A Short Story Of Sleet

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It was a dark, gloomy day in the Lamar Valley. Sleet, trotting along slowly, came across the fence marking the exit of Yellowstone Park. He immediately backed away from it and started the way from which he came. All his life he was told to stay away from the fence. The wolves feared the fence for the fence showed the unknown. It was the fact that beyond the fence was unknown that they feared. Sleet, being a reddish, blackish wolf, was very curious about this fence. For there were stories of wolves who traveled beyond the fence, and never returned. They figured the wolves had been killed. But something about these stories confused him. How would they know that they never returned because they were killed? They could have still been alive and stayed past the fence because there was good! He erased this thought from his mind and continued on his way. Sleet was walking along slowly when he came across a fresh trail that sent his hair on his back bristling. He crouched low to the ground and showed his teeth. He was being watched. He saw gleaming eyes through the bushes surrounding him. He was trapped. Sleet growled menacingly. The wolf pack around him drew closer. He now knew that he was in danger. He submissively rolled onto his back with feet up above him in the air. This was embarrassing for him. He came from a bloodline of strong wolves who let nothing get in their way and who instead of gaining fear, they inflicted it upon others. Sleet, now rolling back onto his 4 feet,

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