A Wolf Steps in Blood

by Tamara Jerée

When a member of the pack dies, we hold vigil through the night. We howl together, holding the sky open for them. Sunset to sunrise remains unbroken by the hunt. I can’t imagine refusing to gather the pack for a lost wolf.

I reach for the wolf, and she lets me throw my arms around her. I bury my face in her fur and squeeze my heart in my fist and cry. The wolf smells like home—pine sap and red clay and open sky. She licks my face.

“Did you see the wolf?” “You shifted when you entered the circle, and then you were a wolf for hours, and you kind of stared into the distance and didn’t move.” “You didn’t see my heart?” “If I squinted through the veil, I could see you and your wolf at the same time, but it was a private moment. I didn’t want to intrude.”