Ukkarian Wolves
Everyone dies. It is inevitable. Man has tried to fight it since the beginning of time. Who ever would have guessed that the only way to be born again is to risk everything, to come so close to dying that both feet are already in the door. This is what we have come to find. Those of us who have been reborn through fire and pain, and blood. Werewolves.
Werewolves have always been feared as monsters, demons, and killers. Or perhaps all three. It doesn't really matter. We are none of them. We are part animal, part human. A union and harmony of the two. Not ugly monsters. We are beautiful in our own way, as anyone with eyes can see. Superior to both progenitors. Its ironic, in a way. Insomuch as we are not angered, we can tranquil and calming, like any other creature on the Earth.
However, humans are not so passive as they used to be. It is no longer a matter of our anger. It is a matter of our lives. Since Man acquired guns, we are no longer safe to run the course of this continent. It isn't safe for us to show ourselves, for we will be killed on sight, or at least an attempt will be made. Man has risen above fear and is striking back against a race that never hurt them to begin with. In the game of "He started it", we are truly the victims. Man has made it impossible to assume our natural forms in our own homes and neighborhoods. We can't even be ourselves on our most sacred of days, Samhain. We would be all over the news from the point of view of several million small children in costumes.
We have been hunted and killed for trivial human reasons. Our young are murdered, our brethren imprisoned and tortured, our lands ravaged. The land our packs once roamed, once claimed, has shrunk exponentially year by year. We were driven mad by the confines of that safe haven, at first. Then the hunters found us, and we haven't had that problem since. Our ranks have been thinned to near extinction. These hunters come where they are neither wanted nor allowed, but the government has done its most by granting us land. They have lent only a deaf ear to our sorrows. We are alone, but not defenseless. We are strong. And we will fight.
We have been given our land by the government, a large tract of land that spans the wilderness of Northern Minnesota. You could call it a reservation. Indeed, we have friendly dealings with the Native Americans on reservations near us. They understand us. They understand our drive to protect our last home. Without it, we would be wiped out. Thus, we defend it with all vehemence, standing watch in all hours of the night on every corner, waiting. Always waiting. We will never leave, and we will never lose. Behind our borders lies a sanctuary; untouchable, unalienable, ours. OURS. And you happen to have wandered onto it. Will you surrender to death willingly, or will you brave the shadows of fate and join us? The choice is yours.
All images copyrighted to Christy "Goldenwolf" Grandjean.
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