The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack

by Scott Peterson

  “He never listens,” Bagheera said with a sigh.

  Mowgli released the vine, tumbled forward, and landed with one foot on the limb of a banyan tree, instinctively bending his knee as the bow flexed under his weight. As the branch recoiled, he bounced up to a higher branch on the next tree, then raced across the narrow perch before leaping into the air.

  Exhilarated, the man-cub tucked and rolled, flipping down to the earth, where he landed directly in front of the young wolves, cutting them off.

  The startled teen wolves skidded to a stop.

  “Gotcha!” Mowgli yelled, laughing.

  “Come on, Mowgli, that wasn’t fair,” said Gray, now almost as big as the boy. Mowgli couldn’t believe how fast the pups had grown. “You cheated.”

  “Your enemy won’t be playing by any rules,” Bagheera said, coming up behind them. “And you must be prepared for attack from any side.”

  The other wolves looked down. The panther was right. Gray was about to protest, but he didn’t get the chance, as a huge, heaving creature suddenly crashed through the dense Jungle leaves, gasping for breath.

  “You guys…are going…too fast,” Baloo panted between huge gulps of air.

  Mowgli walked over to Gray and rubbed his head.

  “You broke for the footpath when everyone else went high,” Mowgli admonished.

  “That’s what you do,” Gray protested.

  “Maybe,” Mowgli admitted. “But that’s my path. You have to pick your own.”

  “Oooookay,” Gray reluctantly agreed.

  In the distance, the harmony of howling voices called out to them.

  Bagheera, Baloo, and the man-cub escorted the young wolves back to their dens while the Wolf Council gathered as they had for centuries. Each wolf took his or her traditional place, save one, who now had a new position.

  Raksha climbed proudly atop the rock that had once been Akela’s post, to oversee the Council as its new leader. She threw back her head and howled, a rich, resonant cry that was quickly picked up by all those sitting around her.

  The one exception was Mowgli. He slipped silently up into the tree where Bagheera was perched, laid his arm over the broad ebony shoulders of his companion, and watched the proceedings. From his new vantage point, the man-cub made eye contact with his mother. She acknowledged him with the slightest of smiles, then turned to the rest of the pack.

  “Look well, wolves!” she called, and then howled powerfully into the sky once again. The rest of the pack picked up the refrain, and this time Mowgli joined in, his voice far from the weak attempts of the past. His howl was unique but mighty.

  The branch beneath Mowgli and Bagheera suddenly shook. Down below, Baloo was climbing up to their perch, the tree protesting as the bear occasionally paused to scratch his side against the trunk, stumbling ever upward. Mowgli smiled.

  A bear. A panther. A wolf pack. A man. He didn’t know if it truly fit or not, but it didn’t matter. It felt right to him. It was his story, after all. Maybe you fit where you decide you fit, Mowgli thought. This was where his family lived. This was where he had carved his own path. This was where he belonged.

  THE END