THE LEGEND OF WI FOUT
There are many stories and tales regarding the legend of Wi Fout. Some historians will go so far in saying that Wi Fout is not even of this world, that he was sent as a messenger from the source code itself. And still others have speculated on the meaning of his name; is it two words or just one? And what exactly, as his followers so adamantly preach, does it mean to go wifout?
These questions and more will need further investigation, but for those who follow Wi Fout’s doctrine and teachings, the mystery seems less important than Wi Fout’s vision on abundance and self-tranquility.
This much however, seems to be known of Wi Fout:
Wi Fout grew up impoverished, being moved from one dog shelter to the next;
Wi Fout went through many masters, some caring, others not so much;
Wi Fout’s last master gifted Wi with the power of complex thought and human speech through feeding Wi special flowers and elixirs;
Wi Fout’s first thought after his transformation (and subsequently the subject of Wi Fout’s first teaching) was on letting go of the hat or, as his followers soon began to say… “going wifout” Wi lectured on the hat being the representation of materiality, and that if one is to “have everything” one must first give up the hat.
ORIGIN STORY
On the largest mountain, near the smallest city, lived a dog and his master. She wasn’t his first, but Wi had found her to be his favourite. When nights were cold, and the wind nipped at his ankles, she would lift her blanket and he’d find a spot next to her.
It was on one of those cold nights, when his master fell, her rattling coughs unable to be soothed by Wi’s prodding licks. He knew what this meant; he would have to find the man of honey and flowers, whose hands smelled too sharp. The man of honey and flowers had last come when the tall man hadn’t woken up. Wi remembered cold hands and his master’s soft cries. He remembered that the man of honey and flowers only came by when something was wrong, and Wi had a sinking suspicion that something was very wrong.
His master took her soft hat from her head before she sent him out, fitting it above his eyes and over his ears, engulfing him in heat. Wi knew that this was one of his master’s most prized possessions, having not taken it off since the tall man had gone away at the first snow fall. She had plucked it from his head and had barely removed it since.
“I’m sorry to send you off in this nasty snowstorm. Hopefully this hat will be warm enough; I don’t want your ears to get cold. Go now, find Doctor Wong,” she had told him shakily. Wi didn’t understand her most of the time, but he knew enough to understand that he was meant to leave.
Wi marched through the snow, the winds whipping at his face and the snow slowing his pace, but he never stopped. His eyes were focused solely on the single light still on, small but like a flaming sun in the dark of the early morning. All Wi knew was that he must find the man of honey and flowers, and that he must bring back the hat she had entrusted to him. He could be a good boy. He would be a good boy.
It wasn’t until the sun had risen high in the sky that he made it to where humans clustered, his paws nearly numb with cold but his ears still warm, tucked underneath the woven material. He made his way through the packed throngs of people, weaving like the river when it was no longer freezing. It was while squeezing through a particularly close bundle of people that he felt the coldness hit him in a gush of air, his ears now uncovered.
He looked around, barking and howling, eyes searching for whoever dared to steal his master’s precious hat. He wanted to bite, to claw at whoever took it. He whined in abject horror, he could not return wifout the hat, he would not dare. He could not bear to face his master knowing he had lost what she loved most.
He scoured up and down every street, his nose sniffing relentlessly. He didn’t know if it was from fear or the biting cold that made his body shake as he tried to catch the scent of his den. With each street, the sun sunk lower and lower, but he kept his pace steady.
It was when his nose scrunched at a familiar smell that he remembered his master’s cough, her voice crackling like the fire in the den. Wi could smell the man of honey and flowers. Wi knew the man was close, his shop having a very distinct smell that Wi could not compare to that of anyone else in the city.
With his head hung low like the sun, Wi whined outside the man’s den. The man didn’t take long, greeting him at the door with his given name. Wi nearly cringed away when the man’s hands came closer, both a reflex and an avoidance to the sharp smell of his fingers. The man’s hands were warm though, and gave Wi a moment of relief as the coldness seemed to leave his nearly frozen ears.
The man must have understood, like Wi had understood earlier, that his master needed help from him. With great shame but knowing he could go back and find the thief another day, Wi vowed to return.
A part of Wi was worried. The last time the man of honey and flowers had come to their den, he had left with the tall man. Wi had liked the tall man. He was quiet and didn’t like it when Wi was too talkative, but he would take Wi on trips to where all the humans clustered. Wi had only known the tall man for two winters, but he couldn’t help but miss him. Wi felt a gnawing sense of foreboding; the last time the man of honey and flowers came to their den was the last time Wi had seen the tall man.
The walk up the mountain was filled with less winds, the snowstorm coming to a halt with their journey up. The closer they approached the den, Wi wondered how his master would react upon seeing him wifout the one thing she’d entrusted Wi with. Would she bark and bite like his previous masters had? Would she scrape at his fur and bar him from entry? She had always been a gracious master, but certain of his old masters had once been gracious too. Wi thought if she sent him away, he wouldn’t be able to leave. Wi would forever wait to feel the warmth of her hand like the melting of snow after a winter’s frost.
When they finally entered, kicking the snow from their feet at the door, Wi walked slowly up to his master, his head bowed. It would be impossible not to see the one thing missing from his return. Wi waited there, for a sting or a harsh tug, but it never came.
His master’s aged hands carded through his fur, rubbing softly against his icy ears. She rubbed soothing circles that nearly warmed him to his core, her hands like a fireplace. He peeked up, needing to just see a glimpse of his master to understand her thoughts.
“Such a good boy, you must be freezing.” A whine escaped his throat, shaky against his master’s calm. Wi nuzzled his face further into her embrace. He nudged his nose deep into the crook of her arm but he could not fully relax because of his shame.
“That’s quite alright, Wi. Items can be replaced, you cannot,” she hummed. As with most sounds she made, he was unsure of the meaning behind them. All he knew was that she was warm, that she wasn’t angry at him for losing her hat. Wi thought maybe he had misunderstood the hat, that maybe, just maybe, Wi and his master would be okay if the thief kept the hat forever.
As he curled into her embrace, the voices of the two humans hummed in the air like a soft melody. With a last sigh, his eyelids began to shut, the rhythmic scratches on his head lulling him to sleep.
PORTRAITS
RESUME
