The wolf caught a scent on the breeze which made hunger explode within. It was the scent of young flesh. Silently he stalked between the trunks of the spruce trees he knew so well. He passed the bones of a previous meal. This would be far from his first victim.

Soon the wolf heard the sound of the stream. He was near the village which had often provided his previous meals. The wolf slowed and listened. He heard a shrill, youthful noise burst through the air. To the owner, it was giggle of innocent joy. To the wolf, it was an invitation to feast.

The wolf crept to the edge of the trees which lined the stream. There he saw a small boy, no older than two winters. The boy was splashing in the little stream. The wolf salivated. He knew exactly how he would acquire his next meal; the young were so simple to ensnare.

The wolf placed himself behind a bush. He then let out a beautiful, soft, short, high noted call from his from his throat.

The boy’s curiosity overtook him. He walked cautiously toward the bushes; though, his caution would not save him. He walked straight towards the jaws of death. He could not help doing so; it was his nature.

The boy was within ten feet of the wolf. Hunger and the desire for blood overcame the wolf. He leapt over the bush, flying through the air, jaws aimed straight at the boys throat. A fierce force of hunger hurtled at human innocence. He could not help doing so; it was his nature.

The blade of a spear slammed through the wolf’s throat and severed his spine as the wolf was hurtled back into the bush.

The father ran to the boy who was otherwise fine beside a small, single scratch. The boy was crying from the pain. The boy had never saw the wolf; he had only felt the scratch and heard the scary sound of the body crashing through the bush. The father picked up and comforted his child; it was his nature to do so.