by Kathryn Lasky
It was odd with wolves that went blind. They could be perfectly
healthy in every other respect, but when their vision began to
go, they were forced to engage with their surroundings in an
entirely new way. They moved much more slowly, more cautiously.
As the world around them faded, they began to withdraw. Their
very muscles seemed to contract, and the wolves receded into
themselves, occupying an inner landscape until only a brittle
shell was left of the wolf that had once existed. It was a kind
of living death, a retreat of the body and a contraction of the
spirit.
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