Desperate and hungry, the wolves have been stalking the herd. The politics between the two animals are amazing--at times the wolves walk among the bison who show no real fear at their presence. The bison merely continue to eat, stripping the dry prairie grass out of the hard ground. A nuisance so great and so insignificant that most of the time the bison do not even charge--the smallest of which sends the wolves running to the outer circles.
The wolves cajole and maneuver, manipulating the bison, getting them accustomed to their presence. Making them uneasy, making the distinction between a real attack and a feint blur more and more. They haranguer the young bison--the smallest of which dwarfs the largest of the wolves. They dog the old and slow. They harass the wounded and unhealthy. The small predators terrorize the herd for weeks, keeping them on the brink of fear.
Suddenly the grainy film pans out swaying back and forth in surprise--the wolves' strategy has even put the cinematographer off her guard--and the wolves pounce. Lean and hungry, the wolves' 80lbs seem absurd as they snap at the heels of the 2,000lbs herbivores. Yellow teeth tear at the haunches and tendons of an old bison as the wolves steer it away from the herd. The rest of the pack breaks from their manipulation of the others and turn instead to help their hunters take down the separated bison, whose wild brown irises are flailing in dysphoria and getting stuck in the corners of the skull like a skipping vinyl.
The bison have stopped their running and turn, forming a loose and weak line, a circular fortress in the enormity of the plains. Staring at the spectacle before them in some profane mix of confusion and ambivalence. The blood becomes visible on the bison's ratty, matted coat and you can't help but wonder if maybe that mix of confusion and ambivalence is relief. One buffalo breaks from the line and begins to pace in concentric, manic circles--some wolves take note and snarl and jump back and forth, others are too focused on their fierce task. The herd stares.
Violently the frustrated American bison pivots, dust hangs in the air, charges. At first it seems slow and damned to fail, but then the telescoped bouncing lens retracts and you see the speed the bison is gaining in comparison to the static wolves. Like some sort of prehistoric juggernaut the 2,000 pounds of the bison suddenly seems to come alive with purpose and power and anger. The alert wolves now fall back upon themselves and trip over their own bodies as they hastily withdraw, looking back at the hunters tearing at the old bison in confusion. The rest of the pack, heretofore unaware of the presence of the charging buffalo, is forced into awareness. Driven by hunger, the leaders among them are reluctant and do not withdraw far. It's not enough.
The diminished momentum of the behemoth is apparent as it careens around to make another pass--the old and wounded comrade tries to channel its last stores of strength and run along beside it, back to the herd, but the wolves have wounded it too greatly for it to sprint. A brown blur rushes by from the direction of the herd. Then another. The rest of the herd, old weak and young alike come stampeding in. The wolves scatter in confusion and howls--the space has changed completely. The small circle that the bison had created as their own turf is gone and now the entirety of the plains is theirs--for now.
