The Final Myth

When a hunter leaves the world,he hears the breath of the Great Mountain.

—A hunter

Death is like a wolfThe wolf’s coat is grayIt runs to my wood gateand howls at meIt must be lateSo I just smile with pleasureat my sleeping grandsonThen I walktoward the great mountain that’s calling meand climb its lofty breastsWhen midnight knocks onthe wet requiemI fall asleep in the mother’s bellyof the forest worldMy ears fill with gurgling spring watersMy lips are covered in mother’s milkThe sky grows lightAll people hear is an infant singingin the forestThe hunters go search for himbut no one finds himAnd thus a mysterious storybecomes a fairy tale about meAll the children of hunterscan recite it