A Parable for the Soul-Weary
Some stories are not meant to be explained—they are meant to be felt. Fierce: The Woman, the Wolf, and the Way Home is one such story. It is a journey through fear and freedom, wilderness and wonder, a tale whispered by intuition and written in the language of becoming.
This is not just a parable. It’s a mirror for the woman on the edge of herself, a compass for the one who knows there is more, a howl in the night reminding you: you were never lost—only remembering.
❝ Featured Excerpt ❞
The woman’s heart swells with a deep, knowing peace. She turns to face the horizon one last time. The wolf, ever the guardian, steps forward and nudges her gently. He speaks, but not with words—his presence is all that’s needed. You’ve walked the path, you’ve faced your fears, you’ve listened to your own heart. And now, the way home is clear.
A parable of wildness, wisdom, and the return to self
In a forest that hummed with mystery and memory, a woman wandered—
not lost, but searching. Her steps were hesitant at first,
still wrapped in the echoes of who she had been,
before the world told her who she should be.
She didn’t know what called her deeper into the wild,
only that she could no longer stay where she was.
There, in the hush between heartbeats,
a wolf appeared—not to chase her, but to accompany her.
Not to tame her, but to witness her.
Together, they journeyed through the landscapes of fear,
the caves of memory, and the open fields of surrender.
The woman learned to walk without apology.
To stand still and listen.
To howl when it hurt.
To remember the language she’d once forgotten.
And in time—she no longer feared the forest.
She belonged to it.
She belonged to herself.
This parable is more than a story.
It is an invitation to reclaim what has always been yours:
your wildness, your voice, your way back home.
Behind the Parable
This story didn’t begin with a plan.
It began with a nudge—a video, a passing comment, a single word: parable.
The narrator moved on. I couldn’t.
“Why haven’t I written a parable?”
“I should write a parable.”
“What would it be about?”
Me, of course.
So I began to write, not from structure, but from soul.
The wolf came first—because dogs have always been the center of my universe.
Then the other creatures arrived:
Felicia, the feisty Northern Mockingbird who demands her breakfast daily.
Poe, the crow who drops in to share it.
The one-legged seagull who always brings a grin.
And the family of slugs and snails I fed with care last summer.
They weren’t just characters. They were messengers. Guides. Companions.
I thought I was writing a tribute to the animals who’ve rescued me.
But when I read the final draft out loud—my favorite editing ritual—
I realized something unexpected, and incredibly tender.
The wolf… is Chris.
My husband. My grounding. My quiet protector.
And I didn’t even know it until the words came back to my ears.
This parable was never just about me.
It was about what saved me.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s about what will save you too.
This parable may be short, but its echo is long.
If Fierce stirred something in you—
a longing, a memory, a howl—
you’re not alone.
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🪶 Your story is sacred. Your voice belongs. Your homecoming awaits.
Fierce is not just a parable—it’s a mirror, a lantern, a companion for the soul. In just a few pages, Toby Dorr captures the essence of what it means to be lost, to question, to wander… and ultimately, to come home to yourself. The animal guides are more than whimsical companions—they are reflections of our fears, our wisdom, our tenderness. And the wolf—oh, the wolf—he stayed with me long after I turned the final page. This is the kind of story you tuck under your pillow, return to when the road feels dark, and carry with you when you need courage. A quiet, powerful masterpiece.
Reading Fierce felt like sitting on the porch with an old friend who finally tells you the truth you’ve always needed to hear. It’s tender and wild, wise and simple. The wolf, the crow, the mockingbird—each one felt like a whisper from the world I’d forgotten how to listen to. This parable isn’t loud or flashy—it’s slow and soulful and stays with you. I finished it and just sat there, staring out the window, thinking… maybe the way home has been waiting for me all along.
Fierce is not just a parable—it’s a sacred remembering. Each line felt like a prayer, each creature a messenger. The wolf doesn’t growl, he guides. The path isn’t marked, but you know it with your bones. This story met me in a holy hush and reminded me that the journey back to myself was never meant to be walked alone. I will return to this again and again—it’s a soul compass.
