The Wolf is Still With Us
Back when the sky was red, in brisk mountains that lay on the heel of temperate steppes, which were padded with dark forests, a band of men and women in primitive clothing strutted about and did their primitive work. They would have been fair, had the fair Sun not envied them and bronzed their skin. Their houses were of stone and mud but not so simply built, and on an outcrop was a larger building, nicer built: a temple, with a smoothed stone altar in the middle. The sun was low but the sky still bright, and a couple of big, brawny men wearing bear skins like Heracles wore the Nemean Lion’s were holding ropes on each side of a gigantic ox, pulling it to the temple. At the altar was an androgynous figure, also in a bear’s pelt but with a deer’s antlers on their head and the feet of a deer and holding an elegantly-crafted stone knife. The sky began to dim as they slit the ox’s throat for the sacrifice.