The Wilds, North (A Perilous Existence)

There are wolves here.
But it's not the wolves we have to worry about.
There are eagles and bears too, but we do not fear them.
The winters are harsh, and long.
But we build fires and have made adequate shelter in what mild summer we do have.
And of course the vodka is strong and warms our blood. 

No earthly breath disturbs the silvery blue lake that stretches out to touch the horizon away yonder, nor makes the dense pine forest behind us whisper even in hushed tones.
The beasts we tend to feed us and clothe us, and they move with the seasons, surviving only as the land and climate allow them. We move with the beasts, and though we herd them, tether them and slaughter them, though we perceive ourselves as their master, we would soon perish without them. We must respect them.  Though many think us superior, we are not.

We are beasts as much as they. 

So you see, all life here is dependant upon another, and to survive, one must accept his place in the circle.

We are beasts as much as they. 

We move with them through the seasons, and of course, the wolves move with us. All bound by common fate, all pursued by the same tormentors. Beast and man and a certain demise - a conclusion that never lies. 

Yet one predator remains, who only hunts the man. And though he survives all else, it stalks and stalks, and superiority crumbles at its knees. No beast or friend can save the man, who's own mind will not save him. 

There are wolves here - but it's not the wolves we have to worry about. Condemned with minds that will destroy themselves, we replace our weakness with superiority - elevation in the ranks - but fail to see that in a circle, none exceeds another. 

Under duress beasts don't bend, and will exist just as before. Whilst the mind of man that howls in the night, will one day turn, and prey on itself.