More news comes from the anthology that included They Hunt Us, Too.
The book looks good, at least online. Contributors don’t get a free physical copy and being descended of both Jews and Scots as well as well-set in my Sisyphean academic career, I can’t see my way to buying one.
You should though. In addition to my piece there are several dozen contributions of art, prose, and poetry.
All proceeds go to the National Wolfwatcher Coalition what’s mission is to “educate, advocate, and participate’ for the long term recovery and the preservation of wolves based on the best available science and the principles of democracy.”
Not an unworthy cause.
Below is an excerpt from They Hunt Us, Too. Please consider purchasing a copy of Wolf Warriors.
There’s another alley a block away that I sleep in sometimes. I don’t like it but my legs are shaking, stiff. It’s too cold, and I’ve eaten too little to go far. I need to sleep and hope that tomorrow is warmer.
In the wind that causes my eyes to squint and tear, the city almost looks like home. With eyes nearly shut, the street could be a stream, the sidewalk its shore. The shadows on buildings could be gaps in the trees; the lights could be the moon over every shoulder. The glint off the windows could be stars. There are even puddles in the street to trick my other senses.
I step in one and regret it. It’s nearly frozen and all the fun of pretend goes away. I look to either side, and no one is watching. The water looks mucky and disgusting, a multicolor film ripples in and out from where I’d stepped. It smells worse than it looks. I’m so thirsty, and no one is watching. I drink what I can stomach, cough and gag, and drink more until I’m worried anything more than that will make me sick. I can’t throw up, I can’t afford to waste anything.
I try squinting again, but it’s no fun anymore. The city isn’t the woods, and no matter how hard I try I can’t pretend it is. My foot is so cold I have to limp, so now my gait is loping and awkward. Frost’s beginning to form, making my leg numb: every other step is a limp. I can’t be seen. I look sick. Someone might put me away.