I was about 5.

I was on a fantasy adventure with my siblings. There were talking trees; some of which were friendly, but some weren't.
Super friendly forest animals, and it was on the verge of being spring or a more terrible winter than ever. Very Narnia style, but less blasphemy more native American

But a scary wolf came roaring and snarling like a lion, and threatened to eat Moosey and my other sibling. So I tried to scare it off with my sword, but it snapped back at Moosey--

It lunged towards me and died on my sword. I just started kneeling on the ground bawling my eyes out. Because I didn't want to kill it. I desperately wanted to be friends.

I woke up sobbing and called for my Mom who came running. She thought I was scared but I wasn't, I was just sad/devastated at the needless loss of potential. Though I couldn't begin to articulate that.

I now know exactly what it meant.

That was the first time I was willing to kill part of myself to protect the other parts (especially other lives), but even so...

I swore to never ever ever kill wolves. I would try anything I could to rescue them too and bring them with me on the adventure.

how are you?

Nightmares are rough

good