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This scene harks back a couple of thousand years to a time when Scotland and Ireland had bear and wolf and elk, all refugees left by the retreat of the last ice age. In fact the last wolf only left us, it is believed, in the late 18th century. In Scotland in a cave in the remote highlands bones have been found that have been DNA sourced to....a Polar Bear..!
Attacks on humans by wolves were and are rare, however they are opportunists. It was a savage and lonely reality to be left behind unconscious on a desolate moor, far from help.

An Mac Tíre

Fdf5205c-8b5b-4da8-a6dc-63fe28d680a9by Billy J. Stewart26 Mar 2014

Caillte againn Ailín,
Mar a bhí ar siúl againn go dtí an sráidbhaile.
Mar sin, bhí muid bródúil tar éis an lae a chaith muid,
‘Muid bua, fir bródúil as fiaigh, le eilc.
Shíl mé go raibh sé ag Éibhear.
Ní raibh.
Bhí sé ag éirí déanach, bhí dorchadas ag titim.
Páirtí cuardaigh eagraithe, tua rug, rug dóiteáin,
I gceannas muid amach ar ais go dtí an sliabh,
Ansin, go dtí imeall na foraoise, scaoll ag fás.
Ansin, go dtí an imréitigh.
Ní raibh aon chomhartha air.
Préacháin inis scéal i ngach áit, doirtil tá súil.
Fuair muid dó.
Nó in áit, bhí cad a d'fhág air.
Gur thit sé, I mo thuairimse, agus ní raibh muid caill air ansin,
Bhí a leithéid ag ár n-áthas an ghabháil
Bhí muid dírithe mar sin dul abhaile
Caithfidh sé a bheith gortaithe, mar níl aon chomhartha de streachailt,
Ach praiseach.
Agus casadh soir fheicimid iad, ar an iomaire,
Reáchtáil chun na cnoic dorcha,
Goilí iomlán Ailín. Mo dheartháir.
Agus san oíche ‘mé ag scairteadh…
“Beidh mé dhíoghail air, beidh mé tú a mharú!
A Mhac Tíre!”

WOLF
We lost Ailín,
In the charge back to the village.
So full of ourselves after the day,
Victors we, big hunters, elk in tow.
I thought he was with Éibhear,
He wasn’t.
It was getting late, dusk was falling.
Organised search party, grabbed axe, grabbed fire,
We headed off back to the moor,
Then to the edge of the forest, panic growing.
Then to the clearing.
No sign.
Crows everywhere told a tale, hearts sink.
We found him.
Or rather what was left.
He had fallen, I think, and we didn’t miss him then,
Such was our joy at the catch,
And our faces set on home.
He must have been injured, for there is no sign of struggle,
Only mess.
And turning east we see them, on the ridge,
Scampering to the dark hills.
Bellies full of Ailín. My brother.
And shouting there, into the night, I curse them.
“I will avenge him, I will kill you!
Wolf!”