The Blacksmith's Wolf

About This Novel

The wolf was lying on the fence on the street. It was still dark, and the small town was wrapped in thick fog and slept soundly. The wolf stared at a certain place in the sky in trance, until a silvery crack opened in the solid clouds. The crack was like lightning and was beating uneasily, as if he wanted to say something to the wolf. The wolf stared at it infatuatedly, waiting for it to speak, just like squatting in front of the monkey's grave waiting for the monkey to come out. But the wolf's waiting was often in vain, and he said nothing, even if the wolf waited until his neck was straight and tears were streaming. The wolf understands things on the street better, especially the thoughts of the garbage discarded on the street overnight. Although they don't speak, the wolf understands them like it understands its big tail in its overalls. At this time of day, everything will wake up, but the wind will have to sleep for a while.

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