THEY CALLED ME THE FEEDER
I am a wolf. They call me the feeder. I do not know why. The word does not mean anything to me in the way it might mean something to the two-legged thing I live near. It is just a sound they make. A word. Words do not fill bellies. The two-legged thing is old. Very old. His bones are thin under his fur--no, not fur, cloth. He wears cloth. I have learned to ignore the cloth. It is like a tree...
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