In distant Mongolia, there is a mysterious and great animal. They are elusive, elusive. They are alert and clever, which makes people admire them.

Wolf, an animal with ferocious face and sharp claws and teeth, has laid a world on the grassland from a long time ago. How many magical secrets do they have?

With curiosity and impulse, I opened Little Wolf Little Wolf.

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Jiang Rong, the author of this book, danced with wolves in the Guelun grassland, and once made a life-and-death friendship with his beloved little wolf. In those fascinating words, I seem to see a wolf cub born more than 20 days ago: a little black head because of his eyes.

My eyes haven't opened yet, so it seems to be covered with steam. Unlike dogs, wolves have fine, soft, dry, smoky gray hair, but some long, hard black wolves are sparse, with short, long and uneven hair.

Rugged, a wild spirit, like a heavy chestnut, grabs it and pricks its hand. Can't compare with a clean and lovely puppy with smooth skin.

However, in the author's eyes, the wolf is the noblest and rarest on the Mongolian grassland.

Little life. The little wolf in the book was once the author's "pet". Wolves cherish freedom and life. After being tied up by prisoners, wolves sleep whatever they like. Instead of fighting hunger like a sparrow, he ate desperately, ate with an open stomach and was full.

After you get enough sleep, you will fight for a new life and freedom. This character is born of wolves and passed down from generation to generation. It is precisely because of this strong and unyielding spirit that wolves can reproduce and inherit for thousands of years.

You see the giant wolf chased by a car in that book, but when he dies, he has to stand like an eternal statue-standing and dying! What spirit is this? The little wolf in the book, although young, is as calm, witty and brave as his ancestors. As a real coyote, he persisted until the last moment.

Wolf totem, the soul of grassland, the free and resolute soul of grassland people.

The wind is cold at night, and the cold dew turns into ice. Not far from the hillside, there was a long and desolate howl. Deep, bold, melancholy and long Mongolian long tune and the bitterness and loneliness of grassland surging waves, facing my family's stubborn crying, ups and downs lingering for hundreds of miles, suddenly reminded me of the infinite reverie of wolves.