Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was born in a field and raised in the woods. And he had nothing. In the winter the boy would freeze, and in the summer he would boil. He knew the name of every stinging insect. At night he would look at the lights in the houses, and he would want. Why was he outside and they in? Why was he so hungry and they fed? “It should be me,” he said. And out of the darkness the wolves came, whispering.