The Battle of the Fangs

It was the she-wolf who first heard the voices of the men and the whining of the sled dogs. She was the first to spring away from the man cornered in his circle of dying flames. The rest of the pack, loath to abandon the prey they had hunted so long, lingered for several minutes before following her trail. At the head of the pack ran a large grey wolf, one of its several leaders. He directed the course, snarling warnings at the younger wolves who dared to try and pass him. When he finally caught up to the she-wolf, he slowed his pace. He seemed kindly disposed toward her; however, whenever he drew too close, she would snap her teeth or bite his shoulder. Far from being angry, he would simply leap aside, appearing as awkward and embarrassed as a shy young man in love. This was not his only trouble. On the she-wolf’s right side ran a gaunt, grizzled old wolf. He had only one eye, which was on his left side, and he constantly pushed toward her until his scarred muzzle touched her neck. Like the leader on the left, he was frequently repelled by her sharp teeth. When both suitors pressed in at once, she was forced to snap at both sides while maintaining her speed. In those moments, the two male rivals would growl threateningly at each other, but their intense hunger forced them to postpone any real fight. Behind them ran a three-year-old wolf. Though he was full-grown and vigorous, he was kept in his place by his elders. Whenever he tried to move up between the she-wolf and the one-eyed leader, he was met with a chorus of snarls that sent him retreating. Nevertheless, with the persistent faith of youth, he continued to try his luck, though it earned him nothing but nips on his flanks. Had there been plenty of food, the pack would have broken apart into fighting factions. However, the situation was desperate. They were all mere skeletons, running on stringy muscles and inexhaustible energy. They ran for days across a world that was frozen and dead, searching for any sign of life they could devour. Finally, they found a moose—a massive bull. This was a different kind of prey, one not protected by fire or weapons. The fight was brief and savage. The bull defended himself with heavy hooves and large antlers, crushing some of his attackers into the snow. But he was doomed. The she-wolf tore at his throat, and soon the pack was devouring him alive. The bull weighed over eight hundred pounds, providing twenty pounds of meat for every wolf. Within hours, only a few scattered bones remained. With full stomachs, the wolves became more quarrelsome. The famine was over, and as they moved into a region with more game, the pack eventually split. The she-wolf, the young leader, the one-eyed elder, and the ambitious three-year-old stayed together. The she-wolf’s temper had become ferocious, and her three suitors all bore the marks of her teeth. While they were submissive toward her, they were deadly toward each other. The three-year-old eventually made a mistake; he attacked One Eye on his blind side. The battle was fierce, but the young leader joined the old one, and together they destroyed the three-year-old. The she-wolf sat nearby, watching the violence with a sense of satisfaction. To her, this was the natural courtship of the Wild—a tragedy only for those who died. Soon after, One Eye saw his opportunity. While the young leader was distracted, the old wolf lunged and ripped his rival's throat. The young leader fought bravely as his life faded, but eventually, he collapsed into the snow. One Eye approached the she-wolf with a mixture of triumph and caution. To his surprise, she did not snap at him. Instead, she met him kindly, and they began to play like puppies in the snow. Forgotten were the rivals and the blood on the ground; the two were now mates. They travelled side by side, hunting and eating together. After some time, the she-wolf became restless. She began searching for something—nosing around fallen trees and investigating crevices in the rocks. One Eye followed her patiently, waiting whenever she stopped to explore. One moonlight night, One Eye suddenly halted, his nostrils dilating as he caught a scent in the air. He was suspicious, but his mate trotted on, seemingly familiar with the smell. They reached the edge of a clearing and stood together, watching. Before them lay an Indigenous camp. They heard the scuffling of dogs, the voices of men and women, and the cry of a child. To One Eye, the scene was incomprehensible and dangerous. But to the she-wolf, every detail was familiar. A strange wistfulness came over her—not the wistfulness of hunger, but a deep desire to be near the fire and the humans. However, her need to find a hiding place was stronger. She turned and trotted back into the forest, much to the relief of One Eye. As they moved through the trees, they came upon a narrow trail. One Eye saw a white shape bounding ahead of him—a snowshoe rabbit. He chased it at high speed, but just as he was about to catch it, the rabbit suddenly flew into the air, dancing several feet above the ground. One Eye jumped back in terror, snarling at the mysterious thing. But the she-wolf was not afraid. She sprang for the hanging rabbit, but missed. One Eye, regaining his courage, leaped and caught the rabbit in his teeth. As he did, a small spruce tree bent down as if to strike him. Terrified, he let go, and the rabbit soared into the air again. The she-wolf was annoyed and bit One Eye’s shoulder in reproof. Confused and frightened, he struck back, but she quickly punished him until he became submissive again. She then showed him the secret: she pulled the hanging rabbit down and gnawed off its head. The sapling tree immediately shot back up into its natural position. Together, they ate the rabbit that the "moving tree" had caught for them. In the days that followed, the she-wolf led One Eye to other trails, teaching him how to rob the humans' snares—a skill that would prove essential for their survival in the harsh Northland.

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