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They warned the young one about everything.
The mud. The cold. The wolf, if it came.
Before drinking — a warning. Before running — a warning. Before looking — a warning.
The young one grew up with tight shoulders. Learned to pause at every threshold. To smell the air before any step.
Water sounded like danger. Leaves sounded like danger. The dark sounded like danger.
The day the wolf actually came, the young one recognized the smell.
It was the same as the wind. The same as the mud. The same as the night.
Couldn’t tell one from the other.
Stood still.
Moral:
Warn against everything
and nothing warns anymore.
The wolf counts on this.