[ WP ] `` Raised by wolves , you say ? I was raised by a bear , that pretty little lady over there was raised among gators , and the doctor was adopted by ocelots . ''

Sometimes, a girl up and gets herself pregnant when she ai n't got a husband; or sometimes a woman'll find herself knocked up with another baby when she's already got six and she and her man are already struggling to support the ones they've got; or sometimes a man will look at the newborn his woman swears is his but he'll see the babe's got a nose shaped like his neighbor's, or hair the color of the carpenter down the way, or somesuch. 
 
 And then they'll put the babe out into the woods, or the swamp, or the jungle, depending on which is the most convenient, and it ai n't murder, mind you,'cause the child ai n't dead when they leave it there. It's nature what kills the babe, not human hands. 
 
 Or else it's nature what saves the babe, which is what those girls and women and men tell themselves when they leave a newborn out in the wilderness, if they've got consciences that need easing. It happens, sometimes. A beast'll come across a wee wriggling babe, plump and juicy, and it'll happen that the beastie is n't hungry. Maybe it's a she-beast, and her pups've all died, and her dugs are still heavy with milk, and she sees this odd human pup as a replacement. 
 
 However it happens, it happens often enough that you can find a lot of us animal-people around. 
 
 Look at the lady over there, the one with the smile just a crack too wide. It was the gators that took her in -- she can swim like a regular fish, and she can out-eat a man twice her size. The gator-folk are all a little strange, even among other beast-raised folk. It's because gators are coldbloods, I think. Humans, now, we're warmbloods. We've got that in common with the wolves, bears, wildcats, and other furry beasts that're known to take in abandoned babies. You look at her and you can see that something's off. She never quite learned how to do emotions right, you see. Which is not to say that gators do n't have feelings. They do, all right, it's just that they ai n't warmblood feelings. 
 
 The gator-lady over there -- she can play sweet as pie one moment and slice open a man's throat in the next, and she'll never stop grinning, because have you ever seen a gator who was n't grinning all toothy, no matter what he or she was doing? 
 
 Well, she's not so bad in my books. We've never had cause to quarrel. I stick to my business and stay out of hers. Rumor has it she makes her living killing for them what has the coin to pay for it, and I do n't doubt it. 
 
 I do n't know of any soul I think would put money out for my death. So she and I get along fine, in the nodding-acquaintances sort of way. 
 
 Now, if you'll take a look over there, you'll see an educated fellow. He's a doctor, see, from south, way south of here. He was a little older when he got cast into the jungle; he was still little, but he had some words. It did him good when he got found again. It was jungle cats -- ocelots, the name is -- who took care of him when he was too little to get by on his own. He grew up on red meat, climbing trees like it was second nature, tumbling around with his feline siblings, though he only spent a few years with them; he's closer to human than a lot of others raised by beasts. 
 
 You can tell, you know, if you're one of us. You can see how he does human real well. He knows how to smile at the right times, and nod, and shake hands, and it all seems natural, but our people -- the animal-folk -- we can see the wild in the back of his eyes. 
 
 Word to the wise -- just'cause he's a doctor, and he makes a fair bit of coin, do n't mean he's an easy mark for a cutpurse. He'll send *you* straight to the hospital, quick as you like, because you can take a cat out of the jungle, but he still has claws. 
 
 I like him. You do n't see too many of us in the medical field; when one of us is in a pinch, he'll come through for us, and never mind the bill if you truly ca n't afford it. There's a real kinship among us -- the ones our human families rejected. We're always a little bit on the edges, you see, not quite human, not quite beast. It'd be lonely if you did n't have others like you. 
 
 Me, now, I was raised by a great big mama bear, and I loved her like my own mother. I ca n't remember my human mother's face. I do n't know whether she put me out in the woods, or if my father did. I do n't know why. Most of us do n't; how would we? 
 
 Anyways, I lived out with my bear-mother for years; I learned how to survive. I learned how to stuff my face when food was plentiful, and how to sleep out the colder seasons when food's harder to find, though I was never so good at sleeping as my mama-bear was. I had a few brothers and sisters; I met one of my brothers out in the woods, a few years back. 
 
 How'd I know it was him? Well, maybe you think all bears look alike, but me -- I know my siblings when I see'em. I knew him. We did n't really have much to say to each other, but we both knew that we knew each other, and it was nice to see he was doing okay. 
 
 I eventually came across a trapper who took me in when I started to get big enough that my mama-bear decided it was time I should be on my own. He sort of became my human-papa, more than you ever were, certainly. 
 
 Oh, do n't you look surprised, now. You said you were wolf-raised, and maybe you thought I'd be fooled -- sure, you look a bit wolfish, with your lean muscle and your gray fur. Hair, rather. 
 
 But I know you're not one of us. I can see it in your eyes. No forests, there; no wildness. Just nice little towns full of nice little humans, only some of'em ai n't so nice, are they? 
 
 I see your face, and it's an echo of mine -- though you're older, and wrinklier, and a man. We have the same shape of face, the same sort of nose, even the same color eyes. 
 
 You've never been closer to a live wolf than most humans, I'd guess. I ca n't say I blame you. I'm not a great fan of wolves myself. 
 
 I'm not going to ask you why you left me out for my bear-mama to find, because let me tell you -- I do n't give a single turd what your reasons were. I do n't care if it was your idea, or my human-mother's, or if both of you went out to the woods together and laid me down on a little bed of moss to get eaten or adopted, and I know damn well you did n't care which. 
 
 So. Here I am. I'm alive, I'm well, and you know what, I'm happy. I imagine my bear-mother was a better parent than either of you would've been. 
 
 So thank you kindly for the drink, sir, but I think I'll be on my way. 
 
 And I can honestly say that I hope I never see your face in this tavern ever again.
