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  • Writer's pictureAmr Abbas

Wolven Path: Lullaby of Wolves

Read the first part of Wolven Path here.


Several months before we walked the wolven path, Silas told us a story.


“My grandmother used to tell us stories about the world before. She had seen the great rise of the seas and the great fall of the lands. Her eyes, blistered with the sun, still weeping tears of stone. She told us of the day the ground shook, the great shadow of the sun, and the air that burnt the lungs.”

When Silas spoke, the rest listened. He had a voice that spread awe and he knew words that they did not. He looked older than the rest of the boys his age. He was taller and wider, but most of all, he had gray hairs sticking out around his temples. There were not many, but they were visible in his dark brown hair. He knew when to pause, when to intensify his voice, and when to move on with his words.

The gifted boy spoke on as flames sparked from the bonfire that the boys had built. “She said, ‘When the moon scattered, the wolves, they sang, they wept in the scattered light, and when the rivers rose, they dug with their claws, they held onto the earth, for when the furs were ripped when the skin tore off, and when the blood swept, they spoke in unison. Had we known the strength of those claws, no soul would have slighted Gaia.'

“She spoke of times long gone, times before her days on this placid land, she spoke of Gaia, the goddess below, of Chronos, the god all along, and of Anthropocena, the devil and her spawn, those who dwelled in tatters of Kashmir who sang for the devil.”

I held a twig over the fire for seconds, then as I moved it to my mouth to eat the moss that stuck to its end, I said, “You speak of a goddess, where is she? Are we abandoned?”

Silas turned his head to me and sighed, “Abandoned, yes, but not forsaken, my friends. For she shall rise again, from the ashes of this tomb of dust and stone, Gaia will rise, and we will linger in her warmth and her love. Maybe it will be our children, or maybe their children.”

“Did your grandma ever gaze upon her?” asked another boy as he chewed on a leaf.

“Did she hear her?” And another.

Silas’ eyes were flickering against the flames when he spoke, “Friends, friends, let us not dwell upon the past. For the past is gone, and the future is yet to come, let us remember our oath. Let us never sin as our fathers have before us. Let us all give her grace and pray for she must rise once again.”

“Our lady of the green, our lady of the blue and of the air above and the heat below, we thank you for the grace that you have given us, for the moss, for the leaves, and for the tattered scattered greens.”


Written by Amr Abbas.

Cover photo created with AI.


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