April 23, 2018
Wolf is hungry and tired.
Living as Hunter of Innocence is a hard life,
being the Trickster not as easy as it seems.
One must always guard against the assumptions of others,
who do not know what it means to be Wolf.
The Winters are long and cold,
and Wolf must wait for the paths to open to play his role
While he waits, must he not also eat?
For a Wolf cannot live on possibility alone.
It has been many long nights since Wolf has felt renewed,
ancient blood coursing down his throat,
through his veins, like waters of snow melt to the sea.
The Grandmothers live in his Blood.
It is agreed upon.
It is why they live in the Forest.
To make Wolf’s Hunt a little less hard on them both.
Does this not make him Little Red’s relation,
bonded by the blood which sustains them both?
What moral do Red and her Wolf need to learn from men of the court
when the Wolf and his Red contain Universes within, freely exchanged.
What does the man of the court truly know of the path through the Deeps,
of the places where Wolf and Red know each other for Kin?
Wolf is tired. So many centuries of the same thing.
There is Path. There is Red. There is Grandmother.
There is a ritual to all things.
How would Little Red learn, were he not there to teach her,
of the dangers of paths, chosen and not chosen?
It is Little Red’s mother who sets her feet upon the path.
He is simply the test in the Wild.
Do they even remember what the passage rite means?
For the court men have lying tongues and cunning hearts.
He is the right hand of the All-Father,
Is known on sight by Memory and Thought,
But those aspects of his duties are not discussed in the court man's tales.
Grandmother is old and stands at the threshold.
The Veil and Grandmother wait, patient,
for they know that Wolf will come. He is reliable,
like Winter and the winds.
Grandmother and Little Red and Wolf,
bound together through time and blood, memory and story.
Ancient wisdom consumed through blood and flesh,
a remembrance of Grandmothers who have walked the Forest path before
so that Wisdom is not lost for all the Little Reds who come after.
In this, Little Red is wiser than her Mother, who,
worn down by the cares of the world,
and not yet reawakened by the Cailleach’s harvesting hand
wishes only to protect Little Red from any ills that might befall her
from choosing paths less well travelled.