Kids and Wolves

Otto and I went into the woods last night and found something that made us lose our howl: Human children being raised by werewolve and wolves....and weredogs. All were children in dangerous or abusive situations. One was rescued from being held captive by a psycho whose body will never be found.

Werewolves taking in human children, not turning or eating them, to care and raise them, is such a bizarre twist and change that it is hard to grasp. Otto was dumbfounded. He later admitted that he had heard rumors of wolves raising kids but had discounted it as impossible. 

This is not entirely new to me. On the way back home last spring I spent some weeks with several packs of wolves and werewolves in Canada and Montana. In those packs I saw several human children. But nothing like this, not these numbers. And not with weredogs involved.

In one pack, one night around a fresh kill, I was sitting and taking in the symphony of scents and sounds, when a human boy walked past me and took his place at the kill, a moose, and began eating. It was obviously his place as many of the present wolves and werewolves, eating and watching, recognized him with a whine or growl or nod. He replied to all. And he ate.

I asked him later who he was and how he came to be there. He simply said, "This is my pack."

At another pack, somewhat further south, I was in talks with the elder wolves and weres when news arrived of a lost girl not too distant. I immediately left to go look for her, and was mocked and chided as I left by many of the younger werewolves of this pack.

I traveled in weredog form, to make better time, and to better adapt to the terrain, of which I was not familiar. I traveled about fifty klicks (kilometers), about 30 miles, using the chatter of the forest animals to zero in on her, before I picked up her scent. The nearest rescue part was still about six miles away over very rugged and hilly terrain.

I assumed dog form, so as not to frighten the girl, approached her, found her some berries to eat, but no meat, knowing that she would not eat raw squirrel or trout, and curled around her that night to sleep, intending the next morning to take her to the rescuers.

The next morning, en route, we were intercepted and surrounded by werewolves and wolves. "Give her to us," they said through teeth that left no doubt to their intent. I shifted to weredog form and prepared to fight, possibly my last good fight.

"Stand down," roared the werelder from behind them. He came into the small open area wherein we stood, dappled with sunlight through the trees, and turned to look at each of his young wolves. Then he said, "We will not harm their pups."

"Children," I said.

"Whatever," he said.

"Why?" said a young and angry wolf.

"Because we will never kill them all," said the elder. "We have tried that for a long time and their numbers just grow more and more." He said that the only hope of wolf and werewolf survival was to befriend humans and change their minds. And the best way to do that was through the young.

The elder went with us, he and I discussing the changes in weredog and werewolf relations, but held back when I delivered her, in dog form, to the rescuers searching the wrong valley for her. I found her the next valley over, to the west. She, the elder, and I watched from afar as the girl's parents came running up and when one of the rescuers said, "Hey, where'd that dog go?"

Otto and I made it back to his cabin this morning just after sunrise. A chill fall breeze blew in off the lake. Leaves are starting to fall. Otto and I drank 2 pots of coffee while we talked about what we had seen last night, what each of us has seen over our years, and the changes washing over werefolk and the world.

I might be out of here tomorrow.