The White Wolf
There is strength in numbers, and strength in standing alone. The wisdom is knowing when to be each.
There was and there was not a bitter wind that chased Raven across the high ridge, sharp as shards of broken sky. Raven flew low, feathers pulled and twisted by unseen forces. She knew the wind was not alone.
They had followed her for some time now, the Whispers. Shadows without form, spirits that clung like thorns to feather and thought. They whispered doubts, old fears, unfinished wounds. The more Raven turned to scatter them, the tighter they circled.
As she faltered, wings heavy, a pale shape emerged ahead. Still as stone, yet alive with quiet power. White Wolf stood on the ridge, her coat shimmering like frost beneath moonlight, eyes calm as winter lakes.
Raven landed roughly at her paws, breath ragged. The Whispers hissed, swirling fast around them.
Without a word, White Wolf shifted. Four great legs became a shelter, a solid arch of warmth and strength. Raven tucked beneath her, into the hollow space between paws and chest, safe in the steady heartbeat of the Wolf.
The Whispers raged, but they could not enter.
They circled. They clawed at the edges. But the White Wolf held her ground, silent and sure.
After what felt like both moments and forever, the winds began to fade. The Whispers grew thin, until they vanished like mist under morning sun.
Only then did White Wolf lower her head. Raven peeked out, wary.
“You could have chased them,” Raven said softly.
“I could have,” White Wolf agreed. “But sometimes standing still is the fiercest protection of all.”
Raven tilted her head. “You walk with a pack, yet here you are alone.”
White Wolf smiled faintly. “I am both. I belong to many, and I walk my own path when I must.” Her voice softened. “The same will be true for you, Little Wing.”
Raven stepped out from under her, the wind now soft and carrying only the scent of pine and snow.
They stood together at the ridge's edge, looking out into the vast unknown.
There is strength in numbers, and strength in standing alone. The wisdom is knowing when to be each.
© 2025 Sarah Dooley. Story and images by the author. All rights reserved.
