dreams.”
The heavens shimmered and moved and he could not take his eyes from their hypnotic effect. His breath hovered briefly in front of his face then spiralled upward until it was swept away with the Northern Lights. Then, in the swirling eddies, wolves appeared. They loped across the sky, swooping down like birds, before rising up again. Once again the boy prayed, but this time to the wolves. “Keep me safe,” he whispered.
The wolves came down to earth, encircling him, sitting on their haunches, forming a ring of protection. Their leader spoke, but not in words. His message entered the boy’s consciousness as if by telepathy.
Close your eyes, Red Wolf. Sleep well. Know that we are guarding you. You are safe within our circle, little brother.
The boy slept peacefully.
In his dream, he looked into his father’s eyes and he felt love cover him like a warm bearskin. Then HeWhoWhistles was gone, replaced by an image that George had seen every day at school: Jesus hanging on the cross. The God-man wore nothing but a breechcloth and a crown of sharp, twisted twigs tangled in his long brown hair. His eyes looked directly into George’s. It was as if the dying God-man was seeing the real Red Wolf. Not 366. Not George. The God-man was seeing the soul of Mishqua Ma’een’gun.
He wanted to bask in the feeling forever, but he was whisked away and sent tumbling through the air until he found himself looking deep into the amber eyes of a wolf. The wolf wore Jesus’s crown of twisted twigs, which even in the dream struck Red Wolf as more than a little strange. Without words, the thoughts of the wolf flowed into the boy’s soul.
When the strange ones came here, thinking they had discovered a new land, they did not see that wolves and true people had been here forever. There were no scratchy lines to say the land belonged to us and to the other creatures that fly, swim, crawl, or walk on four legs. We had no fences to keep us in, or them out. But you and I both know that from ocean to ocean, from mountaintop to river bottom, it was ours, together. Creator gave it to us, forever.
The strange ones took land that was not theirs to take, but no matter how much land they stole, they always wanted more. They were greedy and never satisfied.
They cut the trees that held life together for all of Creation.
They killed our prey, taking the furs but leaving the flesh to rot.
They put fences around the weak and stupid creatures they brought with them. Then, when we killed these stupid ones because our children were hungry, they called us ferocious savages and killed us with guns and poison.
They made reservations where the soil was weak and worthless, where there were no herds for hunting. And that was where they made your people live. And the laws made you stay there, a disinherited people forever.
In the name of God they stole you from your home and locked you behind walls where bad things happened. But they used the name of God falsely.
They say that their God is the true God, and that our Great Spirit is a deceiver. But it is they who are the deceivers. They made promises and treaties that they never intended to keep. Of all the promises they ever made, they kept only one; they promised to take our land and they did.
The boy was startled from sleep. A great blue heron soared over his head, her immense wings folding and twisting to carry her safely through the canopy. He looked at the mist hovering over the surface of the lake, heard the water lapping lazily against the rocks, and didn’t know where he was. Then everything rushed into his mind. He looked for the circle of wolves. It wasn’t there. He got up and searched the ground for tracks. There were plenty, unmistakably wolf: large pads, four toes, and non-retractable claws. They could have belonged to Crooked Ear, but faith told him they belonged to the heavenly wolves. He felt braver now. He felt protected, although he wished that Crooked Ear were with him.
Packing the dream catcher in his bag, he started down the trail and soon came to the shallow creek where he remembered resting with his father. Recalling what the old man had told him, he took off his boots and waded upstream, hoping to throw the dog off his scent. It was slow and painful progress on the humped and rounded stones. The dense spruces and cedars along the water’s edge prevented the sun from filtering through, and soon he was chilled to the bone.
He climbed out on the far bank, and from that slightly elevated position he could see a beaver pond. Tree stumps stood around the shoreline, their tops nibbled into sharpened points like the pencils the boys used at school. A beaver lay on its back in the sunlit water, chewing on a small branch, but it rolled and dived as the boy lumbered clumsily toward it. He sat on a log in the sun, warming his ice-cold feet. He unwrapped his food, planning to eke out the meagre remains, but hunger got the better of him and he swallowed the bread and cheese in a single gulp.
A bittern walked furtively through the marsh grass, stalking its next meal. The bird plunged its head into the mud and when it came back up, the hind legs of a frog flailed from its beak. Tossing it in the air, the bird caught and swallowed it in one deft manoeuvre. The boy empathized with the frog.
Ravens cawing from a perch high above the landscape interrupted his thoughts. The raucous cries spoke to him, reminding him of his childhood, of his father and the ways of The People. The ravens said that an animal was dying, and that they were first in line. The final pieces of bread and cheese had left him feeling even hungrier than before, and he wondered if he could beat the ravens to the rabbit or bird whose life was coming to an end. He put his boots back onto his tingling feet and jogged off to investigate.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The ravens looked down at the four-legged trapped in the snare. They bobbed their heads, watching keenly for signs of life, balancing hunger against the fear of approaching a living predator. One made a brief sortie, but when the trapped animal flailed its head and snarled, the bird quickly retreated to the treetop, landing clumsily alongside its companions, pitching them back and forth.
Suddenly their attention was diverted to the small Upright who had scrambled to the top of the rise, and with arms held out like wings was flying toward them, weaving in and out of the trees, all the while emitting a high-pitched, bird-like call. When he headed toward the dying animal, they attacked him. Red Wolf covered his head with his hands and ran.
A ferocious snarl stopped him dead in his tracks. Ahead, a wolf drew back his lips in a vicious grimace. The wolf looked so different from the animal he knew well that for a fleeting second the boy didn’t recognize Crooked Ear.
“I’ll get you out,” he murmured, not knowing quite how and squatting a safe distance away to think. The wolf whimpered then licked and nibbled at the noose of snare wire that had all but disappeared into the swollen flesh of his front paw.
The boy traced the snare wire back to where it was secured to a metal peg embedded in the ground. He tugged, but it was anchored firmly and refused to give under his weight.
Crooked Ear was calm now, and the boy moved closer to get a better view. He stroked the big wolf’s head and spoke gently. “I have to get that wire off. If I can loosen it, you’ll be able to slip your paw out. Then you’ll be free.” Although he spoke the words with confidence, he was scared that pain would make the wolf attack him.
“It’s going to hurt,” he said, lightly touching the wolf’s leg and slowly moving his fingers down to the injured paw. The animal flinched but didn’t pull away. The boy spoke softly as he loosened the snare. Crooked Ear growled and flung his
