The Wolf Wilder

She knew the wilding stages: she had recited them before bed since she was four. ‘First,’ she whispered to herself, ‘ascertain what world the wolf has come from.’ Some of the wolves who came to them were manic and snappish, and took very little time to re-wild. Some were timid and jumpy and barely able to walk.
‘Sit,’ she said to the wolf. Tenderfoot sat, carefully, her four feet arranged as neat as a laid-out table.
‘Down. Lie down.’ Tenderfoot lay down in the snow. She did not take her eyes off Feo.
‘Paw?’ Feo asked.
The wolf sat up, licked her paw with exquisite courtesy and held it out to Feo. Feo did not take it.
‘Beg?’