The Wolf of the Olingen Forest
Please note: This story tells of friendship, courage and loss. Some moments are sad, especially for younger children; therefore, it is best to read the story together with a grown-up.
A very, very long time ago, a wolf lived in the beautiful great forest of Olingen.
The forest was an ancient maze of towering trees, thick hedges, secret paths and huge moss-covered rocks. A little stream wound its way between the hills. Frogs croaked beside it and would disappear with a splash into the cool water whenever something seemed suspicious.
The birds sang from the treetops, while butterflies zigzagged through the air on colourful wings. A woodpecker tapped rhythmically against the tree trunks, small creatures rustled through the fallen leaves, and squirrels scampered up the trees as if the laws of gravity simply did not exist. The air buzzed and hummed with life. Everything was busy, because it was springtime.
Two honey-yellow eyes watched it all. They belonged to a large, powerful animal with thick grey fur. A wolf. He dozed in the shade behind the rocks, well hidden from sight. Every now and then he blinked and checked that everything was as it should be. He had learned to stay alert. The scar above his right eye was a reminder of darker days.
The wolf had not always lived alone. Once, he had a family. But the humans had taken everything from him. One day they arrived with guns and hunting dogs. The wolf had tried to protect his family, as a bullet grazed his forehead. He realised that, despite all his strength, there was nothing he could do, and he fled. When he returned the next day, nobody was there. His entire pack had vanished. Even the pups. All he found was a tuft of fur... And... No. He did not want to think about that now. Whenever he did, his heart felt unbearably heavy.
From that day on, the wolf was alone. Well... not entirely.
Sometimes Milo came to visit him. Milo was the farm dog, a very friendly fellow with soft speckled fur, large brown eyes and a shiny black nose that always seemed to have a bit of soil on it from all his sniffing. In the evenings he would sometimes sneak away from the farm and wander through the forest. The farmer never noticed. Milo had his own kennel outside and could come and go as he pleased.
Milo loved to be out in the nature. In the forest he felt free. He ran, jumped, explored, and simply enjoyed being alive. One day, during one of his walks, he came face to face with a huge animal. He was a little startled as a wolf suddenly appeared before him. The creature was enormous and gazed calmly at him with its large golden eyes.
"Hey!" said Milo.
"Hello," replied the wolf in a deep voice.
"Who are you?" asked Milo.
"My name is Askar."
"Oh wow... brilliant! What a fantastic name! Askar! They call me Milo. I'm a dog and I work for the farmer, you know. I look after the cows and the chickens. Just the other day I chased a fox out of the henhouse! He wanted to eat my hens—or steal their eggs! Can you imagine? Not while I'm around! Ha!"
The wolf did not move as he listened. Deep down, he smiled.
This excitable dog doesn't seem afraid of me at all. That's a very strange feeling. A good feeling...
Milo continued chatting away.
"Anyway, I barked and growled and showed him who was boss! Ha! What about you? Are you a dog too? You're certainly a very big one! They say I'm a crossbreed. My mum lives in the village, but my dad came from another village—or maybe even another country. I'm not really sure. I never met him. Do you live in the village too? I've never seen you there. Who's your human?"
Askar's eyes narrowed.
"My human?" he hissed through his sharp teeth.
His gaze turned cold, and a strip of fur along his broad back stood on end.
"I am not a dog, Milo. I am a wolf. Humans fear me. They tell dreadful stories about how dangerous I am. Yet they were the ones who hunted down my family and killed them, all because they became frightened of the stories they told themselves."
His voice softened.
"I wanted to leave afterwards, but where could I go? So I stayed here, where I still have memories of my family. I keep away from the village, but I remain where I last saw them. Whenever there is a full moon, I howl. But nobody ever answers. I think I may be the very last wolf left in the whole world."
Milo's excitement faded instantly. He became very quiet.
"I'm so sorry," he said softly.
"People can be terribly unfair. What they did to you is awful. And being all alone must be dreadful. If you'd like, I'll be your friend. Then you won't be quite so lonely anymore. All right?"
The wolf looked at Milo for a long moment. Milo wagged his tail hopefully.
He smells of cows... and humans... and a little bit of chicken, thought Askar. Milo tilted his head and wagged even harder. The cheerful kindness shining in Milo's eyes finally convinced him.
"Hmm," the wolf grumbled.
"Is that a yes?" Milo asked excitedly. "Go on! Is it a yes?"
He bounced up and down. Having such a brilliant friend would be amazing.
"I suppose it is," said the wolf.
He, too, was happy to have a friend. But wolves do not show such things. Wolves do not wag their tails. Never.
"BRILLIANT!"
Milo jumped into the air with delight.
"I'll come and visit you much more often! Oh! I have to get back. I need to water my chickens—oh, nonsense! Chase away the fox, before he steals some chicks. Otherwise I'll be in trouble!"
And off he ran.
From then on, Milo and Askar learned many things from one another.
One day Milo asked:
"Tell me something. You and I are family, aren't we? I mean, our family tree—and I don't mean that big tree by the pond that we both like to mark, woof woof!—our real family tree must be the same. Except my branch went off with humans about twenty thousand years ago, while your branch stayed wild and free. That means we house wolves have been looked after by humans ever since, while you still have to hunt for your food."
"Yes," said the wolf. "That's about right."
"But when you do that, humans get angry, don't they?"
"Yes. If I hunt the wrong animal," said Askar.
- "But really, I mostly hunt animals from the forest. And even then, I usually take the weak or the sick. It's hard work and involves a lot of running. But afterwards I don't need to eat again for days."
"Well, I couldn't do that! I get a bowl of food every day—sometimes even a sausage if I'm lucky."
"A sausage?" asked the wolf. "What's that?"
"A little taste of heaven. I'll bring you one next time!"
And with that, Milo raced home.
A few days later, two children from the village set off along the path leading up into the Olingen Forest near Betzdorf. Emil and his sister Mia had finished their homework and wanted to enjoy the beautiful weather in the woods.
"Come on, Emil," called Mia. "Let's see if the wild strawberries are ripe yet."
"Ooh, I love strawberries!" shouted Emil, hopping ahead of his sister.
They walked past the orchard where the apple trees were in blossom, already looking forward to picking apples in autumn. But today they were searching for strawberries. They knew a secret spot deep in the forest where they grew. There were blackberries there too, and even raspberries farther back. All they had to do was find the large tree with the secret mark carved into it—a shape that looked a bit like a heart, or perhaps a strawberry. Then they would turn right, walk uphill a little, turn left twice, and they would be there. Simple!
When they arrived, Emil searched eagerly among the leaves, but there was not a single juicy red strawberry to be found. Perhaps it was still too early. What a shame. The children wandered farther through the forest until they found a lovely spot beside the stream. Mia had packed water and biscuits. They spread out their little picnic on a flat rock and enjoyed their snack.
"Wow, look how beautiful it is here!" said Mia. "This would be the perfect place to build a den."
"Oh yes!" cried Emil. "It can be our secret hideout!"
"Good idea! I'll start collecting branches. Coming?"
"Of course!" said Emil. "This is going to be an adventure!"
They worked enthusiastically, gathering sticks thick and long enough to build their den. They were so busy that neither of them noticed they were being watched. Two yellow eyes peered from behind the rocks, observing everything.
Neither one of them realised how much time had passed. Only when the sky glowed red and orange through the trees did they notice how late it had become.
"Oh dear, Emil," said Mia nervously. "We'd better head home. It's getting dark."
Emil admired their den one last time. It was brilliant. But Mia was right. They hurried off. They climbed over rocks, pushed through thorny hedges, splashed across the stream and slid down steep slopes. Yet somehow, they could not find the path home.
Gradually it grew darker and colder.
"Mia, which way do we go?" asked Emil.
He was beginning to feel frightened. Mia was pale herself. She did not know the answer. The forest was now almost completely dark. Still, they kept walking.
Then suddenly—
"Aah!"
Emil had tripped over a root and twisted his ankle. Mia helped him up immediately, but his ankle quickly swelled, and every step sent a sharp pain shooting through his leg. She supported him as best she could. Soon they had no idea where they were.
"I can't walk anymore, Mia," Emil sobbed.
"Don't worry," said Mia, though she felt anything but brave. "I'll get you home. We just need to find a path."
They were hopelessly lost. Then they heard a sound. A crack of branches. Mia froze.
"Who's there?"
Slowly, a huge shape emerged from between the trees. It was the wolf. He had been quietly following them as they wandered through the forest. Yet instead of harming them, he sat down before them and studied them with his golden eyes. His gaze was not cruel. It was curious. And kind. Emil somehow knew the wolf meant them no harm.
"Come on, Mia," he whispered. "He's not going to hurt us."
The children stepped back cautiously. The wolf turned around, took a few steps forward, and looked back over his shoulder as if to say: Follow me, I show you the way.
"I think he wants to help us," whispered Emil.
Although they hesitated, they followed him. And so the wolf guided the two children safely through the dark forest. By now it was pitch-black, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. At last they reached the woodland path. Only when he was certain they could find their way home did the wolf leave them. Then he disappeared as quietly as he had come. The relief was enormous when Mia and Emil finally saw the familiar lights of the village. The villagers were delighted to see the children safely home. Excitedly, they told everyone how the wolf had rescued them and led them out of the forest. But the adults did not want to hear about a kind wolf. All they saw was Emil's injured ankle. In their eyes, the wolf was to blame.
"It was the wolf!" shouted the hunter, who had long wanted the animal gone.
"He attacked the boy! He must be driven from our forest before he causes more trouble!"
The next morning, as the sun rose, the hunt began. The villagers marched into the forest carrying guns, accompanied by barking dogs. Their minds were filled with frightening stories. When they finally found the wolf—exhausted, yet still proud and strong—they shot him without hesitation. Satisfied, the villagers returned home. They never realised they had killed a hero. A creature who had saved two children and never wished them any harm. When Mia and Emil heard what had happened, they ran to the forest. Milo came with them. Mia knelt where she found the wolf's last tracks, and tears streamed down her face.
"He helped us," she whispered. "Why did they do this to him?"
Milo lay beside the children. He too was heartbroken over the loss of his new friend. Emil took his sister's hand.
"He wasn't bad, Mia," he said quietly. "He was a good ons. But nobody believed us."
After a while, the children and Milo walked back to the village. Without the wolf. But carrying the memory of Askar in their hearts, and knowing that he had been their friend.
And so the last wolf died in Ouljen on 24 April 1893. The plaque in the Ouljen Forest gives the wrong year and says 1892*. Yet the story of his kindness and courage lived on in the memories of Mia and Emil, who now knew that the wolf had never been the enemy.
He had been the last guardian of the forest.
Historical Note
*This error is confirmed by a quote from Jos Massard published in the Tageblatt on July 13, 1985 (p. 9): “On April 24, 1893, a wolf was shot for the last time on Luxembourg territory. It was a large male that was killed during a hunt on the “Kiem,” near Olingen, by a fatal shot fired by Ed. Wolff (!), an investigating magistrate in Luxembourg. The Luxemburger Zeitung (no. 115, p. 3) reported this remarkable event in a brief note published on April 25, 1893. In 1937, the Saint-Hubert Club installed a cast-iron commemorative plaque on a beech tree at the very spot where this strange duel between “Wolf” and Wolff, as Josy Braun called it, took place.” However, the date of the felling on this plaque was mistakenly moved forward by one year, to April 24, 1892. This error was subsequently repeated in numerous later publications.