In a forest where trees swayed not from the wind but from surprise—because something was always happening—there lived a Wolf. But not an ordinary one. He was afraid… of himself. Yes, of himself. Whenever he saw his reflection in a pond, he would hide behind bushes and beg not to be shown his own teeth. His name was Mr. Gmyr. A perfect name for someone who never barked, only sighed.
One morning, Mr. Gmyr woke up and decided: enough. Enough hiding, enough pretending to be a beetroot leaf when he was, in fact, a predator. Because being a wolf in the forest wasn’t a choice—it was a responsibility. But there was one problem: he didn’t know why he was supposed to be a wolf. And so, he set off to find meaning.
The first creature he met was the Philosopher Hare. He was sitting on a stump, filing a carrot with a nail file.
“Tell me, wise carrot-eater, why am I a wolf?” asked Mr. Gmyr.
“To run faster than most,” the Hare replied, without looking up. “But not so fast that you outrun yourself.”
Mr. Gmyr pondered that. Then he moved on—beginning to suspect that meaning doesn’t live on stumps.
Next was the Ironic Owl. She slept during the day, but made exceptions for philosophical inquiries.
“Being a wolf is like being a mirror for others,” she said, squinting. “Everyone fears you because they fear seeing themselves in you.”
That slightly offended Mr. Gmyr. But only slightly, because offense is already a reaction, and a reaction is life. And he was trying to live.
Finally, he reached the Mountain, where an old Wolf lived. They called him the Strange One, because he laughed when he hurt and stayed silent when he won.
WOW:
“I don’t know why I am the way I am,” Mr. Gmyr confessed.
“You don’t need to,” the Strange One replied. “Knowledge doesn’t make you deeper. Emptiness does. And if you can endure it—you’ll become not a wolf. But something more.”
“More? What?”
“You.”
And then Mr. Gmyr suddenly realized: he had always thought he needed to eat someone to prove his wolfness. But maybe a true wolf is not the one who devours—but the one who hungers and does not lose himself.
He descended the Mountain and returned to the forest. Now, he didn’t hide. He walked. He didn’t chase. He didn’t flee. He didn’t explain. He simply was. And when others asked, “Aren’t you a wolf?” he answered, “I’m also a question.”
And so he lived. Without instructions. Without a role. And each day, he became a little less of a wolf—and a little more himself.
And the forest… the forest sighed with relief for the first time.
