Deep in the Seeonee Hills of India, the warm evening air buzzed with insects as Father Wolf stretched himself awake at the mouth of his cave. Mother Wolf Raksha lay inside with her four grey cubs tumbling over one another. Suddenly, the undergrowth rustled and Tabaqui the jackal appeared, his thin body quivering with excitement. 'Shere Khan the tiger has shifted his hunting grounds,' Tabaqui whined. 'He hunts among these hills tonight.' Father Wolf's ears flattened against his head, and Raksha's eyes burned like two green moons in the darkness.
A great roar echoed through the jungle — Shere Khan hunting, and hunting badly. The sound of crashing through the bushes grew closer, and then something small and soft tumbled right into the cave between the wolf cubs. Father Wolf seized it gently in his jaws and set it down in the moonlight. It was a naked brown baby, barely able to walk, who looked up into Father Wolf's face and laughed. 'A man's cub!' breathed Father Wolf in wonder. 'I have never seen one. How little! How bold!' The baby grabbed at Father Wolf's fur with tiny fingers and was not afraid at all.
A huge shadow blocked the moonlight at the cave entrance. Shere Khan's great square head and shoulders pushed into the opening, his scarred face twisted with anger. 'The man's cub is mine,' the tiger snarled. 'Give it to me.' But Raksha sprang forward, her eyes blazing like green fire. 'The man's cub is mine!' she growled, showing every fang. 'He shall not be killed. He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack. Now get away, or I swear you shall go back to your mother limping, Lungri — lamer than ever you were born!' Shere Khan backed away from the fury of Mother Wolf, and the jungle night swallowed him up.
When the full moon rose, it was time for the Pack to meet at Council Rock, where a great flat stone sat on a hilltop. Old Akela, the great grey Lone Wolf who led the Pack by strength and cunning, lay stretched out on the rock above them all. Below him, forty wolves of every size and colour settled on their haunches. Father Wolf pushed Mowgli into the centre of the circle, and the baby sat there laughing and playing with pebbles that glistened in the moonlight. 'Look well, O Wolves!' called Akela in his deep voice. 'Who speaks for this cub?'
A sleepy brown bear shuffled into the circle of wolves — Baloo, the old bear who taught the wolf cubs the Law of the Jungle. He rose on his hind legs and grunted. 'I speak for the man's cub,' Baloo rumbled. 'There is no harm in a man's cub. Let him run with the Pack. I myself will teach him.' Then a black shadow dropped from the trees like a piece of night itself — Bagheera the Black Panther, whose coat was as dark as ink but marked with panther spots that showed like watered silk. 'I too speak for the man's cub,' Bagheera purred in his silky voice. 'I offer a fat bull, freshly killed, as his price.' The wolves murmured their agreement, and Mowgli was accepted into the Seeonee Pack.
So Mowgli grew up among the wolves, learning to run through the jungle as swiftly as any cub. Baloo taught him the Law of the Jungle and the Master Words that would protect him with every creature — the hiss for serpents, the call for birds, the grunt for bears. Bagheera taught him to climb and to hunt and to move through the trees like a shadow. Mowgli's wolf brothers played with him, wrestled with him, and guarded him. The jungle was his home, the wolves were his family, and he was happy.
But trouble was coming. Old Akela was growing slow and could no longer lead the hunt as before. Shere Khan had been patient, visiting the young wolves at night, whispering that they were led by a dying wolf and fooled by a man's cub who had no place in the Pack. 'Why do you follow this hairless thing?' the tiger hissed to the young wolves. 'He does not belong here. When Akela misses his next kill, I shall come for the man-cub — and those who stand with him.' Some of the younger wolves began to slink away when Mowgli looked at them, and he felt a cold chill in his heart.
Bagheera came to Mowgli as shadows fell over the jungle. 'Little Brother,' the panther said softly, 'Shere Khan has turned the young wolves against you. When Akela misses his kill, they will turn on you at Council Rock. You must go down to the man-village in the valley and fetch the Red Flower — fire. It is the one thing all jungle creatures fear.' Mowgli's eyes stung, for he had never imagined leaving his brothers. But he understood. He slipped down the hillside in the dark, moving silently toward the orange glow of the village fires below.
Mowgli crept to the edge of the village and found a fire-pot on a hut's porch, its embers glowing like red eyes. He had seen men feed these embers with dry branches to make them leap and dance. He scooped embers into the pot and fed them twigs until bright flames crackled and rose. The fire was warm and alive in his hands — the Red Flower. Carrying it carefully, he ran back through the jungle. The night animals scattered from his path, eyes wide with terror at the dancing flames. Mowgli had never felt so powerful or so alone.
At Council Rock, the scene was grim. Akela lay beside the great stone — he had missed his kill, and the young wolves circled him with bared teeth. Shere Khan sat at the edge of the pack, his scarred face triumphant. 'The man-cub has lived too long,' the tiger growled. 'Give him to me.' Then Mowgli strode into the circle, the fire-pot blazing in his hands. The wolves fell back, whimpering. Shere Khan's eyes went wide. 'So this is what the Pack has become,' Mowgli said, his voice strong but trembling. 'Led by a tiger instead of a wolf.'
Mowgli thrust a burning branch into Shere Khan's face. The tiger screamed and scrambled backward, singed whiskers smoking. 'Go!' Mowgli commanded. 'When I come to Council Rock again, it shall be with your hide. Now go!' Shere Khan turned and fled howling into the night. Then Mowgli turned the fire on the treacherous young wolves, and they scattered like sparks. Only Akela, Raksha, and the loyal wolves who loved Mowgli remained. The fire crackled between them, and the jungle was silent.
The fire died to embers, and Mowgli dropped the pot. Something inside him hurt more than any wound. He knelt beside Mother Wolf Raksha, who licked the tears from his face. 'You must go to the man-village now, Little Frog,' she whispered. 'But do not forget us.' 'I will never forget,' Mowgli said, hugging her grey neck. He pressed his forehead against Baloo's great warm side and touched Bagheera's silky ear. Then he rose and walked down the hillside toward the valley, turning back once to see his wolf brothers howling on the ridge against the first pale light of dawn. The jungle would always be his home.
