The Wolf Who Chose Freedom

The Wolf Who Chose Freedom

BY: Ubaid

For several days, a lone wolf named Abdul Rehman had wandered through the deep forest, searching for food. Hunger clung to his ribs like a shadow, draining his strength and clouding his mind. He had sniffed every trail, stalked every rustle, and chased every faint scent of prey, but nothing came of it. It was as if the forest itself had turned against him, offering no creature, no carcass, not even a scrap to keep him alive.

At last, exhausted and hollow with hunger, he stopped beneath a tall cluster of trees and let out a long, weary sigh. His legs trembled. His jaws were dry. His stomach growled like a distant storm.

“This forest will be the end of me,” he muttered to himself.

Then a thought flickered through his desperation. If the forest offered no food, perhaps the city beyond it might. Humans were messy creatures. They threw away more than they ever used. Perhaps he could find scraps near their homes, or something left behind in their markets. He did not like the idea of leaving the wild, but hunger makes even the proud change their paths.

And so, with the last of his strength, the wolf turned his face toward the city’s direction and began his slow, stumbling walk.

He had not traveled far when he spotted a shape ahead—a healthy, well-fed dog trotting confidently along the roadside. The dog stopped the moment he saw the wolf, but surprisingly, instead of fear, curiosity shone in his eyes.

“Are you alright, friend?” the dog asked. “You look terribly weak. What brings you out of the forest and toward the city like this?”

The wolf let out another sigh, deeper and heavier this time.
“What should I say? My condition says everything. I have not eaten for many days. The forest has been unforgiving.”

The dog tilted his head with sympathy. “Yes… you do look like hunger has taken hold of you. Meanwhile, I suppose I look the opposite to you—strong and well-fed.”

“That you do,” the wolf admitted. “You look like you eat fine meals every day. You’re practically glowing with strength.”

The dog wagged his tail proudly. “My master takes care of me. I guard his house, and in return, he gives me good food, a warm place to rest, and affection. If you want, come with me. I can help you find a place. Plenty of homes need guard dogs. You’ll get food every day—more than you could dream of right now.”

The wolf’s ears perked up at the word food. His mouth watered. His empty stomach tightened painfully. The idea of regular meals—a guarantee, not a chase—felt like paradise.

“Yes,” the wolf said eagerly. “Take me with you. I will work. I will guard. I will do whatever it takes to fill this emptiness.”

“Good,” the dog said cheerfully. “Come along, then.”

They walked side by side toward the city, talking along the way. But as they walked, the wolf noticed something strange—a round patch on the dog’s neck where the fur had rubbed away, leaving a clear mark.

“What happened there?” the wolf asked. “Is that an injury?”

“Oh, this?” the dog laughed casually. “No, not an injury. This is from the collar my master puts around my neck. I’m chained during the day—so I don’t wander. At night, he frees me so I can guard the house properly.”

The wolf stopped walking.

He didn’t slow down—he stopped, as if his paws had turned to stone.

The dog noticed and turned back. “Why did you stop? We’re very close now. You’ll have food, safety, comfort. Isn’t that what you want?”

But the wolf’s expression had changed. His hunger still burned, but a different fire now rose inside him—something older, deeper, more powerful.

“Comfort?” the wolf said quietly. “Food in exchange for chains? Safety at the cost of freedom?”

The dog blinked, confused. “It’s not so bad. You get used to it.”

The wolf shook his head, his eyes turning back toward the forest he had just left. It suddenly looked more beautiful than he had ever realized. Even in hunger, even in hardship, it was a place where no chain could bind him, where no master could command him.

“Maybe you are right,” the wolf said softly. “Perhaps food and comfort await me in the city. But what good is comfort if it comes with a collar? What good is a full belly if you lose the freedom to roam, to howl, to live by your own will?”

He took a step backward.

Then another.

“Friend,” the wolf said, “your life may suit you. But for me, freedom—no matter how hungry—is better than a life of chains.”

And with that, he turned and ran—weak, starving, but free—back toward the wilderness.

The dog watched him disappear among the trees, puzzled but a little thoughtful.

The wolf’s stomach still ached. The forest still offered no easy meal.

But his heart… his heart felt light.

For he had chosen freedom—wild, dangerous, unpredictable freedom—over the soft but suffocating comfort of captivity.

And some choices, he knew, could never be made with a full stomach alone.