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“Why me?"

“I don't know."

The wolf regarded me for a very long moment, his demeanor relaxed, his cool blue eyes soft-lidded, the hint of what some might have called age lines or smile lines at their corners. Save for his slow, even breathing changing the shape of his nostrils slightly from time to time, nothing on his muzzle, his face, his entire head, moved. The large-diameter small-gauge golden ring pierced his right ear low, almost at his cheek, and was adorned with a single bead of turquoise at its nadir. What adornments he had, apart from the leather that appeared as part of his smooth denim jacket and pants, were gold, brass, turquoise, lapis lazuli, formed in loops, pierced beads, or pierced coins woven into the various braids of his long gray-brown headfur. From tip to tail, he appeared to be variations of this same color, as if he had stepped out of a sepia-toned photograph from well over a century ago. That might not have been that far off. He appeared to me to be still shy of finishing his fourth decade; still, if he really was what “those who knew" said he was, he might be closer to be finishing his fourth century.

He sipped from his glass again, not finishing his drink yet being finished with it, and set it on the small oaken table at his side. He stood slowly, reaching his full height before me, more than a head taller than myself. I did not feel threatened, as I could feel that it was not his intention to fight me or hurt me. He was taking my measure, but not of what others in the saloon bar might have thought of as courage. What all the other therians in the saloon saw was a mid-aged human, a little too thin, a bit grizzled for the wear he'd experienced, nothing intimidating or even noteworthy. They saw folly, if anything; they saw what they expected to see, what was known and obvious. It was something else he was looking for, and I probably should have been terrified by the fact that he almost certainly could see it. Everyone I'd asked told me that I should turn back, not seek this wolf, not look for what I was looking for. But in the end, isn't that what defines us – not the road we didn't take, but the road that we refused not to take, the one we walked down knowing somehow that we had to, no matter what it would show us, where it would lead us? What is a road worth if not to take us to a destination, and what destination is it that all of us, every single one of us, must one day reach?

“Do you know where you are going?"

“No," I said. “But you do."

He nodded slowly, the leather fittings of his jacket creaking slightly as the powerful musculature it covered flexed slightly within. “You are ready." A statement more than a question. I found myself nodding as though my head were being controlled by someone or something else. The wolf glanced over toward the bar, made some kind of signal with his forepaw, paused, nodded, then looked back at me. “Come," he said simply, and he turned and moved toward the door. A path opened before him as the crowd parted in silent respect of his passing, eyes more on me than on him. I was, after all, the stranger here. I was the one who didn't really belong. That was nothing new. I'd spent decades not belonging among my own kind, much less these beings.

We stepped into the night that lay outside the saloon, quieter, cooler, clear skies shot through with stars and no moon. I followed the wolf along the wood-plank walkway that led to the far side of the building. It felt like an anachronism, but I'd been told that these beings preferred a simpler life. Was that true, I wondered? In some way, were they like the Amish of my own kind, not wanting to let technology, and the rapid change and chaos that it could bring, infect their lives? Nothing here felt hurried, nor did it feel as if it were lacking in any way. Was it what they wanted, or was it what we had inflicted upon them? These were their native lands, we were told; oases of peace for their kind. “My kind." “Their kind." This, by itself, tells much.

Across a dusty alleyway, he went to the stables, where the non-sapient horses waited patiently, out of the cool desert winds, for their riders to return, saddle them (hopefully without incident caused by drink), and take them back to a familiar home. A young fox, black-furred and lithe, was already hefting saddle and tack onto the back of a dun-colored Morgan, a large specimen of the breed matching the size of the wolf who padded up to him. “Do you ride?" the wolf asked.

“Never have."

He nodded, as if expecting this answer. He said something to the young fox that I didn't understand, and the kit moved to another, smaller horse who came with him gently into the main part of the stables. The dappled mare seemed docile as the fox saddled her. He looked to me with a soft smile. “Come meet her."

I moved slowly toward the mare, who looked at me calmly, ears forward, tail moving gently behind her. As I stood before her, she continued to gaze at me, curious, perhaps uncertain. The fox stood by her neck, leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She looked at me again, and her head bobbed up and down twice, and she took a very small step toward me. I reached up to pet her neck, hoping it was the right thing to do. Her great nostrils flared a little as she sniffed me up close. It tickled through my shirt. Her hide was clean and smooth against my hand. I tried to, for lack of a better phrase, open my heart to her. Unlike so many of my species, I didn't think of myself as superior to other species. I had the feeling that we'd lost a lot by, as the old song put it, treating animals like animals. The fox nodded, finished cinching up the saddle, getting the tack in order. “You'll be okay. Come around here, to her left."

After a little explanation from the fox and a lot of personal courage on my part, I managed to get my left foot into the stirrup and swing my right leg over without either disturbing the mare or damaging anything vital. I had the strange sensation that I shouldn't speak unless spoken to, although no such rule had been given me. I looked over to the wolf, so casual in his saddle that he seemed to belong there. He offered me a nod. “We don't have far to go. Mala'né, pass me his reins."

The slender fox guided the mare over to the wolf and his mount, and I had my first experience with the sensation of feeling the raw power of the Equine. The mare was quite mild-mannered, compared to the Morgan, but she was still a horse, and they are strong and somewhat mystical creatures. I had the impression that these two, although unable to speak and being domesticated by other beings, still had within them a streak of the wild that could be awakened if need be. Domesticated was the wrong word, I felt; they allowed themselves to be harnessed, saddled, ridden. Deep within myself, I sensed that they had offered themselves to us, while others of their cousins had chosen to remain free on the plains. All this passed through my mind in an instant, and I found myself looking again into the cool blue eyes of the wolf. He regarded me for a moment, then spoke softly and slowly, descriptions of how to ride, how to hold myself in the saddle and stirrups. I nodded, and he leaned over the neck of his horse and whispered something into his ear. The stallion moved his chin slightly toward the mare, made a sort of snorting noise, and bobbed his head. The mare did the same, in imitation or communication, I couldn't say. After another moment, the wolf indicated the horn of the mare's saddle and suggested that I hold on to it, gently but firmly. I did so, and the wolf seemed merely to shift in his saddle, and his mount, with the mare close beside, walked out of the stable and into the wide, dusty street.

No one disturbed us, and the lights in the various buildings seemed to burn themselves into my mind as if in farewell. It was possible that I would not be this way again, although I wasn't sure what that might mean. I was aware of them more in the periphery, as the wolf would occasionally offer another suggestion regarding my riding. We kept the slow walking pace to the edge of the town, leaving the fickle lights behind us. After a very short time, still moving slowly, we rode through a realm lit by stars beyond counting, a quantity of them seeming to be part of some vast cloud (was that the Milky Way? I'd never seen it, except in planetariums), the rest like diamond dust against black velvet. The wolf rode quietly, in his element, as everything around us looked to be out of the same deep sepia-toned photograph, vast, timeless. Despite being completely unfamiliar territory, I sensed nothing was out of order. It felt so natural that I didn't notice that we had increased our pace to a faster walk. I could hardly call myself an expert rider, but apparently, I was at least able to keep up. I moved a hand to the exposed shoulder of the mare and touched her gently, my heart giving thanks. She bobbed her head once as we continued on.

Some minutes later, we turned off the main road and rode down an unmarked dirt track that I wouldn't have noticed. The wolf knew where we were going, and why. I couldn't have found my way back to the town if I'd tried, although the mare might know the way on her own. Perhaps if I asked her nicely… but no, I had to find out. This was the time, the place, the wolf I'd needed to meet. I would go where he led me.

Into the hills, up a gradually sloping track to a low promontory, we finally arrived at our destination. The wolf had me stay in the saddle until he tethered the horses to a metal loop driven into the rock. He helped me dismount, which I needed — I had no idea how much I'd been using my leg muscles, and I was sore from ankles to glutes. He smiled gently but he did not laugh.

“Don't sit down yet," he said, unbuttoning his coat. “Strip first."

My hesitation was obvious even if my question was not.

“Be sky-clad for the ceremony," he explained. “Are you cold?"

“Not from temperature."

The wolf jutted his chin at me as he removed his coat. “Strip."

I was neither too modest nor too proud, merely uncomfortable. Discomfort, however, was not a consideration, even discounting my aching legs. I followed the wolf's example and lay my clothes gently atop my own mount. Down to my bare skin, I turned to look at the wolf, momentarily stunned at his physical perfection. His body was firm from ears to toes, strong of muscle, lean and hard, nothing to fat. He stood a full two meters tall if not more, his chest half again as broad as my own, narrowing only a little to his waist and flat belly. His lavish tail, ordinarily expressive, rested easily behind him as if to further conceal his thoughts. His fur, long and thick, matched the dun of the earth around us, save for the jet-black symbols all across his body. None would show unless he were stripped to the fur. Some were the size of a palm, up and down his strong arms and muscular legs; on his upper back and chest, a single patch each, a large circle so perfect that it seemed to float above the fur rather than be part of it. I found it difficult to keep my mouth shut. I'd not met or even seen too many beings like him, and there was a powerful perfection about him that made me feel as if I were inadequate even for my own species. He stood for a long moment, not moving, until I looked him in the eye again. I swallowed, felt my head nod. He jutted his chin toward the clear patch of hardpan not far away. I followed him there, silent, obedient.

He placed a forepaw to my shoulder and, with the other, bade me to sit down. He kindly helped ease me to the ground (my legs were so sore that I might have just dropped onto the hard earth), then stood before me for a moment. My nose was, as would be expected, rather pointedly aimed at his sheath, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't catch the scent of him. It reminded me of something, or perhaps it was just that his scent was unexpectedly strong in my nostrils. Earthy, primitive, feral, complex. It unnerved me to think that he might… or was I unnerved because I found myself wondering, perhaps wanting… I saw his tail hanging low through the space between his wide stance, still, unmoving, displaying no particular intention or desire. His forepaws rested easily on his hips, and when finally I looked up at his eyes, my own must have asked the obvious question. Still, he didn't laugh. “This is neither an abduction nor a tantric ceremony… at least, not yet. You sit there, rest a moment; I'll make the circle."

He returned to his mount and reached into a saddle bag. Withdrawing two pouches, he passed the smaller to me to hold on to while he took the larger and opened it. Moving carefully, he drew a circle on the hardpan around us with an unbroken stream of yellow powder — corn meal, he explained. As he leaned over me to pour, he seemed to take no notice of the proximity of my face to his groin, and I did my best not to do anything unasked for. When he turned to complete the lower half of the circle, his height, compared both to me and the confines of our close quarters, gave me an all-too clear vision of his hard glutes, along with the symbols there — a crescent moon and star to the left, the sun to the right. In Greek mythology, the symbols of Artemis and Apollo. He brought the ends of the circle to a close and stopped pouring from the pouch, pulling the drawstring closed and setting it on the ground inside the circle. He looked at the sky for a moment, then helped me to shift, carefully, within the circle before sitting down himself. He sat close, legs folded and hindpaws underneath him; I tucked my bare feet under my thighs, and our knees touched. His lush fur felt warm against me.

I passed to him the smaller pouch when he asked for it. He withdrew some tobacco, offering a pinch to the compass points; as we sat now, they formed an X between us, and he was able to make the offering without having to toss it directly behind me or himself. He then offered a pinch to the directions of Above, Below, and Within, completing what he called the Seven Directions. Some of this, I had learned from other sources; the rest, he was showing me now. He took my hands into his forepaws, warm, strong, and looked into my eyes. “There is still time, if you wish. We can enjoy a simple Blessing Circle and find healing. Or we can reach further."

“I am ready."

For a long moment, he simply looked at me. “Yes." He squeezed my hands, smiling a little. “Do not let go."

“I won't."

He nodded. “Breathe with me."

The cool, clean air felt good in my lungs as I took it in slowly, more deeply. We held each other with our eyes, so that I could follow the rhythm of his breathing and match it with my own. His lungs were undoubtedly larger than mine, perhaps even more efficient for his body, yet he never seemed to take a breath so large that I felt uncomfortable duplicating it. After ten or a dozen such breaths, he offered me a little smile of reassurance and squeezed my hands gently. He nodded to me, then closed his eyes; I did the same. And then he began to sing.

It was no language that I recognized; I could not understand the sounds as words, only feel them as sensations, primal, aboriginal. His grip on my hands did not change, yet other changes were taking place. From my ears, my hands, my knees where they touched his own, I felt warmth flowing into me, slowly, respectfully, as if not wanting to overwhelm me. I was aware of the cool night around me, but nothing about me was cold, neither was I hot. Warm, as truly warm as I'd ever dreamed of being, from the inside out instead of the other way around. I had heard of this — rumor, speculation, legend, wild tales told at hashish parties and wine-soaked, would-be Wiccan ceremonies. Some called it Drinking the Sun; others had named it the Light of Astra, or simply Starshine. I once heard someone say that it was the realization that we are all made of star-stuff, and this was how we got in touch with the fires of heaven. The descriptions were supposed to be metaphors; now, with something glowing within me like embers of a phoenix, I began for the first time to wonder if it were something more after all.

The singing quieted slowly and stopped. “Keep your eyes closed," he whispered. I felt that he had leaned toward me, and I mirrored the movement. His muzzle touched my cheek, moved up almost to touch my ear as he whispered again. “Keep tight hold to this forepaw," he squeezed my left hand, “and let go of this one," he squeezed my right and released it unhurriedly, moving his forepaw to my knee. “Keep your eyes closed. Do not open your eyes for any reason. Reach out your right arm slowly and put your palm on my chest."

Again, my hesitation must have asked the question for me.

“This is about trust. I want you to trust me completely, trust me enough to keep your eyes closed. Nothing will happen to your body, though your mind may feel something new. Let your heart trust me, and keep your eyes closed. You'll be able to open them soon. Now — reach out your right arm."

We sat closely together, but I wasn't sure exactly how far his chest was from me, so I did as he asked. As I reached, he kept his muzzle near my ear whispering softly, sounds more than words. My arm kept moving, reaching, until it was fully extended, and still I did not touch his chest. My breath caught.

“Eyes closed," he whispered again, quickly yet calmly.

“What—"

“Tell me what you feel."

I swallowed. “I feel my arm reaching out to you. I am… my body is warm, yet there is a sensation of great cold around my hand, my wrist, up to my elbow. I feel a tugging…"

He gripped my left hand tightly. “I am here. Pull back your arm, slowly."

I did as he asked. I felt his forepaw leave my knee and take my hand again. The sensation of cold was gone. He bent his head down to kiss my hand as he held it, and I felt him move my hands to my knees, cupping them, and then he placed his forepaws above them, holding them closely. I felt the pads of his paws against the back of my hands, warm, smooth, somehow joining with me.

“Tell me your thoughts."

“They are a jumble."

“Give me three words."

“Impossible. Intangible. Infinite."

I felt him nod. “Tell me your feelings."

“Afraid, yet I must know."

“Why?"

A long moment passed as I discovered several things at once. “Because I had forgotten."

“Are you remembering?"

“Yes."

“Do you wish to remember? Or do you wish to remain shielded?"

“I wish to remember."

I felt him kiss my forehead gently, then sensed him lean away from me. “Do not move. I am with you. Remembering can be startling, but it is important that you do not move. The Circle protects you. I protect you. When you are ready, open your eyes. Look, and remember who you are. Remember…"

Three breaths, and I opened my eyes. I felt my body try to jump away, felt hard pressure on my hands, on my knees, holding me in place. The wolf's eyes were closed, his muzzle closed, raised slightly. He sat motionless before me, his forepaws still holding my hands firmly against my knees. My attention was riveted to his chest. The large black circle, still perfect, now showed a myriad stars, shifting and swirling in the vast reaches of infinity, and although my body did not move, I felt my Self tumble forward and into the Void.

I am smaller and greater than anything ever known. I am stars and what stars are made from. I am nowhere and everywhere. I am light and shadow. I am everything and nothing. I am what came before and what follows after. I have never been born, and I will never die. I cannot be because I cannot not be. I was chosen when I chose myself, fearless, my breath the last and first, the most faithful mirror that is its own true reflection…

The howl sounded next to me from infinitely far away. I was called. That was where it began. Where I began.

Did you not wonder what year it was?

It had always been this way for me, this sensation of knowing that there was more, yet knowing nothing outside of these barren spaces, these lands that were supposed to be set aside for us, our own sacred nation, home of our ancestors — a term they would say with a smirk, even when they tried to speak to us of honor, of tradition, of keeping the old ways. And they built what they called a future, making sure that we should only think of the past. They built their nightmares and called them dreams. They took what was good and called it sin, then took what was evil and called it noble. They inverted themselves, the black mirror showing them only what they wanted to see, taking from them all that was worth seeing.

Did you not wonder why they keep us away from what they know?

From the edge of the desert, my eyes watched them. For centuries, we watched, generation upon generation of my own, of their own. We traveled on four paws, until some of us learned the one thing that they thought they could keep from us, and we stood upright upon our own hindpaws. Some of us stayed as we were, but some changed, shifted, learned from the stories that they told about us, sifted the truth from the lies, understood in ways that they could not because they had strayed too far from what they were. They traveled a path that stripped them of their origins, made them create ways to make others do things for them, to make things do things for them, and it made them know the unnatural hungers, ones that are never sated. They let themselves want, and crave, and take, more and more, let themselves give, and share, and believe, less and less, until it cost them their fur.

Do you now remember why we keep them away from what we know?

This is what all the rumors were for, the dropped clues, the partial descriptions, the hints, jests, baroque exaggeration, and baseless speculation. It wasn't enough merely to let the mockers mock, for lies must have at least one grain of truth, or they will not last. All that I had heard was as nothing next to the truth, but for those who could listen properly, taking from without but hearing within, there were enough clues for the wise to find their way back. Down the ancient corridors, through the currents and eddies of time itself, from what the no-furs called their origins to that point past the fall of their own witless design, I saw the thread that bound us all, those on hindpaws and those on all-fours, to the longevity that is being one with All That Is.

Do you remember?

“Yes," I said from within myself again. “I remember."

Strange to feel air in my lungs again, to feel blood coursing through me, to feel the soft electrical wind through my nerves, to feel my fur, the thick ruff around my shoulders and neck, my whiskers, my tail. El Lobo, they called my breed — the Mexican wolf, with my ancestors and cousins ranging so far and wide in these desert lands. I closed my eyes, relearning how to breathe. I shifted my forepaws gently to take the wolf's forepaws and bring them to my lips, kissing one after the other, and finally opening my eyes again. He sat across from me, calm, whole, smiling softly. My own muzzle smiled softly back.

“Y'aht'teh, Hok'ee."

“Y'aht'teh, Nastas," he whispered softly. “I have missed you, my love."

“I miss you Between, bil hinishnáanii. Each time I return, I must find you again. I must find myself again." I looked down, felt the old blush trying to begin again. “Sometimes, I do not."

“I abide." He grinned at me. “You're not my only ride at this rodeo."

I had to laugh, the sound both new and old to my ears. “But I am your best!"

“Yes. That, I will agree to."

He leaned forward to kiss me softly, and I cupped his cheeks in my forepaws and brought him closer to me. My body felt new again, felt right, as if I had taken off a suit of clothes that was far too tight for me. There in the lingering power of the circle, I greeted my beloved as I had done so many times before, brought back to myself through the power of our love.

After long moments, we broke the kiss, our muzzles still close, rubbing each other tenderly. “Nastas," he whispered, “I have been so long without you. I crave you. Shall we break the circle and ready to welcome the rising sun properly?"

I chuckled softly. “Praise All That Is for the good things that never change!" The sound faded slowly. I felt my eyes dim. “Let us keep the safety of the circle for a few moments more. I need to impart my experience of this life. I want to leave it behind us before we honor the dawn." I brushed his cheek with my forepaw, kissed him briefly once more. “Will you join my mind?"

He nodded. “Share with me and be healed."

We turned our heads slightly, muzzle brushing muzzle, as we leaned forward to touch our foreheads together. Together, we stepped inside one another, and slowly, I released all that I had held in my last forty-six years as a human. I reviewed without reliving, as to go through it all again would have been agony. I felt Hok'ee's tears as deep and as fully as I had felt my own for so long. I would not wish such pain upon my lover, but he gave his love and sharing as strength to me, gratitude and appreciation for all that I had suffered, filling me with the love that healed as nothing else could. Gently, we stepped back inside ourselves, and I kept my muzzle close to my lover's as I felt his tears fall silently down his furry cheek. His breath caught as he sighed deeply.

“I know," I said, petting him softly.

“I do not know how you stand it. How you keep doing this." He opened his eyes, tears magnifying the crystal blue that I loved so much. “I know why you do it; I just do not know how you can."

“Someone must," I whispered softly, trying to smile. “Better me than someone of lesser character."

My wolf managed a laugh, and he kissed me once again. “You helped many this time. A great many."

“Enough?"

Sadly, he shook his head. “They will do what they will. You have helped those who would otherwise have suffered even more than they already have. You brought light into the darkness that they worship so dearly. You have planted seeds, left clues, done all that you could do for those few who are learning, a step for each lifetime. I helped you where I could, from a distance."

“The only way that you could help." I smiled, nuzzling him again. “You never abandon me, not once in all these many voyages."

“Time to rest from your labors, Nastas. Shall we welcome the sun?"

“So eager," I chuckled. Looking east, I saw the subtle changes that are lost on human eyes, the first flickers that touch the rim of the world in colors far outside the range of light that they can perceive, much less bother to notice. “Yes, Hok'ee, my beloved. Let us return to the world."

Together, we gave thanks and smudged the corn meal circle that protected us. The horses paid us no heed as we gave us to each other. Love cannot frighten a true heart. So it was that Grandfather Sun found us joined, my wolf behind, above, within, and blessed us with a new day. It was good.