I stood there, watching the trees sway to the rhythm of the breeze. It was astonishing to see that at least some of the precious forest was left in the mountains. The mountains, all of them, were covered in the lightest powdering of snow imaginable. They stood out amongst the green silhouette of the trees, like ice-cream hiding neatly behind a bowl of jelly. Such opulence; that is, the splendour of beauty. And I was there, amongst that beauty, enjoying the last minutes of sun before it set and the moon came out to watch over the world. It would be hard to leave such a beautiful place, but it was duty calling, and I had to shelter before the night animals came out to play. I retreated back through the narrow path which I had left early on, and stumbled my way through the overgrowth. It was rather dense, so I had to watch where I placed my feet.

And then it came at me, the sound of a magnificent howl. I was motionless instantly, and felt my heartbeat quicken. Somewhere near, probably hiding in the undergrowth, was a grey wolf, or as I always called animals by Latin names, it was a canis lupus. And it was probably too late for me to flee the scene. I was scared out of my wits. But, to my astonishment, I kept trudging through the trees, as silently as possible. In the five years of my adventuring I had never fled from an opportunity like this; a grey wolf so close and so dangerous. I would have jumped for joy and almost certainly ran, with my camera, to take some snapshots of the beast. But now I was getting old and indeed getting tired and my escaping skills would be quite pitiful. I would be dead if I even got within a hundred metres of him.