My mother always told me if I wished upon a star, my wish would come true. It seems foolish, but I always looked up to that wolfess. She kept me safe and warm during the blizzard that would sweep through the village and kill us all off in a slow and painful execution. I remember the icicles growing on the bottom of her muzzle when she held my infant body in her embrace and calmed me down by saying everything would be alright. I believed her. It was stupid, but I believed her.
There was one night I remember precisely. It was the coldest its ever been. It was so cold the firepit wouldn’t even stay lit. My mother was crying that night. The tears that ran down her cheek wouldn’t even hit the ground before it stuck to her fur. She opened the tent curtain and crawled out into the bitter winter with my cold and hungry body strapped to her chest with a homemade quilt. She laid in the snow and held me to her face, her breath weakening her heart as she whispered into my ear, “Son, look up and wish upon the first star you see. You can do it.”
Being so young, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. It was a mere mumble to me. She smiled and wrapped me up in the quilt, setting me aside and yelling out as loudly as she could, “I wish for my boy to live!”
Her voice went silent after that. She never spoke another word that night. She died.
I was found the next morning by another clan who was plundering the village for food and valuables. A young fox, around the age of nine or ten picked up my crying body and soothed me to sleep.
I now always wish upon a star every night before I go to bed, repeating the words my mother cried that very night with the same passion she had in her veins.
