“T o look into the eyes of a Wolf is to see your own soul,” said Aldo Leopold in his book A Sand County Almanac. I first gazed into those eyes in my youth when I ran with Wolf, even though no one else could see her. When I left home, I went to live with a family of Wolves. In their eyes I found my lost soul, which was both Wolf and Human. I am now in my elder years, and I walk as both a blue-eyed Human with white hair and a blue-eyed Wolf with white fur. I see not as a Human, but as a creature of the Forest. I stalk through the understory not as me, but as a hunter in kinship with all hunters. I tell a tale not from my memory, but from a universal spring effusing the common experience of killing and feasting and loving and grieving. I now strive to be as detached from identities as the chased Deer who doesn’t care about the name of her pursuer—all that matters to her is the terror of the hunt and the hunger for another tomorrow.