A sheep in Wolfs clothing

Let me tell you a story.

Once there was a lamb, not born white or black but a deep grey. His wool was short and wirey, and so rough that not even his own mother would nuzzle him, though she painfully endured his scratching and biting at her teat.

While other lambs played and frolicked in the vale, this lamb would venture far and wide, taking pleasure in his solitude.

One day he found a cave, with a flickering sun within. Drawn to it, the lamb ventured closer, savouring the warmth as he came nearer and nearer.

Until he saw the wolf.

It was lying down in front of the flickering sun, and slowly raised its head, wild white eyes staring.

“Hello little lamb,” it rumbled. “Come closer. Lie with me in front of the fire”

“Fire?” the lamb asked. It had only heard tell of such a thing once before, when the old black ram of the herd would recount the tale of the broken sky and the tree. The ram had spoken with fear, but the lamb looked on with joy. He slowly moved closer.

“Yes, that’s it. So much braver than the rest of your kind”

Then he saw that the wolf was tied down, a thick vine running round its neck to a heavy rock. Had he come any closer, the vine could have reached him. He stopped, and returned the wolfs hungry gaze impassively.

The wolf gave a low, hoarse laugh. “And smarter too. It matters not. The skin wearer will have scraps for me. He wants me starved, not dead” The wolf lowered its head, looking sad and confused. “It has been so long since I have killed anyway. I keep forgetting the old things. Too many of the new in my head”

“Skin wearer? New things?” the lamb asked curiously. He was still young after all, and loved new knowledge.

“Sit! Come! Heel!” The wolf spat each word out like a curse. “It makes me do things other than I am, whilst it wears my brothers fur as its own. Such a beast there never should be. Oh how I hate it!”

The lamb could not help but feel sorry for the wolf. “Then why not fight it? I see your claws are long and your teeth are sharp. Surely you are more terrible than it?”

The wolfs eyes went dead and it cringed. “I must not bite the hand that feeds” it said softly. Those awful nothing eyes met the lambs “You see, this is what it does. It makes you think things you never would, forces its ways into you. You slowly change. Already I am forgetting how to hate. Already I begin to love it. What am I in the face of such things? A terrible wolf? HA!”


There was a stirring further back in the cave. The wolf cowered. “I have woken him. Quickly little lamb, flee from here, and unless you want to be remade, flee from all such beasts. Surely death is a better fate”

The lamb took heed and ran from the cave, but not before hearing the last growl of the wolf turn into a pitiful yelp that never finished.

Eight suns later the lamb had found its way back to the cave. And there, lying on the ground was the skin of the wolf.

Slowly he crept up to the cave. Slowly he crept up to the wolf. Slowly he crept into its skin.
It was so lovely and warm. The lamb had never felt so safe. He moved its head to the front, and looked out through where the wolfs eyes had been. This felt right.

The lamb wore the skin out of the cave. Stepping clumsily due to its great size, he made its way back to the herd.

As he drew nearer he smelled death in the air. Upon reaching the vale he looked down at what had befallen.

Most of the herd had fled. Those that remained were dead or dying, with a pack of wolves tearing at them. The lamb watched unseen until they had ate their fill and left. Then he came down, and tried to find the trail of those that had fled.

He searched five suns for his herd, all the while wearing the wolfs skin. Nothing attacked him.
And finally, he found them in the one place he didn’t want to search-near the cave. They were all penned up, in a strange dead tree hedge that went all around them.

The grey lamb approached, and saw his mother.

“I found you!” he cried joyfully.
“Baaa” said the mother.
“I can free you! I can free you all!”
“Baaaaaaa” cried another.
“Baaaaaaa”
“Baaa”
“But…”
“Baaaaaaa”
“Baaaaaaaaa”

A terrible truth hit the lamb. The sheep’s coats were all cut short. He didn’t need to think who had done this. His heard. His family. They had all forgotten themselves.

The lamb turned and walked away. Not knowing where else to go he made his way back to the vale. The bodies were still there, as were the wolves. The lamb came down and approached them, waiting to be eaten.

Instead, the wolves greeted him.

“Welcome brother”

“Come eat with us”

“The meal is cold, but hasn’t yet spoiled.

The lamb looked down at the bloody remains of the old black ram who had told him about fire. Slowly he lowered the wolfs jaw down and open, and forced himself to eat.

Here’s a truth for you to keep
Better to run with wolves than live as sheep