Twe wolves

Old Granpa Cherokee was pensive...

Little Wild Wind and Dance with the Leaves were quarelling again.
In fact, they had been at each other's throat practically all day.....!

This bothered old Granpa Cherokee. All the children of the tribe felt disturbed... It was not as if there never were quarrels. Most of the little ones would get into scraps. A few scraped knees, or bumped elbows, a few pony-tails harshly tugged and the matter was usually resolved. But these two seemed of a different element, especially when confronting each other....

Granpa Cherokee sighed. He poked a few dry leaves further into the fire and looked around at the gathering dusk. The children of the tribe were already settling down around him. They loved listening to his gentle, bantering stories.... gazing into the fire, pondering over millenia of universal wisdom, that their little brains could barely wrap around, and watching the logs slowly burn, spatter and sparkle... as the mothers got their food ready.

The littlest one of them all tugged softly at his leather strings.
"Granpa... what has happened to them...?"

Wild Wind and Dance with the Leaves were playing on everybody's minds.
Granpa nodded gently, twinkling into the concern pooling in the child's night-dark eyes.
"Same as happens to me...", he murmured.

Looking up, he glanced over the children's heads at the two sulking boys.
"There are two wolves inside of me.....", he spoke out louder, letting his gaze surround all the children waiting for their daily stories. Wild Wind sat turbulent, fuming silently as he glared at Dance with the Leaves. The other boy was quieter, but as grimly determined.
The other children drew closer to the old man, watching the dancing light cast by the fire on his craggy, smiling face.

"There are two wolves inside of me...." continued Granpa Cherokee. "Always fighting, always at each other's throat... biting into the neck... grabbing at legs.... Sometimes, their furs are drenched in blood... At other times, their growls reverberate through the valleys... The world spins around day and night, the birds fly throught he cold and the warm winds... and still they fight, this one on top, worrying the other's ears, or that one pinning this down, snarling and gnashing its teeth..."
The children gazed, transfixed, at the warring wolves in Granpa's warm, hoarse voice.
"They fight... and fight... and fight...," he sighed.

"One thrives on love, on compassion... on free, open speech with a caress in his heart.. On enthusiasm, and helping hands, and laughter and friendship. On knowing that each day is a new beginning of life.

The other eats hate, revenge and fear.... he drinks into dark corners of envy in his mind. He chomps on enmity and jealous rage... on fearing each day is the end of his might....
And they war on, with their fierce strength and desire to win.... Sometimes, this one on top and the other struggling in the dirt, and sometimes that one worrying this down to bones....
They fight... all day, all night, and all day again--"

"What after, Granpa?" piped up Twinkle Eyes, impatient as ever. "Who wins, finally, Granpa Cherokee?"

Granpa turned and poked at a log. Sparks flew off, crackling in the silence. The high, treble voice of the impatient question went round and round the listening minds of the children gathered.

"The one I feed, little one," rumbled the old Cherokee voice. ".... the one I feed..."

WHICH ONE DO YOU FEED?