I found, it seems as if he were waiting forever, and always knew that I would come back to her: the den. Now I'm here again, and I feel safe now that are in its embrace, including gray and black lava rock water from the dry weather. I feel the cold limestone staring at me in silence, yet I feel his warmth, like a house made of wood, I see humans, and often look slienzio in the evening, when they come to life and light and and warm inside, as if by magic, give off heat around.
I found the way without effort, I found how I had managed only yesterday, as if every day were returned to the den to check that everything was in order. Yet it is not true, it is not so. are years, perhaps centuries, if ever I had been here, if I search my memory I do not remember time spent in this place, yet I feel as if I belonged. Maybe so humans can find your way, even if in the night, albeit with the odd tools that make noise and have eyes that hurt the sacred silence of the dark into the night. I I have no tools, I have nothing but myself and what my mother and my father I received involuntarily, something they told me to call instinct and I feel in my soul forever.
I make a turn around, checking if someone has already occurred and what the people around me, strange birds from the verses, a few small rodent leaves slight signs in the ground, sniff around and check there are no threats, as when I was little and I saw him do to my father, the father who protected us all every day and every night away while looking for food and never making him miss me, my sisters and my mother, his beloved bride. Becchetti a little friend, the "partridge" that makes a rattling toward Sassetti thrown together, but in the end only knows what to do and nothing else. Becchetti and fly away, happy, carefree, he who has no enemies that steal the life or home and leave him to die forgotten by the world as it was to my parents, caught in a stupid man he believed to balance the bad suffered by someone and that the wolf has been vindicated, but that revenge did not feel different, if not more stupid.
could feel the smell of wet soil after the last rain, I like to sniff deeply, the smell makes me live, it gives me the idea that always been like that in my life, and assures me that the plants will grow again and give the berries that I love and a child brought to the den mother to us kids.
I lay down on the leaves still moist and taste the caress of the sunshine I smooth his head, feel the heat enter my inside, I thank you, thank you for come back to me every day when the clouds let him in caress the hair and give me a greeting of friendship, that friendship which binds us together for many years now. E 'finalmnente nice to feel at home, feel safe and happy to have found what I always was looking for, that place in my father told me and that little soul my dreams, which are then grown and become almost a fixed idea in my eye that was lost in the horizon, when grown-up, stared at the sky and expecting nothing of the fireball came down the mountain leaving behind the memory of his heat between the hairs of my coat. It 'nice to feel an air of the place you know as if he were released yesterday, even though you've never seen, as if it had always been in my head, and it's nice to sniff the air and smell good of fresh wood, dark and damp earth, friends of animals, clean air to war, how I wish life forever. It 'nice to go home and feel part of. None had shown me, my mother and my father had never been there, had failed him, the pack leader, I did not think I could succeed, but me he had predicted: " searched and searched without stopping ever, without giving in to fear and fatigue, always try and not be afraid to fail, you will find the lair! Your den! "
sleep around me, slowly, gently over me, and me without violence, allowing me to choose as a way to restore his strength, after these days of travel. The eyelids beat and shadows embrace the forms of the tree, the sounds become muffled, and what surrounds me I get smooth and dangers, I trust, the nose does not bring signs of danger, instinct makes me give in to fatigue without fear of ambushes, and I'm grateful, Spirit of the Great White Wolf that always guide me in my path. sunk into the darkness of the deep and give in to fatigue, happy.
It embraces the whole night in the safety of silence, the peace that pervades the forest and all its inhabitants and the scents that gently lead up to the sky, a hymn of peace and love, to be sincere and pure, not polluted by reason, but only with instinct, banal and simple instinct, what the two-legged animal has denied thousands of years ago.
