saw the glow of fires, warm against the snow and drew close. Hiding in the shadows outside the camp, they watched as you cooked a deer and fed your people. One by one, they watched you curl beneath your furs and fall into dreaming until none remained wakeful save one young boy.
He sat motionless, leaning on a spear and gazing into the distance. My people crept closer, hiding in the deepest shadows, drawn by the smell of meat and the warmth of the flames. One female, bolder than the rest, drew closer still. The boy froze, watchful, his hand tightening on his spear, but he made no move. She crept out into the pale light, poised for flight, her yellow eyes holding the blue ones of the two-legged creature.
Slowly, very slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, the boy reached into the ashes around the fire and found a bone still rich with meat. He tossed it towards her and sat back, once more motionless.
She watched, fearful and distrustful of these strange creatures… and yet, there was something… something she did not understand… that passed between them, eye to eye. Need prevailed and she inched closer, barely moving, each pawstep taking an eternity, until she stood above the bone.
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