Chapter Two: Prestige

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In an old barn, deep in the country, a red tinted snout lifted from the carcass of a squirrel.  The wolf was almost a four-year-old and had spent most of his years traveling from town to town. What set him apart from the rest of his kind was his fur. It was a shade of warm red, charcoal gray withstreaks of white; he was a red wolf.

The wolf’s two yellow eyes glared at two approaching dogs coming from either side of the barn. He licked his chops and stepped over the decaying rodent, his eyes locked on the two strays, bracing for a fight as they came closer, one stray pit-bull mix and the other a large Labrador. With teeth bared and claws extended, the two dogs closed in on the wolf, cornering him. The wolf rose onto his hind legs and swept down on the Lab’s muzzle with his paw. The Lab cowered to the ground, whimpering and rubbing his wounded nose on the inside of his leg. The pit-bull growled deep in her throat and bolted forward, smashing her square head against the wolf’s chest. The two of them tumbled to the ground in a heap of fur and gnashing jaws. 

The pit-bull’s jaw closed down on the wolf’s side and began tearing the flesh off of his ribs. The wolf did not jerk away, but instead whipped around and chomped down on the pit-bull’s muzzle in return. A loud, mournful howl echoed in the alleyway as the pit-bull stumbled backwards. With nostrils stretched in exhalation, the wolf planted himself between his food and his adversaries. The Lab retreated from the scene and did not return; he knew the fight was no longer his. The pit-bull, having one more fight in her, took a bold step towards the carcass and bowed her head to feast on the remains. But the wolf had one more fight in him as well.  A sharp bark broke the silence and the wolf pushed hard off his back legs and rammed into the pit-bull. The two of them met the ground once again. 

  The pit-bull was a fierce fighter and she did not miss a trick. She was skillful and predicted the wolf’smoves before he evenperformed it.  But the wolf was quick and did not make the same mistake twice—he did his best to maintain the upper hand.  The pit-bull nipped at the wolf’s feet, hoping to cause him to lose balance, but the wolf knew her plan and came down on her neck with an open jaw.  Feeling the warm flesh between his teeth, he clamped down, sinking deep into the leathery neck. The pit-bull screamed and wriggled underneath him, but the wolf did not let up. 

The wolf reared and threw the pit-bull onto the ground. The pit-bull squeaked in pain and rolled over onto her back. Seeing her plea for mercy useless, the wolf showed no pity. The pit-bull scrambled to her feet, gave a respectable nod in the wolf’s direction and limped away with her stubby tail lowered in defeat. The wolf buckled his paws underneath his belly and settled down beside his catch. The wolf’s shoulders rose fell in a contented sigh. 

Just like anyone else in the world, the wolf had his own story; he had a future ahead of him and a history behind him. However, this wolf was different and anyone who set eyes upon him could see that. It didn’t matter if the wolf had the mind of a human or an animal, he still had a soul. And for no reason other than to love and be loved, it was the wolf’s soul that prompted him to set out on a mission to find a friendship. Having traveled down from Canada and into the deserted streets of America, the wolf adapted quickly to any circumstance. Through his travels, all his young years, the wolf visited those he believed needed him. House by house, town by town, the wolf traveled faithfully and stayed only with those he sensed to be ill or depressed. People who saw no need for him did not bother with him. Others who saw him as a fine working animal soon learned that he did not want to be claimed by anyone. If he wanted company, he would choose it himself.

              No one ever knew where he came from. Some thought him to be an angel sent to calm the disturbed and frustrated hearts of American citizens while others believed he was the ghost of the people who had once owned the American plains. But no matter where the wolf was from, people began recognizing who he was and where he went.

                 Kismet Whitmore however was one of those who had never heard of the wolf.  His parents were too busy trying to make money that they had no time to talk about the ghost wolf and Kismet’s younger brother, Jovie, was too young to care. But everything changed for the Whitmore family when the wolf wandered onto their grassy lawn one dark evening with a dead fowl clamped in his mouth.

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