Carved
Prologue


A wind swept throught the trees whistling softly. The smell of earth was in the air as it usually was before rain fell. Restless leaves skittered across the ground as though trying to find shelter. Many found place to rest under my porch. The beams creaked against the wind in their old age. The roof trembled but held fast as the wind whistled louder trying to break it. Stalks of hops grew not far already withering with winters cold wrath approaching.
I sat there watching it all from a simple hammock strung from two trees. A knife sat long forgotten on my lap as I watched the clouds go by disappearing behind the mountains. It was days like this where no end to the cloud could be seen that I would just lay back and nap. I fingered the wood I held rubbing it between finger and thumb. At first glance I might seem like any other Indian Wolf my brown fur mottled with black. Yet should one step close enough they could tell; I am half blind. My right eye was milk white and had been since birth.
Abandoned, alone, and barely alive I was raised by a old badger who taught me much of the forest. Now even after his death I find myself in the same position I was as a pup. Though not abandoned, I was terribly alone and hardly eating. I should have left by now and traveled some place where I could make a living. Yet, my hold here is strong. I have never known another place; No place could ever be like this. I also knew the dangers should I leave; It is a cruel world filled with wars, trickery, bitterness, and hardship.
Many lines played from my memory. Lines describing the badger I called fathers experiences outside the forest. I also remembered the many he told me on how finding ones self is not about sitting and waiting but doing and exploring. “I never became wise by simply avoiding everything. One must travel, explore, experience, and most of all interact in order to learn wisdom. I have had my nightmare and someday you must have yours. So I tell you now; be weary, be cautious, be strong, and have a will of steel for every nightmare tries to take a part of you away,” my father said leaning back in his old chair. His eyes hard, tone firm, and fingers curled around the armrests.