We came stealthy in the night, carrying the babes, soothing, hushing, communicating the danger that pursued us. These woods are our home given by the Great Spirit for our use, for our welfare, to live in harmony. My family circle has spiraled, through many eons, to arrive upon this day of sorrow.
The great thunder of the massive birds that spit forth death found us as we flattened ourselves to near invisibility, forgetting these demons can see through the dark while gleefully meting out death. My mate riddled with holes as she tried unsuccessfully to cover the babes beneath her. I, her mantle as the end of my blood slithers off my muzzle, pooling at the feet of the hunter.
“This is the last of the wolf pack men. Good night’s killing.”
As my spirit rises, joining my ancestors, I call the Great Spirit to forgive our killers, allowing them to understand His love for all creatures.