EM BUSCA DE PALAVRAS 22

A Melhor Amiga de Um Sniper – Parte XVI
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There will be a wolf.
It showed itself a couple of months ago. The wolf looks at me, but it’s not really looking at me. It’s looking through me, to someone else. Someone who is looking at him.
The two observe and measure eachother. They have known eachother for quite some time. They are not friends. You cannot be friends with a wolf. Not even when it lets you get close enough to the clearing of the forest. You cannot be friends with this man either. Not even when his right index finger is nowhere near the trigger of the rifle resting on the floor by his side.
The wolf is in the edge of the forest, parcially hidden by the shadows of the night the moon draws through the dense foliage of the wild pines. It’s a young grey wolf, reaching maturity. It is 2 years old. In the wild a wolf survives roughly 7 years. In captivity it may reach 14. But this wolf is free. And it will remain free until its death. Like the man who is watching it. That is why they measure and, somehow, understand eachother. Because they are two of a kind.

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There will be a wolf. With no name. Just as the man who watches it. He is also nameless. This man looks for this wolf often. Looking at it apeases his soul. When he looks at this wolf he feels peace. Peace of mind. Piece for his conscience. Peace.
When it looks at this man, this wolf feels a restlessness within him. An excitement, a fear mixed with an unbearable atraction. It recognizes the smell of this man from a long distance and it always knows when he’s coming to visit. It has learned that this stranger will not threaten its territory.

Either one of them does not approach the other more than they should.

They respect eachother. They fear one another. They feel atracted to eachother. It’s a game. Between two very different creatures. Between two very identical souls.