The scene is a high ridge. The sun is bleeding into the sky, a violent, bruising purple and orange. The Wolf is restless, pawing the ground, already looking away from the light
Wolf: It’s pretty, I guess. But the pack is running. I can hear them. If I stay for the whole sunrise, I’ll be at the back of the line.
Raven: You are always running to the next thing. You treat the present moment like a recurring event.
Wolf: (Laughs) Because there is a next thing. There is always a next thing. The sun comes up every single day, bird. It’s the most boring miracle in the world. I can watch it tomorrow. Or when I’m old and my legs don’t work. Right now, I have better things to do than watch the sky do what it does anyways.
Raven: You seem to count your days as if they are infinite. Like a coin purse with an infinite supply of coins for you to take out. You reach in, you pull one out, you spend it on nothing. You never wonder if your fingers are brushing the bottom of the bag.
Wolf: Stop trying to lecture me. I’m young. "The Last Time" is a story for things that are dying. I’m just getting started.
Raven: The Last Time doesn't introduce itself. It doesn't come wearing black. It looks exactly like the First Time. Do you remember the hare you chased yesterday? The one you gave up on because you were out of breath?
Wolf: I was tired. I’ll catch him today.
Raven: Maybe. Or maybe that was the last time your legs will ever move with that specific kind of speed and ease. Maybe tomorrow the winter breaks your stride. You treated that run almost like practice. But nature doesn't do rehearsals, Wolf. We are always here in the present, always live.
Wolf: That’s a miserable way to live. Terrified that every blink is the final one? I’d never move. I’d never breathe.
Raven: No. You would breathe deeper. To think the water is endless is to spill it on the ground. To know the cup is nearly empty... that is what makes the water sweet. You looked at this sunrise, but you didn't see it. You just recognized it was there and turned away. You traded a diamond in your hand now for the promise of a stone tomorrow.
Wolf: (Impatient) It’s just a sunrise, Old Man. It’ll be there tomorrow.
Raven: (Softly) It was that sunrise. And you just spent it. You will never, ever get it back.
The scene is darker now. The woods are suffocatingly quiet. The Wolf is lying in the dirt, not sleeping, just staring at a dead leaf. He looks smaller than before.
Wolf: I didn’t even watch him go.
Raven: Your brother?
Wolf: I was annoyed. He bumped into me while I was drinking. Spilled the water. I snapped at him. I bared my teeth; just a little. I didn't mean it. It was just... a sound. I turned my back and walked into the trees to cool off. Thinking to myself that “I'll fix it over dinner."
Raven: And the dinner never came.
Wolf: (His voice cracks, letting out an almost human sound of distress) He’s gone. Taken by the current, they think. He’s just gone. And the last thing I ever gave him was my back. The last thing he saw of me was my irritation.
Raven: Ah. The Phantom Door.
Wolf: What door?
Raven: The door we leave ajar. The arrogant belief that we can always walk back into a room and fix the furniture. We leave conversations hanging, thinking we can finish the sentence later. We leave "I love you" in our pockets because we think we have a lifetime to take it out. But the wind blows. The door slams. And on the other side, the silence hardens.
Wolf: It wasn't a fight! If it had been a fight, maybe it would make sense. A battle. A war. But it was nothing. It was a petty, stupid snap. Endings should be loud, shouldn't they? They should have music. They shouldn't be a simple mistake on a Tuesday afternoon.
Raven: That is the tragedy. We dress up for the Last Goodbye, expecting an opera. But death is rarely an opera. It is usually a distracted wave. A "See you later" spoken to someone who is already leaving the world.
Wolf: I loved him. He knew that, right? He had to know that. My irritation... it was small. My love was big. Bigger than anything.
Raven: The love remains. But the knowing... that relies on the telling. You saved the kindness for a special occasion. You treated your affection like fine wine, waiting for the perfect feast. But love is like bread, Wolf. It goes stale if you do not serve it while it is warm.
Wolf: (Curls into a ball and hides his face) If I had known... if I had known that was the cliff... I would have stood there and let him spill the water. I would have let him spill the whole river. I would have told him he was the best part of my life.
Raven: But you didn't know. We never know. That is why you must never leave the door ajar. You must close every interaction as if it is a seal. You have to live with the weight of the silence now.
Wolf: But it’s so heavy. It’s crushing me.
Raven: Regret is the only thing in this forest that never decays. It only gets heavier.
The ridge again, years later. The Wolf is old. His fur is gray, his eyes clouded with cataracts. He moves stiffly, lowering himself onto the rock with a groan. The Raven is a ragged bundle of feathers, looking like he might blow away in a strong wind.
Wolf: The light... look at it. It’s liquid gold. It hurts to look at, it’s so beautiful.
Raven: It is the golden hour. The brief window before the dark takes everything.
Wolf: (He stares at the light with a desperate hunger) I woke the she-wolf up this morning. She was sleeping so deeply. I shook her awake. She was angry at first.
Raven: Why?
Wolf: I had to tell her. The light hit her face, and I suddenly felt it. The count. I felt the bottom of the jar. I didn't know if I’d be there when she woke up again. Or if she would. So I woke her up to say, "I see you. I am grateful for you."
Raven: Did she understand?
Wolf: She saw the fear in my eyes. And then she saw the love. We just sat there. We didn't go hunting. We didn't eat. We just sat and held onto the moment with both hands, terrified that if we loosened our grip, it would vanish.
Raven: You finally learned to count.
Wolf: No. I stopped counting. That’s the difference. Before, I threw the days away because I thought the pile was endless. Now... I hold this one minute like it’s the last drop of water in the desert. It’s terrifying, Bird.
Raven: Terrifying?
Wolf: To love something this much, knowing it can just... stop. The beauty is inseparable from the loss now. I look at the sunset and I want to weep, because I know I am one sunset closer to never seeing it again.
Raven: That is the price of admission. The pain of the end is the memory for the joy of the middle.
Wolf: (Turns to the Raven, his old eyes wet) Is this it, old friend? The winter is in my bones. I can feel the door closing.
Raven: It might be. My wings are tired, Wolf. I don't think I can ride the thermals another spring.
The Wolf shifts closer. He doesn't look at the sunset anymore. He looks at the ragged bird who has annoyed him, taught him, and watched him for a lifetime.
Wolf: Then I am looking at you now. I am not looking past you to tomorrow. I am seeing you. You are a grumpy, miserable old shade. And you are the only one who told me the truth. Thank you.
Raven: (Bows his head, a small, fragile movement) It was a good run.