I am no longer sure that the wolves were what was A l’envers in my previous post. What often moves around I this story is not, of course, the wolf, who remains the familiar predatory, possibly sexual bzou (this link has a lot of detail but I’m unsure about all the content!), but the girl. Is she little? Is she dressed in red, or grey, or what?
Why this should have struck me in the bath while reading Mark Rowlands‘ book on living with his wolf, I don’t really know, but perhaps I need to think more about the figures of the wild if I’m going to write about the outdoors, than about the children who go into the woods. More weasels, fewer moles.
Or at least, it’s a separate section – what one meets in the (fictional) outdoors.
Like this Cynocephalus.