A bright orange sphere peeked over the horizon as morning broke. Golden rays poked through the clouds and into a small cave near the base of a mountain. The dew sparkled as it was greeted with the new day's light. An orange-grey figure sleeping in the cave was illuminated, and his fur blazed like fire. The coloring of his coat paired with sunshine always made a brilliant spectacle.

But Colmillo felt like anything but brilliant. He was starved. He had barely moved for days and had survived solely on whatever poor mouse or rabbit that wandered by the mouth of the cave. Through his bright fur his ribs could be seen. He hadn't been this bad off in a long time.

He took a deep breath and let it out. It was quite a workout, as he had barely any energy and was in bad health besides. Five longs years. His life had been five long years of nothing but suffering. All he could do now was bemoan his sad situation. He had been driven from any sort of wolf civilization, as he could do naught but live in the past. And living in the past was hard enough, as his past was filled with nothing but death.

He was getting old. Come fall, this would be his sixth year on the cruel earth. Come fall, he could expect another year of sadness and suffering. Creo que . . . moriré, he said resignedly. Why continue living? Why face another day of torture, agony? What kept him going?

With great effort he peeled himself off the dusty ground and loped to the cave entrance. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight coming from the east. He had asked himself these and many more questions frequently. But he always returned to them, seeking an answer where none was to be found. Something kept him going, and he didn't know what, so he had to keep living to find out. That didn't make any sense to his wolfen mind, but the answer would suffice for now.

He spotted a mouse sniffing about to his right. He would have turned and pounced, but he lacked the energy. Instead he weakly made his way to the object the mouse was sniffing—a fallen apple. The rodent scampered away without a look back, and the mexicano bent over to smell the fruit. It had been there at least a day and was showing signs of age, but Colmillo needed something to get his strength back. He risked a lick, decided it was safe, and dug in. He held it in his paws as he bit off chunks. By the time he was done, his maw was a bit sticky, but he was feeling much better. Now where did that mouse go . . . ?

But, no, he still didn't have the strength to catch a mouse. And it didn't matter anyway. If he caught the mouse, it wouldn't provide enough energy to replace that which he would have wasted in catching it. So no mouse today. He needed bigger prey. But bigger prey required greater strength, and he was a bit low in that department—not to mention it had been months since he had actively participated in hunting a large animal. He wasn't sure if he even knew how. But he had held the rank of hunter before, so perhaps he could live up to the title now when he couldn't in the past.

And there the past was again. He couldn't stop comparing his present situation to the past—he couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew his love wouldn't want to see him like this, but it was tough to recover. He still hadn't recovered fully from that or from anything that had happened to him. And when he thought he had recovered, something else happened that destroyed his confidence and courage. His past had left him a broken shell, a ghost of what he could have amounted to. He could have a family now, with a mate and cubs. He could be a pack leader. He could be healthy and in charge of himself and others. But instead, his mate was taken from him, and he fell into an eternal walking slumber as he was in presently. He couldn't function without living in the past. Perhaps his past would be his destiny. Perhaps his previous life of one horrible event after another would culminate in one tragic event that would finally take his life. That would be a relief, as he wouldn't have to live in the past ever again. In fact, he wouldn't have to live.

After his mate died, he contemplated suicide, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't take the final step. And thus he was alive now. Still alive to face every day. Still breathing so he could focus on past events. Still living and . . . his stomach rumbled. The sound broke him from his reverie, and he lifted his nose into the wind to catch any scents that would interest him. There was a slight breeze from the north, but it carried no smells of prey. That would mean he had to look around for something to eat.

He slowly dragged himself to his feet; a couple remaining pieces of apple fell off his paws as he stood. He turned around to face north and began heading that way. At first, walking more than a few paces was a difficult chore, but he soon got the hang of it. He had been off his feet so much for the past year or so that simple actions became complicated.

He trotted through the surrounding forest at slow speeds, pausing occasionally to detect any smells that he could eat. He got lost in another reverie and failed to watch his step. His right front paw caught on a tree root, and he toppled over, banging his chin against the hard ground. It hurt a lot, and he didn't rise immediately. The pain shot like lightning through his skull and neck. He let out a whine and just lay there. Sleep soon came and stole his consciousness.

Colmillo awoke in the same position with a little soreness. His paw ached where he hit the tree, and his chin ached, too. He was lucky he hadn't been panting, for he might have sliced his tongue off. Unmovingly, he took in some air to feed his lungs, inhaling some dirt. A cough escaped him as a result, but a part of his mind registered something in that breath. There was a scent he recognized. A scent he could eat. Deer.

He quickly struggled to stand, and his hurt paw slipped, sending him to the ground again. It knocked the wind out of him, but he took in another breath and confirmed the scent, so he again attempted to rise. This time he succeeded, standing and then shaking dirt off himself. It was time to eat.

And the wind that had brought the smell was still coming from the same direction, he knew his prey would be straight ahead. He trotted along, glancing at the ground now and then to make sure no tree decided to grab his feet again. In no time, he saw the deer. They stood in a small meadow, grazing. There were two bucks and a doe. The smaller buck was rather aged, if his judgement was correct. I'm not feeling too adventurous, he thought, so it's gonna have to be the old one.

The problem now was how does he go about getting it? He could go around to the other side of the clearing, where the deer where closer to the tree line, but then the wind would easily give him away. He could go to the sides, but his traversing the perimeter may also give him away by sound. It seemed his best bet was just to charge out there and take it down. Which would be much easier said than done.

He wished he could think this out carefully. He wished he had a pack to help him. He wished he was stronger and faster. But none of these could be helped. This had to be done now and in whatever condition he was in, and he would have to be alone in the effort. His stomach growled again.

The large buck would protect the doe, his mate, and the old one had very little antler left, and his legs were weak. It would not be easy, but its physical condition would prove helpful. Colmillo's legs coiled like springs ready to be shot off.

He took a breath a mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. He let out the air along with a low growl that only he could hear. It was time.

He sprang from the tree line and began running. He was a little off balance at first, but he rectified it and kept his eyes on the goal. Just as he predicted, the large buck and the doe ran north, away from him. The smaller buck only had time to look up. Colmillo lept into the air and landed on the old one's back. The momentum shifted its weight to its left, and the added pounds on its back caused it to topple over. Its left front leg buckled and cracked with the pressure. Colmillo rolled off of it and quickly regained his footing. The deer was down, and he sank his teeth into its neck for the death blow. It let out a cry of pain, but no one was there to hear it. The other buck and the doe were long gone.

When Colmillo took his fangs from its neck, he saw it was only bleeding minimally. He had mostly missed the arteries and veins. Oh, well, it would be dead soon enough. He couldn't wait around there and eat it, so he decided to drag it back to his cave. It would take him some time, but it would be worth it. The smell of dead deer wouldn't be broadcasted to every creature in the woods that way. Sure, there would be a scent trail and a blood trail, but he could better protect his kill in a cave. The meadow offered no shelter.

He grabbed a back leg with his mouth and began dragging it. The deer coughed up some blood and yelled, Ow!! It kicked the leg in Colmillo's mouth. Colmillo yanked on it, dislodging it from its socket and tearing some muscles. The leg was still, but the deer kicked with others to no avail.

Let me go, please! the deer cried. I don't want to go! Please, leave me be!

¡Cállate! Colmillo yelled, his words muffled by the leg in his mouth. He continued dragging his prey. The deer's head bumped across the root he had tripped on.

Please, no! the deer moaned. I have family! They will miss me!

Shut up, idiot! Colmillo replied.

The old deer was in tears now. His body made a path through the dirt. Plea-ea-ea-ease, no! Help! Anybody!

It was getting old. Colmillo dropped the leg, turned, and glared angrily at the deer. Look, he said. No one's gonna help you. I am going to eat you whether you like it or not. You are dying. He motioned to his neck wound. I've sliced through some of your throat, and you're going to eventually bleed to death! Do it quietly!

The deer was silent save a little whimpering all the way to the cave. Colmillo thought he had either resigned himself to die or had simply died. But when the deer saw the mouth of the cave passing overhead, he cried out anew: No! Don't eat me!

Colmillo ignored him and let him rest near where he had awakened this morning. The deer kicked and tried to stand, but it was useless. Its legs were in bad shape, two of them being wholly useless.

What have I ever done to you? Do you eat me because I have wronged you? Did someone else wrong you? Why do you commit this crime?

He would have said, "No one has wronged me," but that was a lie. He felt like the entire world had wronged him. He said instead, I'm hungry. He went to the leg with which he had dragged the deer and sniffed it. It smelled okay, so he took a bite from it.

The deer screamed in pain. Ahh! Please! Stop! He seemed to decide to talk his way out of it. I can see you're distressed, he said in gasps, fighting the pain. What has happened in your life to drive you to look like you do?

Colmillo paused and looked sideways at his ribs. He did look pretty bad. I've had a rough life, if you must know. He took another bite.

Ahhhh! Oh, please, stop! the deer said. Perhaps I can help.

This caught Colmillo's ear, filling him with rage. What can you possibly do? You're just a carcass! You don't know what I've been through! He found himself pacing in front of the deer, using quick steps in his anger. You can do nothing to help me!

Perhaps I can offer advice, he choked out. I am old, and I have lived a long time. I am experienced.

What kind of advice could you offer me?! You don't know what has happened to me!

I would know if you told me.

This stopped Colmillo's pacing. Should he explain? Should he tell his life story to a thing he's just going to eat anyway? The temptation to vent was too strong, and it won out: I was stolen from my family as a pup, my mate died when I finally found a home, my packlands were destroyed by a volcano, and I was shunned when I asked for admittance into other packlands! I'm hated by nature, fellow wolves, and myself!

The deer inhaled a painful breath. That is in the past. Why not live for the future?

Because I can't stop living in the past! Colmillo plopped down on the ground in a whole-body sigh, dust filling the air around him.

That is your problem. You can't forget what's happened to you and forgive yourself. The deer was losing blood quickly by now. Colmillo was glad he had only a few moments left to torture him with "advice." Yes, bad things have happened to you, but you have failed yourself by giving in and letting them bother you and affect your day-to-day life. You must leave the past where it is rather than bringing it forward to yourself every day, and forgive yourself for drowning in the past at every opportunity.

The words made some sort of sense, but they repaired nothing. How am I supposed to forget the death of someone I love? Forget the destruction of a place I called home?

Let them go. The deer coughed again, this time choking on some expelled blood. Let your mate go. You can't do anything to help her now. You only ruin your own life by holding on.

Colmillo was in tears. How can I let her go?! I loved her!

Cherish what time you had together, but live for the present. She wouldn't want to see you like this. She would want you to live.

Colmillo sobbed. So many years of pain rolled off him in those tears. His life would need rebuilding, but this was a place to start. You're right.

Have I helped? He sounded hopeful.

You have helped immensely, Colmillo replied. It was time to change. He would be different. He would live. But he was still hungry. You realize this changes nothing for you?

I know. I will be dead soon anyway. His words were broken, hard coming out. I hope my last act in this world has been a good one. Please make it swift.

Colmillo rose and stood over the deer. Thank you, he said, and he wrapped his teeth and the animal's neck and bit down. This time, he could feel the blood freely flowing. When he released his jaws, the deer was gone.

*          *          *         *          *

The deer provided Colmillo with plenty of nourishment. He got three meals out of the carcass. Colmillo, with his new-found energy, decided to climb the mountain into which his cave extended.

At the top, he watched the sun set. The wind whipped around him, blowing his fur, and the sun shining on him made him appear on fire, as always. But this time he felt different. There was a fire within him. There was somethig burning deep inside him that said one word: Live.

He had been wrong to bemoan his life all this time. He had done nothing but destroy himself by moping around all day, every day. He had been slowly killing himself. But that would change. Now things would be different. He felt he could let his past go. He felt he could forget his faults. As he watched the sun set, its orange beams tracing their path across the sky, he felt he could live.

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