I am a lone wolf. Now it's funny that I say that because I'm not a wolf at all. I'm a human, and a shepherd at that. Like wolves, humans live together. And also like wolves, there are some who are outcasts, and must fend for themselves. I was such a wolf.

In my country, it's hot and crawling with wild animals. Wolves aside, there were bears, leopards and lions too - wild beasts that could easily inflict such damage on my flock, and on me too.

I live out in the scrubland, where the ground is white hot gravel and the place is dotted with thorn bushes and sparse trees that gave little shade. Only caves would provide adequate shelter from the heat - and you had to check that there was nothing living in them first.

I wasn't completely alone. I had my flock, but I also had my dog. She was black and white and the most loyal and the most loving companion one could ever had. She was wolf, and for real. Dogs are wolves that learnt to live with humans.

As for human company, I never yearned for it. Whenever I tried to enter a village, they would drive me out and I would flee for my life, pursued by angry villagers and their dogs. I was a lone wolf - because no other wolves would allow me on their territory. I was different - and that means dangerous.

***

One cloudy day, there was the looming threat of torrential rain and violent thunderstorms. It wouldn't start for many hours yet, but still, we sought shelter in a cave. Providence made it so that that there were no wild animals in the cave. I let the flock go in first, for they were tired and needed rest.

My dog would go in second, but only if I followed her. She waited at the mouth, anticipating me to come with her. She seemed to be standing stock still, her eyes fixed on something. But strangely enough, they were not fixed on me.

I tried to usher her into the cave, but she wouldn't move. She had a very deep growl in her throat. That could only mean one thing. There was a predator about. I heard rustling in the thorn bushes behind me.

I swivelled around, and I saw a dark shape in the bushes. My dog growled even louder.

Our of the foliage came a most magnificent wolf. He was brown with a reddish tint to his fur. He was also mottled with a bit of white hair here and there. His eyes were the colour of sweet chestnuts and his triangular ears were cocked forward and alert.

At first, I thought he was going to attack, but he didn't. He just stood there, staring. My dog grew silent. There was something special about this wolf.

Everyone knows that wolves travel around in packs, but this one was all alone. There was no cry of pack mates in the distance. It was just him. He was outcast, like me. He wasn't grey like the other wolves. He was different, like me. He was dangerous, like me.

I don't know where he came from, or where he was going. But I knew that he was kindred spirit, that he shared my share of troubles. I could see a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He could see a flicker of understanding in my eyes.

The wolf padded closer. He then put back his head and howled. It was the most beautiful and most mighty sound I'd ever heard. He was singing his song - the song of the lone wolf.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and I sang with him. Our howls intertwined and became one.

And at that moment in time, two lone wolves stood howling, singing the song of freedon - the cry of the wilderness itself. The cry of the lone wolf, the animal that lives alone but is cunning and resourceful. The animal that is outcast from the others. The animal that is different. The animal that is dangerous.