The legend says that the last wolf in Scotland was killed somewhere near Inverness in 1743. I find it abhorrent that we can pinpoint this date and actually celebrated it at the time. I think a lot about this particular wolf. Did it know it was the last of its species on the British Isles? That sense of constant fear and loneliness must have been overpowering and maybe death even came as a relief.

I also think about what the country I love looked like in 1743. A lot was about to change. The impact of post Culloden upon Highland culture has been well documented, and well-remembered. But there was to be an ecological impact and change at this time too. Had the wolves survived, even in small numbers, our countryside we see now would look radically different. Reintroducing wolves here, however unlikely, would not bring that world back. Last Wolf is a living breathing tribute to that one wolf and to a world that no longer exists.