May/June 2023

A young wolf finds himself drawn to another, dangerous world The wolf pack silently wandered through the forest, our leader in front. I stood by my mother, straining my ears for any sound that could mean danger. Trotting towards a tree, I lowered my nose to sniff at it. My mother nudged me with her nuzzle. “Keep together with the rest of the pack, son,” she whispered, tilting her head towards them. “You’ll get lost.” Darting after the cluster of wolves, I stared at my surroundings. Gigantic trees loomed over us, a soft breeze ruffling our fur. The trees swayed gracefully, small rays of the full moon’s light slithering through the many branches. Owls hooted, bugs buzzed, and water trickled down some rocks. Everything was peaceful—until all of the adult wolves’ heads snapped towards one side. I only heard it after the others: shouts. Children’s cries of joy as they played together. Their laughs as someone cracked a joke. Peeking through the leaves, I saw the lights of houses. Man-made structures covered the area, where children chased one another. All I saw was happiness. The wolves froze, eyes fixed on the Legulus (meaning “gatherer”: they called them that because the beings attracted many different kinds of scents). Then they dashed into the trees. My mother dragged me deep into the forest. My mother loves me. She feeds me when I’m hungry, plays with me when I’m bored, and curls up with me when I’m cold. But there’s one rule she has that I don’t understand: Never go near Legulus. Shaking myself, I looked up at my mother. She had bent down to lick me as other wolves poured into the cave we were in. The leader carefully peeked out before turning his head back to us and giving everyone a relieving signal. Everyone seemed to relax, except for me, who was more puzzled than scared. Confused, I whined and gnawed at Mother’s leg. Even while standing, my head only reached her elbow. Soon, we all settled to sleep. I curled against my mother’s warm body and stared at the vast, blue sky. Stars were blinking around the surface as they looked down upon us. The moon’s rays lit everything up, creating eerie shadows of the trees. I turned my head, peering at another cub that was a bit larger than me. She slept curled up between her mother and father. Sighing, I stared next to me, where my father would’ve been. “I want to tell you something.” His face turned towards mine. “Never tell anyone about what I am going to tell you.” My father passed away years ago. I was only a few months old when one day, the leader came up to us and said in a low and calm tone, “He is gone.” We were devastated. It felt like yesterday: me, curled up against my mother’s body, weeping. I still remember the day before he’d died, how he had told me something as we watched the sunset. “Ever since I first saw Legulus, I was fascinated by them. They seemed like such caring and gentle creatures. So unique and talented, in many ways. But of course, others thought I was crazy.” He gave a sigh. “My dream was to one day be amongst them.” For a moment, only the sound of nature was heard. I sat by him, watching the sun’s orange glow slowly melt away. “I want to tell you something.” His face turned towards mine. “Never tell anyone about what I am going to tell you.” I playfully licked his nose, edging closer to him. “Not even Mother?” I asked. “Not even Mother.” “Why?” He sighed a deep, soft sound that was filled with a sorrow that the small, foolish me didn’t recognize. Turning back towards the sun, he said, “Because, if you do, it will bring trouble for all of us. You, me, Mother. So. Do you promise?” For a moment, I stared into his deep, blue eyes glinting in the dim light. They were always filled with happiness, excitement, and kindness. But at that moment, I noticed, they were also filled with longing. “I promise,” I said finally, turning away and resting my head on his paws. “What is it?” A faint smile played on his face before he opened his mouth. “I will tell you a story,” he said. I gave a sniff. “Mum can’t know of a story?” He playfully placed his paw on my head, forcing me to shrug it off. “A unique story. About a wolf.” “What type of wolf?” I immediately pressed, lifting my head to look at him. “A cheeky, curious wolf that loved to explore. He—” “He’s just like me!” A wince flashed across my father’s face. “Just like you,” he echoed. “Then, one day, like always, he was exploring the woods when he came across a Legulus. He was tall, an adult. The scent of wood, smoke, and leaves wafted off him. The wolf was curious. Like always. He walked toward the Legulus and when the Legulus saw the wolf, he did not do anything. He was not like the usual hunters that would usually wander in the woods. Instead, he was kind and caring, and his laugh was soft and nice. In no time, the young wolf befriended him. The wolf learned his name was Orson. Orson was like a second parent. Sometimes, Orson would sit by a fire and feed him bits of meat—delicious, coated in fat, and cooked above the blazing fire. “But there was one flaw in their relationship. Wolves despise Legulus. They view them as dangerous creatures. If they knew about him, they would surely chase him. So, for Orson’s sake, the wolf hid his existence from the rest of the wolves. He secretly met with him when the sun set. He covered the scent of the treats by chewing twigs and rats. He disguised Orson’s scent with mud. “Their relationship grew. But Orson began to miss their meetings.

A call to action to protect the unique types of fairies that are helping preserve our ecosystems A keystone species is a species so important to its ecosystem that if you took it away, the whole ecosystem would collapse. An example of this is the sea otter. Sea otters eat sea urchins, which eat kelp forests, which produce a lot of oxygen. Because sea otters are endangered, there are more sea urchins, which means less kelp forests, and that equals a whole smaller amount of air. Quite a few fairy species are keystone species, like the moonglow fairy. The moonglow fairy flies up to the moon and back every year in a flutter (that’s what a group of fairies is called!), presumably during the spring. Owls, bats, and other aerial predators rely on this fact to catch a full meal of fairies. Moonglow fairies are also pollinators to many plants, like trumpet vine, moonflower, and bougainvillea. The typical moonglow fairy lives for five to six years, and when they die, they provide important nutrients to the soil. Another fairy keystone is the willow fairy, which is one of the few omnivorous fairies. They keep the mosquito population in check so illnesses like malaria and the bubonic plague don’t spread. However, willow fairy habitats are disappearing fast, as they only live in weeping willow trees. This is an example of a keystone species becoming vulnerable. On the IFSO’s (International Fairy Safety Organization) Endangered Fairies List, willow fairies are critically endangered. Climate Change The last fairy keystone we are going to discuss is the honeybee fairy. Honeybee fairies are so small they can hitch a ride on the bellies of bees! When the bee lands on a flower, the honeybee fairy dismounts and rolls herself in pollen with the bee. This way, the plants get pollinated twice as fast! But, because honeybee fairies live with honeybees, and honeybees are endangered, honeybee fairies are categorized as extremely vulnerable on the IFSO Endangered Fairies List. Because so many keystone fairies are endangered, thus endangering their ecosystems, we have to start thinking about the effect our icky plastics and gasses have on them. And we can’t do “quick fixes,” either—we can’t just plant willow trees willy-nilly. We need to stop destroying natural spaces so there are more areas for willow trees to grow. Fairies and animals influence their ecosystems and us. If we act quickly, we can still fix all the problems we’ve made for ourselves. Starting with the fairies.