A wolf named Grey had a problem.
He didn’t want to be a wolf.
Not entirely.
He wanted to be the part of himself that loved the smell of pine needles and the sound of rain and the way mornings felt before anyone else was awake.
He was less keen on the other part.
The teeth part.
“I’m going vegetarian,” Grey announced one Monday. 🐺
🌲 The First Week
Berries. He tried berries.
Red ones. Too sharp.
Blue ones. Fine.
Black ones. He ate too many and had to lie down.
Mushrooms. He tried mushrooms.
Edible ones, carefully checked. Adequate. Not thrilling.
Roots. He tried roots.
Crunchy.
Not in a good way.
By Thursday he had developed a persistent rumble in his stomach that he was trying to ignore.
“How’s it going?” asked a deer, from a safe distance.
“Wonderfully,” said Grey.
His stomach said: grrrrrrrr.
“That’s not me,” said Grey.
🐺 The Identity Problem
By the second week, Grey was miserable.
Not because he missed meat exactly.
But because he couldn’t figure out who he was if he wasn’t what he was.
If he wasn’t a wolf-who-hunted, what kind of wolf was he?
Just a wolf who was very hungry and slightly blue-tongued from berries?
He sat in the middle of the forest and thought about it very seriously.
He liked the pine needles. Still true.
He liked the mornings. Still true.
He liked his pack. Still true.
He did not like the teeth part. Still true.
But he was still a wolf. Also true.
Could both things be true?
💛 Ella Finds the Middle
Ella had been watching Grey sit in the forest looking philosophically miserable.
Ella came and sat nearby.
“You don’t have to choose between what you are and what you value,” said Ella.
“I’m a wolf who doesn’t want to hurt things,” said Grey. “That’s a contradiction.”
“My grandmother loves cooking,” said Ella. “But she doesn’t like waste. So she cooks carefully. She’s still a cook.”
Grey thought about this for a long time.
“I could hunt less,” he said slowly. “Hunt carefully. Nothing that doesn’t need to be hunted. Nothing that can be replaced with something else.”
“That’s not a contradiction,” said Ella. “That’s a choice.”
Grey stood up.
Stretched his very wolf legs.
“I’m still a wolf,” he said.
“Yes,” said Ella.
“Just a wolf who thinks about it.”
“The best kind,” said Ella.
Grey went home and ate an extremely sensible dinner.
And felt, for the first time in two weeks, like himself. 🐺