From afar, the forest looks serene. Mist curls between trees, rivers gleam in morning light, and life seems simple, predictable. But appearances are deceiving. Beneath that calm, alliances are forged, secrets are traded, and power pulses through every shadow.
The Arabian Oryxes walk softly, but their presence shakes forests. Elegant, tall, and impeccable, they move as though the world itself bends to their steps. To the untrained eye, they are peacekeepers, global mediators, arbiters of fairness. To those who know, they are the wolves’ accountants, lawyers, and architects of escape — ensuring that every predator’s path is cleared, every crime cloaked in velvet lies.
Every alliance they forge is deliberate. Every handshake hides a ledger, every smile a contract. They are wealthy beyond measure, not through labor, but through cleverness — by ensuring that the wolves never pay the price for their chaos. They broker deals, grease palms, and whisper words that can send an innocent to the gallows while protecting the guilty.
The Oryxes do not fight. They do not hunt. They do not howl. Yet the forest fears them, because they are always close to the wolves, and a whisper from an Oryx can change the course of wars. Every predator respects them. Every pawn envies them. And the foxes who think they are allies soon learn: the Oryxes are friends only to those who are useful, and useful only while they obey.
But the Oryxes are not the only courtiers in the forest. Far older, far deeper in the wolves’ confidence, are the European Bisons. Their alliance with the wolves spans nearly a century. They are clever, ruthless, and omnipresent. They know every forest, every animal, every secret. Their influence is invisible yet absolute. Those who cross them find their lives quietly, irrevocably ruined, while the wolves ensure the Bisons remain untouchable.
And so, a dangerous competition brews. The Oryxes do not want to be left behind. They do not want to merely follow; they want to shape, to manipulate, to appear righteous while secretly pulling strings from afar. Better to ignite conflict in distant forests than risk being preyed upon themselves. They stage wars, mediate disputes, and broker peace—all with one eye on the wolves and another on the Bisons’ growing power.
The forest is a chessboard. Yesterday’s enemies can be tomorrow’s allies. Friends can be pawns. Victims are collateral. No alliance is permanent, no guaranteed loyalty. And the wolves? They watch, laugh, and sharpen their claws, knowing that the power lies in knowing who fears them, who envies them, and who will bend to survive.
The lesson is as old as the forest itself: the calm is never what it seems. The trees may stand still, the rivers may flow gently, but beneath the surface, the wolves, the Oryxes, and the Bisons are playing a game with lives as pieces. And for those who think they can sit safely in this forest, aligned with the elegant or the ancient, beware: proximity to power can bring comfort—but it can also bury you alive.
In the forest, nothing is given freely. Everything is bought, bartered, or stolen. And the price of miscalculation is steep.
Salima
Just me thinking out loud over here