The wolf runs, paws disturbing the vulnerable earth below. Sharp talons pierce the crisp outer layer of dirt, finding the soft, wet inside and pulling the beast closer to nature’s core. Her distal limbs extend—the rough, jagged pads of her paws seek the cold snow ahead. The ice-covered path is frigid but the wolf remains unchanged; the snow bites the tender flesh between her toes. She does not shiver. She does not hesitate in the immortal cold.

The winter’s wind threads through the being’s dense, coarse coat. The gray fur mingles with her red-brown hair, circling the ears and migrating down the snout. But the gray smells like ashes—dark, flaky footprints left in a fire’s wake. It tastes like chalky ash as the substance gives birth to a new generation of foliage.

The wolf is not alone. No, she is never alone. Canis lupus run heel-to-heel with one another, working as a pack. Drool drips from their jowls and seeps into the snow. Their cunning expressions are devoted and trained. They are quick, mannerisms matching that of a Viking raider.

It is a scene that mirrors the Scandinavian shores. In the north, wolf-coated barbarians fight with fervor. Their blood is laced with the wolf. Their heads are covered with the pelt of the beast. But the men are barely human. Their relationship with the wild is intimate, deep, and deathless.

One can travel west to the cascades of California. To the dry air of the Great Plains. To the Yoktus people, the Cheyenne. The wolf was there from the beginning. Where only water was seen. It was the wolf’s shouts that made this new Earth stand firm. It cries to the moon, calling it like a lover. While natives looked to it for guidance, a modern hunter sees the wolf as an unfriendly foe. Nomadic hunters mimic; the present-day killer slaughters.

They do not know. They do not know the wolf shapes rivers. The wolf shapes nature, it shapes the hunter’s wild.

The pack works together to drag down deer, control elk population, and bring moose to their haunches. They feast on the organs and muscle, consuming bone in dire times. The wolf grows taller willows. The wolf feeds the beavers, it creates dams. The wolf shapes the land. The wolf shapes rivers.

The wolf runs, paws disturbing the vulnerable earth below. Sharp talons pierce the outer layer of its morning prey, finding the soft, wet inside and pulling the beast closer to nature’s core. The claws draw the land we tread. The wolf shapes our land–our rivers. They shape the Viking, the Yoktus, the hunter.