So when they shaved the lamb’s soft, flawless fleece I took it for myself; disguising my coarse, grey coat with pure woolly pleasantry. Though the weight of it nearly broke my spine and it’s density nearly choked me- I nestled behind the screen of safety it provided. Camouflaged. Socially acceptable.
I quivered beneath layers of off-white hair for fear that they should glimpse my all-the-better-to-eat-you-with teeth or catch the golden glimmer in my eye.
I politely chewed on their cud without acknowledging the hunger that oozed out of my pores.
Through my cowardice I denied myself what I truly desired. I fantasized about feasting on their flesh, letting the blood dribble down my chin, no longer white as snow. But I convinced myself I was the one with all the power. They were fools and I was wise in my silence of repressed howls, behind the bleats of stagnant self-deprecation. Wouldn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable. Wouldn’t want to be found out.
That was how it was.
Until the day I saw tapered claws in the silent grass and heard the quiver of a growl behind the bleating. I was not the only wolf in the village. That was when it all changed.
The toil and burden of wearing that cumbersome coat only amplified my insatiable hunger to be known. I was famished of freedom and ultimately alone in a crowded field of fear.
I took it off. Baring hairy limbs and pointed ears, I unveiled my yellow teeth and remembered what it was to howl. Though it scares me half to death, and many have fled, I hear them coming, lonesome in the woodland and I’ll stand here waiting. For my pack.
Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves (Gospel of Matthew 7:15).