From a distance, the omega wolf Jetty watched her father, the alpha Frost, lower his knife and fall to his knees. A single tear fell down his cheek.

"Why is Frost crying?" Jetty asked her grandmother Silver Sky. "He only killed the traitor who tried to kill him first."

Silver Sky raised her head, her eyes. "My young one, the strength of the pack is the wolf. Every single wolf among us makes us greater, a bigger part of something beyond ourselves. And when a wolf falls, be he the bravest and strongest member of the pack or the weakest and lowliest, the pack is all the poorer for its loss. The alpha is the heart and soul of the pack, and he feels the loss more harshly than any other wolf could ever imagine. Frost weeps not for the traitor, but for the pack, because he is a great leader. In him are equal parts valor and frailty."

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When is it right to take a life? To save another life, or a hundred? To protect a friend, a family member, a stranger? Is it right to take a life out of uncertainty, out of mistrust, out of fear and hatred of what we do not understand? Is it right to take the life of a smattering of cells which happen to possess human DNA? What about a gorilla who can sign human language and expresses sadness and fear at the concept of death? Or a loyal dog? Or a battery hen? Or a rat? Or a mosquito?

Where do you draw the line?

And when all things are said and done, when you draw that line in the sand that you would dare not cross, would you simply stand by in silence and watch others cross it?

Frost and artwork are © *MoonsongWolf